I Know Who Hold Tomorrow

by Francis Ray

  “No comment.”

  Madison made a face. She had expected his reply. Gordon never discussed his employees. The chime of the doorbell came again. “Hold on a minute. Let me see who—s at the door.”

  Madison flicked the intercom for the front door. “Yes?”

  “Ms. Reed, it—s Camille Jacobs. I—d like to speak with you if it—s convenient.”

  “Just a minute.” Madison spoke into the receiver. “I guess you heard who—s at the door.”

  “She didn—t waste any time,” Gordon said.

  “I better go.”

  “I—m sorry all this has happened, but I—ve already spoken with the boss about Louis. He won—t have free rein of the studio anymore.”

  “If only that would stop him. He—ll cry ‘infringement of freedom of speech— and go to another station.”

  “At least WFTA won—t be a part of his sick plan to increase your marketability.”

  Madison—s expression hardened. “I won—t stand by and let Manda or me be exploited. I—ll take care of Louis.”

  Gordon chuckled. “Wish I could be there to see that. Call me. Bye.”

  “ ‘Bye.”

  Hanging up the phone, .Madison went to the door. “Ms. Jacobs, I thought you were going to call before coming by.”

  “This visit wasn—t planned,” she said. “May I come in?”

  That didn—t sound good. “Of course. We can talk in the living room. It—s closer to the bedroom. Manda is asleep.” She closed the door. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you.”

  In the living room, Madison motioned the social worker to white sofa piled with fluffy blue and white pillows that matched the curtains and wallpaper in the room, then took a seat in a light-blue side chair trimmed in white. “What is it you want to speak with me about?”

  “First, although Mr. Armstrong and you seem to think so, I—m not your enemy. I only want what—s best for Manda,” Camille answered.

  Then we—re on common ground because I want the same thing.” She no longer had any doubt about that. She leaned back in the chair. “I suppose you—re here about Louis—s interview.”

  “You saw the show?”

  “Gordon called.”

  “He—s very protective of you.”

  Madison eyebrow lifted at the almost wistful tone. “As I am of him. We—re friends.”

  “Yes, of course,” Camille said quickly, folding and unfolding her hands. “Do you think I could change my mind and have a glass of water?”

  Madison frowned. Camille Jacobs seemed a bit frazzled. Madison wouldn—t have thought that possible. “I also have iced tea.”

  “Water is fine.”

  Madison went to the kitchen and came back to see the social worker looking around the room. The ivory ceramic compote, the blue-and-white baluster jar, the ribbed box, and books were in the center of the wide coffee table. By the window draped in blue flowers on a white background was Manda—s swing. A short distance away was the playpen. A half-empty bottle of water Manda hadn—t wanted to finish lay inside. On the side chair matching the one Madison had sat in was one of the teddy bears Zachary had given to Manda. Manda was cuddled up asleep with the other.

  Madison had been in here dusting and, as usual, where she went, Manda was nearby. At least Madison had vacuumed up the crumbs from around the playpen. Manda liked whole-wheat crackers.

  She continued across the room to Camille. “It looks different from the other day. Manda might be attached to one toy, but the rest of her things make up for them.”

  Smiling, Camille took the glass. “It looks lived-in. You don—t appear bothered by it.”

  The house had always been too perfect for Madison. She—d actually had very little to do with its decoration. “Trying to keep her things put away would frustrate both of us.” Madison leaned back casually on the sofa. “So, what is it you wanted to know?”

  “I think you—ve already answered my questions,” Camille said, taking a sip of water. “During my last visit you were nervous, annoyed and angry. Today you—re relaxed and apparently finding your way quite nicely.”

  Madison blinked, then laughed. “We—re getting there, but I—m very angry at Louis.” Her brown eyes narrowed. “He did not have my permission to go public with information on Manda and he—ll certainly hear from me.”

  “He—s already heard from Gor—I mean Mr. Armstrong.”

  Madison caught the slip and wondered why Camille—s nervousness increased. “Wish I could have seen that.”

  “It was interesting.” She sat her glass down on the coaster Madison had given her and stood. “Thanks for seeing me.”

  Madison came to her feet and to a quick decision. “Would you like to peek in on Manda?”

  Camille smiled warmly. “Thank you, I would.”

  FOURTEEN

  IT WAS AFTER SEVEN-THIRTY at night when Zachary pulled up in the parking lot of the Galleria. Work at one of his construction sites had held him up, but he had one quick purchase to make before going to Madison—s house.

  Opening the glass door of the department store, he headed directly for the toy section. He knew exactly what he wanted. Reaching for the foot-high teddy bear dressed in overalls and a straw hat, he started for the cash register. He—d be glad when Manda was older and he could buy her interactive educational games. Children these days watched too much television.

  Growing up, he usually had his head stuck in a book. After his stepfather gave him a tool kit for his ninth birthday, those books then dealt in some way with building and architecture. Looking at the structures that had lasted from one century or one generation to the next, he—d known that he wanted to build homes for families just like his stepfather had built. In his opinion he had the best teacher in the entire world. He—d always be thankful that Jim Holman had come into their lives. He hoped his adopted father felt the same way.

  Jim had asked Zachary if it was all right if he adopted him the same night he asked Zachary—s mother to marry him. He and his mother had woken Zachary up, then Jim had sat down on Zachary—s twin bed and explained what adoption meant. It was more than changing Zachary—s last name from Miller to Holman. He—d be Zachary—s father; Zachary would be his son.

  Zachary hadn—t let himself believe, at first. He—d waited too long, wished too hard. But as Jim patiently sat there, his large callused hand stretched out for Zachary to take, the realization sank in. He thought he—d shamed himself and ruined everything when tears formed in his eyes. Jim wouldn—t want to adopt a sissy.

  Frantically he—d wiped at the tears so he could see Jim—s face. What he—d seen would forever remain in his heart and mind. Jim, six feet four, two hundred pounds of rope-hard muscles, was crying too.

  “Yes,” had burst from Zachary—s mouth. Jim had pulled Zachary into his arms. His mother had joined them on his narrow bed. They—d laughed and cried and become a family.

  In the years that followed he—d learned that being a family meant more than children having the same last name as the mother or father. A family meant unconditional love and support, discipline when needed, but most of all, the love that was always there. That—s what he wanted for Manda, and he planned to do everything within his power to make sure it happened.

  “Twenty-eight ninety-eight, sir,” the cashier said.

  “I always get in the wrong line,” said an annoyed female voice behind him.

  “Louise, hush,” another voice said.

  Zachary snapped out of his musing. From the impatient look on the clerk—s face, she had asked him for the money more than once. “Sorry.” He reached in the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet and handed her two twenties. He was considering apologizing to the woman behind him as well when he heard her mention Madison—s name.

  “Madison Reed is only assuming custody of that baby as a publicity stunt. Why else would she want a nine-month-old cluttering up her life?” the woman asked snidely. “Some nanny will probably take care of the
kid, just like they do for all the other stars.”

  “Louise, I think she—s on the level,” the other female voice argued. “You don—t watch her show. I do. Madison Reed cares about people.”

  “What she and her agent care about is ratings. She probably put him up to going on Noon Day. He had beady eyes.”

  “Louise! You—ve got to trust people more.”

  “Not after that woman took—”

  “Sir, your change.” The clerk—s face had gone from impatient to annoyed.

  Zachary grabbed his money, the teddy bear, and headed for nearest exit.

  “You all right?” he asked as soon as Madison opened the door. He—d broken the speed limit getting there.

  “You heard.” She closed the door after him.

  “While I was in line buying this for Manda.” He handed her the stuffed animal.

  Madison smiled at the teddy bear with the big glassy black eyes as they walked toward the den. “She went down early, but she—ll be so excited in the morning when she sees this. I hope you aren—t going to buy her a present every week.”

  “A present or two won—t hurt.” He studied her face closely. “You seem calm about all this.”

  “I—m not.” The phone rang. She glanced down at the caller ID. “Blocked call.”

  “I—ll get it if you want,” he said.

  Madison was already shaking her head. “It—s probably Wes—s parents. Helen—s show doesn—t reach the Houston area, but they have friends in Dallas and Fort Worth. I—d rather they hear it from me. I called earlier, but the maid said Vanessa was resting. A.J. was expected to arrive home around this time.” The troubled expression on Zachary—s face wasn—t reassuring as she picked up the phone.

  “Yes? Hello, A.J. You heard already.” She glanced at Zachary who had come to stand by her. “I—m sorry you had to hear it from someone other than me. Yes, Wes was a hero. No, we don—t want his sacrifice to be in vain.” Her hand massaged her forehead. “Your fraternity is leading a scholarship drive to be given in Wes—s name at his high school. Yes, I think that—s a wonderful idea.”

  She paused, listened. “Please give Vanessa my best when she wakes up. Good-bye.”

  She felt Zachary—s hand on her shoulder. “I couldn—t tell them,” she said, her fists clenched.

  “You did right.” His other hand came up to rest on her other shoulder, he turned her to him. “Neither would appreciate knowing about Manda. They—re too selfish and self-righteous to love anyone but themselves. Wes was the only person who ever mattered to them and now he—s gone.”

  “How do you know so much about them?”

  His fierce expression didn—t change, but his hands flexed on her shoulders. “Until my parents moved a couple of years ago to Houston, Wes and I grew up in the same town and went to the same high school.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “He never mentioned that.”

  Shrugging, he let his hands fall. By sheer force of will he kept his voice light. “We ran in different social circles in high school.”

  Intuitively she suspected there was more to it than he was telling her. “Then how did you finally meet and become friends?”

  “About seven years ago we were both where we shouldn—t have been. We had to back each other or get our collective butts kicked,” he told her, shaking his head at the memory. “Wes was trying to get a story on the workings of a crackhouse and I was trying to get one of my workers out of it and into rehab. The drug dealer didn—t like either of us being there.”

  Fear congealed in the pit of her stomach. Her fingers curled around his arm. “You could have been killed.”

  “Larry was a good friend. I had to try,” he said simply.

  “What happened to him?”

  Zachary—s mouth flattened into a narrow line. “Died six months later from an overdose. He left a wife and two small children.”

  She saw the pain still etched in his face. “You tried.”

  “Doesn—t help much when I see his wife and children,” he said tightly. “He thought he could handle it. Always said there was nothing that could get the best of him.”

  “Wes and I believed the same thing until we lost our baby,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

  Without deliberate thought Zachary enfolded her into his arms and rocked her. “Some hurts you never get over, but time helps.”

  Pain and misery washed across her face. “She would have been so beautiful and smart. I would have loved her so much.”

  “I know,” Zachary said, “for what it—s worth, I know.”

  She leaned into the shelter of his arms and hung on. Her baby hadn—t lived, but she had mattered. Madison didn—t want people to forget. Zachary hadn—t. He shared her regret, her sorrow. She heard it in his voice gone rough, saw it in his dark eyes just before he pulled her into his arms. Somehow he always knew what she needed, then went about seeing that she got it. “Thank you.”

  At the sound of the doorbell she reluctantly pulled away and brushed the lingering moisture from her eyes. She—d forgotten how comforting it felt to be in a man—s arms, to be held and reassured. “That should be Louis. Excuse me.”

  “I—m going with you.”

  Madison lifted a delicate brow at the hard expression on his face. Za-chary—s protective instincts had kicked in again. “That isn—t necessary.”

  “I—m coming,” he stated flatly.

  Feeling that arguing would have been a waste of time and energy, Madison sighed in resignation. “All right, but only as an observer. Louis has to know that he—s dealing with me.”

  Zachary held up both hands palm out. “I—m just a conscientious observer.”

  Madison studied him for a moment, then went to answer the door. “Hello, Louis.”

  “Madison, good to see you,” Louis said, coming into the house. He flicked a dismissive glance at Zachary. “I came as soon as I got your message. Ready to talk about a contract with KGHA in Chicago? TriStar Communications doesn—t want to be left out of the deal and will work with them. You can have it all.”

  Closing the door, Madison faced him. “Why did you give an interview disclosing personal information about me today without my authorization?”

  The easy smile slid from his face and irritation took its place at the unexpected reprimand. His tossed a cold glance in Zachary—s direction. “Perhaps we could talk about it after the workman has left.”

  “We—ll talk now.” Madison crossed her arms and pinned him with a look. “Mr. Holman is a friend of mine and I—m waiting.”

  Louis warily eyed Zachary—s threatening stance. “I think it best if we don—t discuss our business in front of other people.”

  Madison shot him a quelling glance. “Strange. You didn—t think so today on Helen—s show.”

  “That was different,” he told her, dragging a silk handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the moisture from his brow. “What you—re doing is an inspiration to people all over the country. It exemplifies your courage, you—”

  “Stop blowing smoke, Louis,” Madison cut in sharply, unfolding her arms. “You—re fooling no one. You did the interview to up the ante of my contact for Chicago and TriStar. I have to trust my agent and know he has my best interest at heart.”

  “I do. I do,” he quickly said, his head bobbing up and down like a crazy jack-in-the-box.

  “Your actions today speak otherwise.” Her eyes narrowed. “Give another unauthorized interview and you—re fired.—

  His eyes bugged. “You can—t be serious?

  “I—ve never been more serious,” she said, her voice as sharp and cold as icicles.

  “You can—t fire me!” More perspiration popped out on his forehead. “I made you.”

  “No, you didn—t, and I haven—t fired you … yet. But if you say another word about me or Manda without clearing it through me first, you—re history. Is that clear?” Her voice was taut with controlled fury

  “I was just trying to help,” he said, his e
xpression pitiful.

  Madison simply stared at him, knowing he was lying.

  Louis folded first. “I won—t release any information without clearing it with you first.”

  “I don—t plan to have this conversation again.” She opened the door. “Good night.”

  “Good night.” Mouth tight, body rigid, he left.

  “You handled that well,” Zachary said once the door closed.

  “Firing him would have raised too much speculation after his announcement today. The best way to handle him is through his pocket-book,” Madison explained, walking back into the den. “If I go to the station in Chicago and TriStar gets in the mix as well, it will mean a hefty percentage for him.”

  He frowned. “You still considering?”

  She shoved her hand through her hair. “I don—t know. When Wes mentioned it, I was against it, but now …” She took a deep breath. “I honestly don—t know if a change of scenery would be better. The station has given me an extended leave and we—re showing reruns. There—s another important rating period in July, but we already have a few shows in the can. I don—t have to make any concrete decisions for another couple of months. You eaten yet?”

  “No.”

  “Come on into the kitchen. I made a pot roast.” In the kitchen she reached for the oven mitts.

  “I—ll get that for you.” Taking the pot holders, he removed the roast from the oven and set it on the hot plate on the counter. “Smells good.”

  She opened a cabinet overhead for a plate. “Manda liked the potatoes. She didn—t care much for the carrots.”

  “Is she supposed to have solid food?” Zachary asked with a frown.

  Madison sat the plate on the counter and reached for the utensils. “Dianne said it wouldn—t hurt her. She also had cheese cubes and wholewheat crackers today.”

  “I don—t know that much about raising children.” Folding his arms, he leaned back against the counter and watched Madison prepare his plate, then she filled a tall glass with iced tea.