“I’m afraid I am not at liberty to discuss it at the present time,” Mr. Graham said.
“I knew he would be interesting,” Jessica murmured, handing a glass of beer to Betty and then turning back to Mr. Graham. “Why not?”
Mr. Graham touched at his bow tie. “My work with Miss Waring is a privately contracted arrangement and at the present time is of a confidential nature.”
“Oh,” Betty said, eyes wide, turning to look at Gordon as she sat down on the couch, “just like you, Gordon.”
“Here, Flash Gordon,” Jessica said, nudging him with her elbow and handing him a glass. Then she smiled at him again, saying under her breath, “Flash Gordon and Alexandra Eyes—I bet you two are a pair to watch.”
She had been drinking, Gordon realized. He could smell it. Vodka, maybe. That was why her face was so flushed. But still, there was something intoxicating in the air around Jessica not connected with booze that was making Gordon flush a little too. God, he thought, taking the beer and moving away from her, I’ve gotta be careful around this one. He was definitely getting the feeling that Jessica would be delighted if only he’d excuse them both and take her to the conference room for a quickie. He was definitely getting the feeling that it would be very fast and very good. He was definitely getting the feeling that he had to concentrate on something else fast because there was nothing he liked more than a quickie during the workday, which he had not had in over a year because Alexandra was never accessible that way. Crazy actresses, bosomy talk show hostesses and inaccessible anchorwomen—Gordon thought maybe he should be in another line of work. Gordon thought maybe he better get married sooner. Or maybe he should just fuck Jessica while he had the chance and was still single. (Maybe you could stop looking at her, for starters, he thought.)
“Is this ginger ale?” Mr. Graham said, holding his glass up to the light.
“It’s light beer, Mr. Graham,” Jessica said, sitting in one of the chairs.
“Beer!” Mr. Graham exclaimed with a mild intake of breath. “Why, I’m afraid I must refuse,” he said, quickly handing it to Betty. “When the Devonshire was bombed before my eyes, I swore I would never drink beer again if only I got safely through the war.”
“Which war?” Jessica said.
“Two,” he said. “I was in the foreign press corps in London. Ed and the others—”
“Ed?” Jessica said.
“Murrow, Mr. Edward R. Murrow,” Mr. Graham said. “He was in radio, you know. He worked out of Broadcasting House, used to be a regular at the Devonshire pub before—” He pointed to the TV. “Excuse me, but I believe Miss Waring’s newscast is about to begin.”
Mr. Graham was right, the rehearsal had begun, only the opening graphics and film and titles and theme music were not ready yet and so they ran some stock footage of American landscapes, supered titles from the character generator and played something that sounded suspiciously like music stolen from Charles Kuralt.
“Oh, my,” Mr. Graham said as they cut to Alexandra in the studio.
“Wonderful eyes,” Betty murmured. “She really does.”
Gordon smiled, feeling his stomach flip-flop. If he ever doubted he was in love with Alexandra, all it took was seeing her on the screen to remember how much he was. Oh, God, was she ever beautiful.
Is that you? he thought. Are you my Alexandra? Do those eyes, that mouth—do those shoulders belong to me? If they took off your dress, would my scar still be there, or would it be gone in the magic of TV?
He sat there marveling at her.
But then, after about fifteen minutes, he felt vaguely uneasy. There was something not quite right about her voice, her delivery, something… Come to think of it, Alexandra didn’t look quite right either. There was something vaguely detached about her—stiffer? Or was it the camera angle? And there was something about her intensity that was, was… Well… Missing?
On the other side of the couch, sitting in the other chair, Jessica was making noises. First she sighed. Then she made a sound with her tongue off the roof of her mouth. Then she was tsk-tsk-ing. Then there was a quiet groan. Then, during the next break for commercials, she poured herself another beer, sipped it and said, “Why is she so, so…?” She finished her question with a wave of her hand and took another sip of beer.
“Serious?” Betty offered.
“Hard, was what I was going to say,” Jessica said.
“It’s only a rehearsal,” Gordon said, wishing he did not agree with Jessica. There was something hard about Alexandra that wasn’t working.
“She is a newscaster,” Mr. Graham announced, as if this should explain everything.
“Well, she better cast again—” Jessica said.
“It’s on,” Gordon said, pointing to the screen.
“—because Jackie showed me her reel,” Jessica continued, “and she was never hard like this. Here, she looks like she’s got a broomstick up her ass. And why do they have her keep turning away from the camera?”
Mr. Graham, frowning deeply, turned to look at Jessica. “Shhh!” he said.
Jessica frowned and got up from her chair, walked around in back of the couch, leaned over to get a handful of popcorn out of the bag by Betty and then sat down on the couch arm between Betty and Gordon. “Of course he’d like it,” she said under her breath to Gordon, “he thinks we’re back in London with Edward R. Murrow.”
“Hey,” Gordon said quietly.
“Hey, nothing,” Jessica muttered, pausing to take several swallows of her beer. Lowering her glass, “I’m the one who’s gonna be stuck with Snooziola City and the Narcolepsy Sandbaggers here as the lead-in to my show.”
“Please, Miss Wright,” Mr. Graham said with a pained expression.
“Okay, okay,” she said, getting up and going back around to her chair. She sat down and ate her popcorn and drank her beer, eyes glued to the screen, and did not say anything more.
When the newscast was over they all went downstairs and were the first to arrive in Studio B, where there were three tables of catered foodstuffs and a wine-beer-soda bar. People began drifting in behind them, and then Jackson arrived with his assistants, Ethel, Randy and Claire, and then Langley and Adele, and then some of the news group started trickling in, and within forty-five minutes there was a quite lively crowd scene, with everyone, it seemed, there except Alexandra.
When she did finally make it—at almost six-thirty, after some people had already eaten, drunk and left for the weekend—Gordon met her just inside the studio door. She looked tired, troubled; but she smiled, glad to see him, and discreetly squeezed his hand once.
“You were great,” he said, “considering everything that was missing or makeshift.”
She was looking at him, appearing doubtful.
“What’s the matter?” he asked her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Alexandra sighed, looking at the door as if she longed to leave.
“Hi ya, Alexandra Eyes,” Jessica said, sweeping in from nowhere, “how’s tricks?”
Alexandra laughed. “You tell me,” she said.
“Funny you should ask,” Jessica began.
Gordon quickly started shaking his head at Jessica. No, was the implied message. Don’t. This isn’t the time to do a critique.
Jessica stopped talking and stared at him. “Why can’t I ask her about Mr. Graham?”
Alexandra turned to Gordon. “You met Mr. Graham?”
“Jessica brought him upstairs. He watched with us.”
“The rumors are running rampant, my dear,” Jessica said, edging in close to Alexandra, conspiratorially close. “What sort of personal contractual arrangement could the two of you have? We poor mortal souls wonder.”
Alexandra laughed again.
Jessica was cheering her up, Gordon realized. Huh. You could never tell with Alexandra—she made friends with the strangest people.
“Is he still here?” Alexandra asked, looking around.
“No, he went home,” Gordon said.
“Hi,” Alexandra said.
“This is for you,” Kate said, holding out a glass of Perrier and lime to her.
“Thank you,” Alexandra said, taking a sip of it immediately.
“So are you going to tell us about Mr. Graham or not?” Jessica said.
“Not yet,” Alexandra said.
“Well,” Jessica said, turning her eyes on Kate, “we can always try plying Alexandra, Jr., here with liquor to find out.”
“Excuse me,” a voice said. They all turned to look. It was Emma Bolton, the lovely lady who was the head receptionist for Darenbrook III. “Excuse me, Ms. Wright,” she said, “but a lady keeps calling upstairs, a Mrs. Wright, who keeps insisting on leaving messages for a Sarah Wright. I keep telling her that we have a Jessica Wright but not a Sarah Wright, but she says, no, take a message for Sarah Wright—”
“Oh, thank you,” Jessica said, reaching for the message, “that’s for me.”
“Sarah?” Gordon said.
“It’s got to be my mother,” Jessica said, unfolding the paper. “Yep, it is.”
“Are you holding out on us, Jessica?” Alexandra said, starting to smile. “Do you have another life we don’t know about?”
Jessica rolled her eyes, drinking some wine. “Sarah Elizabeth Hollingstown Wright,” she said then, “that’s me. My mother calls me all four when I’m in trouble, Sarah to annoy me, and Mrs. Gary Turner when she’s really feeling mean.”
“I’ll write that down in my book,” the receptionist promised as she walked away (laughing to herself).
Everybody watched as Jessica drained her wineglass.
“But—” Gordon finally said.
Jessica handed him her empty glass. “But what, Captain Flash?”
“Where did Jessica come from?” he asked her.
“Savitch,” she said.
“Oh, no!” Kate exclaimed in horror, looking to Alexandra.
Jessica glanced at Kate, frowning slightly, and then looked to Alexandra. “Didn’t you want to be Jessica Savitch?” she asked her.
Alexandra smiled, nodding. “Of course. We all did.”
“Yeah,” Jessica said, sticking her tongue out at Kate before continuing. “She let me interview her for my school paper once, when I was a senior in high school. Let me watch her do her newscast one weekend and everything. She was really great.”
“God help me,” Cassy said, wincing, “you were only in high school when Jessica Savitch was at NBC?”
“Yeah,” Jessica said. “And so on the way back to Essex Fells, after seeing the newscast, I just decided it was time that I had a name that I liked. And so I told everybody to start calling me Jessica—and they did.”
Alexandra roared, Cassy and Gordon laughed and Kate looked vaguely scandalized.
Jessica looked down at her glass in Gordon’s hand. “Oh, brother,” she sighed, taking it back from him. “I tell ya, Captain Flash, you are positively a barrel of fun as a host.” And off she walked toward the bar, prompting Alexandra to pull Gordon aside.
“Gordon,” she whispered, sounding surprised, “what have you guys been doing? Jessica’s absolutely bombed.”
“She was well on her way before she got to my office, I swear,” he said, raising his hand.
Alexandra was watching Jessica make her way to the bar, frowning. Jackson and Langley had walked over to Cassy and Kate; Alexandra signaled she’d be over in a minute and then turned back to Gordon. “Do you think she has a problem?”
He laughed slightly. “I think she’s got problems other than booze.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He lofted his eyebrows, looking up at outer space.
“Gordon!”
He smiled, looking into her eyes. (It was amazing how Alexandra could pick up the slightest innuendo out of the air. It had also not escaped his notice how carefully Alexandra had been watching Jessica’s flirtatiousness with him, so he might as well get it out in the open, right? Besides, such things tended to bring out the best in Alexandra’s discreetly, though irrevocably, competitive nature.)
“Well, be careful, Gordie,” she said.
“Me be careful?” he said, pointing to himself, wondering how he could be feeling so giddy on four beers.
“You,” she said, nodding once. “And remember…”
“What?” he said, wishing like hell he could just take her in his arms and kiss her.
Her eyes had traveled down to his mouth; she was thinking the same thing. “Remember,” she murmured, raising her eyes back up to his, “she’s a friend of mine.”
“A friend?” he said, laughing. “Oh, man, if that’s the best you can do—”
“No, I don’t, thank you,” Cassy said very loudly, sounding angry.
They turned to look. Cassy had just turned away from Jackson, who was shrugging to Alexandra as if he didn’t know what Cassy could be upset about. Langley was nervously smiling and Kate was looking a little stunned.
“What’s wrong?” Alexandra said, stepping over, eyes shifting back and forth between Jackson and Cassy.
“She doesn’t feel like talking about it,” Jackson finally said.
“Certainly not with you,” Cassy said, breaking away from the group. “Excuse me.” And she walked quickly out of the studio.
“Jesus, Jack,” Langley said, shaking his head.
“What did you say to her?” Alexandra asked Jackson. Her tone of voice made Gordon look at her. Yes—she was angry.
Jackson held his hands out. “All I said was that I heard her husband got a new job. That’s all I said.”
Alexandra whirled around and went after Cassy, leaving Jackson, Kate, Langley and Gordon standing there in a rather uncomfortable silence. Then Kate excused herself and walked over to another group.
“The job’s in L.A.,” Langley said to Gordon. “We heard about it this morning.” He shrugged. “We didn’t know what to make of it.”
“Shit,” Jackson muttered, looking upset. “I didn’t mean to upset her. I didn’t, Lang.” He looked at Gordon and then his expression changed, as if he was seeing him for the first time. “What are you doing here, Strenn?”
“I was invited,” Gordon said.
“Hi, Jackie, hi, Mr. Mitchell,” Jessica said, swinging in with a new glass of wine in hand. “Hey, Flash—where’s Alexandra Eyes? I gotta leave soon but I gotta talk to her first.”
Gordon shrugged. “She went somewhere.”
“Somewhere where? The moon? Ladies’ room? Southeast corner of Toidee-toid and Toid? Huh? Answer me,” she said, holding his chin in her hand. Her eyes narrowed. “God, you’re good-looking. You know that?”
“Help’s sure gettin’ kinda familiar around here,” Jackson remarked, taking a swig of his Coke.
“Try the newsroom,” Gordon told Jessica, who was still holding his chin.
“Why don’t you come try it with me?” she said, her mouth slowly stretching into a smile.
Langley cleared his throat.
“Good idea,” Jackson declared, stepping over to push Gordon toward the door. “I think you’re just the man to help Jessica find her way.”
“Jack,” Langley said sharply.
“Come on, Captain Flash,” Jessica said, taking Gordon by the hand and leading the way as if her wineglass was a lantern. She pulled him down first one corridor and then down another, asking everybody where Alexandra Eyes was. Finally someone told them that they thought she was in her dressing room.
“Dressing room, dressing room,” Jessica muttered, pulling him down the hall.
“Other way,” Gordon said, and so they veered around—pausing for Jessica to take a sip of wine—and Jessica pulled him the other way down the hall.
Just as they reached Alexandra’s dressing room, Jessica released his hand, saying, “What do you bet hers is nicer than mine?” and reached for the door.
“Knock first,” Gordon said, but Jessica wasn’t
listening. She just threw open the door.
And there was Alexandra. Sitting on the bench in front of her makeup mirror, holding Cassy, gently rocking her as Cassy cried.
18
Jessica Has to Tell Alexandra Something
When the door of Alexandra’s dressing room flew open, Cassy started, lurching upright, away from Alexandra, tears running down her face.
Jessica stood there, staring, until Gordon said, “Excuse us,” and reached around her for the door.
“No,” Jessica said softly, pushing the door back open. “What happened? Cassy, are you all right?”
Cassy turned away, embarrassed. Alexandra plucked several tissues from the box on her dresser and handed them to her, which she used.
“Come on, Jessica,” Gordon said, taking her arm.
“Let go of me,” Jessica said, irritated, jerking her arm back from him and spilling some wine on the floor in the process.
“I think I’ll slip into the bathroom and pull myself together,” Cassy murmured to Alexandra, standing up. She walked across the dressing room and into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Alexandra immediately turned around to look at Jessica and Gordon, the latter of whom, standing behind Jessica, threw his hands up, indicating he couldn’t help what had just happened.
“So what’s wrong?” Jessica whispered, walking in, eyes on the bathroom door.
“Not now, Jessica,” Alexandra said.
“Oh,” Jessica said, leaning against the wardrobe and sipping her wine, eyes still on the bathroom door.
Alexandra looked at Gordon. He shrugged and then said, “Anything I can do?”
Alexandra glanced back at Jessica and then shook her head, sighing a little. “No. It’s all right. Why don’t I see you a little later?”
He nodded and then peered around the door. “Good night, Jessica.”
“Huh?” she said, turning around. “Oh, bye, Captain Flash. Thanks for the swinging soiree.”
“You’re welcome.”
Gordon closed the door.
“I really like Cassy,” Jessica said, eyes back on the bathroom door. She took another sip of wine. “Nobody died or anything, did they?”
Alexandra Waring Page 25
