Prime Time

by Sandra Brown

  “We should be able to finish up by tomorrow afternoon,” Andy said. “We’ll do the interview by the river tomorrow morning. That will be the last one. Jeff, have you got enough B roll?”

  Les made suggestions and asked to watch the tapes already “in the can.” As they were draining their last cups of coffee General Ratliff wheeled into the dining room. He had taken his meal in his room. As always he was impeccably groomed, but Andy didn’t like his color. His complexion had a waxy sheen that concerned her.

  She introduced him to Les, who responded politely and quietly. She left them to get acquainted while the crew went about setting up their equipment in the living room and she went upstairs to dress and apply her makeup.

  Half an hour later they were ready to begin. She was well into her introductory remarks when Les interrupted. “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he said. Jeff cursed and raised his head from the viewfinder of his camera. “General, excuse me but you don’t look like a military man,” Les said. “Don’t you have a uniform or anything?”

  “We’ve already discussed that with the general, Les,” Andy said smoothly. “He prefers not to wear one.”

  “Why?” Bluntness was one of Les’s virtues—or vices.

  “Because, for one thing, they’re forty years old and he hasn’t had them on since he retired.”

  “Then couldn’t he just hold one, or have one hanging behind him or something?”

  “General?” Andy asked softly. “Would you object to that?”

  “I suppose not,” he said. He gave her a tired smile and patted her hand. “If you want to hang a uniform behind me, that will be fine.”

  “Great!” Les said, clapping his hands together. “Where’s Gracie?”

  “I’ll get a uniform.” Andy was relieved that Lyon wasn’t in the room when they started. She didn’t realize that he had come in until he spoke. She watched as he stamped from the room to find the uniform that she damned Les for mentioning.

  Gil took advantage of the break to adjust the general’s microphone higher on his lapel. His voice wasn’t as strong today as it had been. Gil was just stepping back when Lyon came in carrying a general’s uniform that smelled faintly of mothballs, but was pressed and in mint condition.

  She caught Lyon’s eye as he hung it behind them where Les directed him. Silently she pleaded for him to understand the reason for everything that she had done from the time she had left his arms to run to Les. But looking into his eyes was like looking into mirrors. She could see only a distressed reflection of herself and not into the soul of the man she loved.

  Had she told him she loved him? During all those passionate hours of the night before had she spoken of love? Maybe if she had told him what was in her heart, he wouldn’t be looking at her with such hatred now.

  He jerked his head in Les’s direction. “Get him to lay off Dad. Understand, Ms. Malone?” he sneered. Then he was backing away and Les was saying how much better the set looked with the uniform establishing the mood, and somehow she got through the interview.

  As soon as it was done, she went up to her room to change back into the sundress. The linen suit she had worn for the interview had started to feel cloying and restricting. Yet after changing, she realized that the tightening pressure was on the inside, not out. She felt that all her organs were clamped between the jaws of a great beast and that the life was slowly being squeezed out of them.

  She stood at the window and gazed out at the beautiful landscape. She didn’t feel any kinship with the woman who had come to this house a few days earlier and stood at this window for the first time. She no longer existed.

  In her place was Andy Malone, a woman who had been born only a few hours ago. She didn’t want her old life back. A life of loneliness, empty motel rooms, solitary meals. Her dream of being in the limelight of network programming paled against the glowing warmth of Lyon’s love. Ambition seemed no longer an asset, but a burden she longed to cast aside.

  “Penny for them.” Les came into the room unannounced, crossed to the window, took her hand, and led her to the bed. She sat down on the edge of it and listlessly let him massage her neck with his large hands. “Worth more than a penny?”

  “Much more.”

  “Must be good.”

  “No, not so good.”

  “Wanna tell me about it?”

  “Maybe sometime. Not now.”

  “It breaks my heart, you know.”

  She turned her head and looked up at him, not able to picture Les with a broken heart over anything. “What breaks your heart?”

  “That you don’t confide in me anymore. Hell, Andy, I thought we were a team. After all we’ve been through together. Robert’s death. Everything.” He was rubbing her neck hypnotically, and she dropped her chin against her chest and closed her eyes. “Is it Robert? Do you still miss him?”

  She shook her head. “No, nothing like that, Les.” She asked something she’d never been able to bring herself to ask before. “Did you know he ran around on me?”

  For a long minute the hands around her neck were still, then began their stroking again. “Yeah. I didn’t know you knew. That was the only thing Robert and I ever fought about. I raised hell with him when I found out about it.”

  “You shouldn’t have blamed him. It wasn’t all his fault. It”—she swallowed—“it never was very good.”

  “Maybe he was the wrong guy.” The hands were still once again.

  She lifted her head and looked up at him. His blue eyes asked the pertinent question, and she shook her head.

  “No, Les.”

  He shrugged and continued tracking his thumbs down the vertebrae at the base of her neck. “It was worth a try. I’ve always had a lech for you, you know. But you may look ugly as sin in bed.”

  She laughed. “Thanks, friend.”

  “’Course you wouldn’t be disappointed. Not if we started with a Jell-O bath.”

  She chuckled again, glad that things were on a more even footing. This was familiar, this bantering. She could handle this now and deal with the heartache and splendor.

  Lyon later. “A Jell-O bath?”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never had one!” His hands closed on her shoulders, and he leaned down to tickle her neck with his nose. “I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “I thought you probably would,” she said drily.

  “Everybody gets naked, see? Then you fill up the bathtub with gallons of squishy Jell-O.” She was laughing in earnest now, both at his words and his gnawing lips on her neck. “I like green personally, because with red hair it’s my best color, but some prefer—”

  His words broke off abruptly, and his hands tensed. Andy’s laughter died away, and she opened her eyes to look up at him. She followed the direction of his stare toward the doorway, where Lyon towered like a menacing giant.

  Every muscle of his body was tensed, and he was rocking back and forth slightly, like an animal tethered on a chain that might give way any moment. His hands, bracing him between the jamb, looked as though they were ready to tear the wood away from the walls.

  “Pardon the interruption,” he said tersely. “Gracie asked that I round everyone up for lunch. I’ll get the others.” Then he was gone, and Andy was bleakly staring at the empty doorway.

  Les bounded around the foot of the bed and with his index finger jerked her chin up until he was looking her fully in the face. “So that’s the way the wind blows,” he said. “He’s got the hots for our little Andy, and she goes all marshmallowy every time he looks at her.”

  “No!”

  “Oh, yes, Andrea Malone. Don’t lie to me. I’ve got eyes, dammit, and I know jealousy when I see it. I was so sure that he was about to murder me, my life passed before my eyes.” He began pacing in what everyone referred to as Les’s “thinking” routine. “I should have known it was something like this. Those tapes I looked at this morning were good, but they’re Mickey Mouse.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with those inte
rviews,” she said heatedly.

  “There’s nothing terrific about them either,” he shouted back. “You could be interviewing Bozo the Clown for all the information we have on his military career. You’ve gone soft, Andy, lost your objectivity, and it’s because you want to shack up with Lyon.”

  There was small compensation in the fact that he didn’t know she’d already been with Lyon. “I don’t know how you can possibly imagine that. We’ve been butting heads since I first got near him. He has nothing but contempt for me.”

  “Then prove me wrong. Tomorrow morning, I want you to hit the old guy with all you’ve got. Hell, Andy, you could pry information out of a turnip and it wouldn’t even know it had been had. I’ve seen you do it hundreds of times.”

  “The General’s sick, Les—”

  “And he has something to hide. I feel it in my gut. What was all that stink over wearing a uniform? Huh? It’s not normal, and when something’s not normal, I practically break out in a rash.”

  “I won’t badger him,” she said, shaking her head adamantly.

  Les gripped her painfully by the shoulders. “Then I will, Andy. Getting General Michael Ratliff to reveal why he retired early and has lived in seclusion all these years could be our ticket to the network. You come across with the story of the year, or I will.”

  From downstairs they heard the others trooping through the hall to the dining room. Les released her with his hands, but not with his eyes. She felt them on her as they went downstairs and took their seats at the table. Lyon was seated at one end, but the general apparently was going to eat in his room.

  Gracie hustled to get the food on the table and the crew fell to with appreciation. Andy pushed a forkful into her mouth, though her body was repelled by the idea of eating.

  “Your father took an early retirement, didn’t he, Lyon?” Les asked between bites of cold chicken salad.

  Lyon finished chewing and swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  Andy shot Les a threatening look, but he didn’t see it. He and Lyon were staring each other down like boxers assessing each other across the canvas.

  “Ms. Malone asked him that,” Lyon answered levelly. “He said he wanted to try another way of life, that he was tired of the military. He wanted to live at a less hectic pace, spend more time with my mother.”

  “But he was still young,” Les argued.

  The others around the table had grown quiet, listening to the conversation that vibrated with so many unspoken meanings. The crew had seen Les rake numerous intimidating people over the coals, but thought that perhaps this time he had bitten off more than he could chew. By anyone’s estimation, Lyon Ratliff wasn’t a man one would provoke unnecessarily.

  “Perhaps that’s why he got out when he did. He wanted to have plenty of time to ranch.” Lyon took another bite of his lunch, dismissing the importance of Les’s questions.

  “Maybe,” Les said in a tone that reeked of skepticism. Andy saw Lyon’s hand tighten around his water glass. “On the other hand, it could have been for an entirely different reason. There could have been something he wasn’t too keen on the rest of the world finding out. Maybe about your mother, or the war—”

  Lyon’s chair flew backward and fell to the floor with a crash. Silverware, crystal, and china clattered together on the table as his knee caught it from underneath. Andy heard Jeff’s softly whispered, “Jeez.” Gracie came running from the kitchen.

  Lyon resembled a jealous god bent on vengeance. The heat of his fury surrounded him like an aura. His eyes flashed lightning. “I want you out of here by nightfall. Got it? Out.” His eyes swung to Andy. “All of you. Do the last interview this afternoon, as soon as my father has rested, and then clear out.” He stepped to the overturned chair and picked it up. “Sorry about the mess, Gracie.” Then he stormed out of the room.

  Silence prevailed even after Gracie tactfully withdrew into the kitchen.

  Jeff cleared his throat. For once his cockiness was subdued. “We were planning on charging all our batteries tonight, Andy. I don’t know if we’ll have enough power to shoot—”

  “Do the best you can, Jeff,” she said vaguely.

  “Okay. Sure.” He stood up, and the others followed his lead. “We’ll go on and set up where you showed us near river.” They left.

  She folded her napkin with perfect symmetry. It seemed very important that it be folded just right before she set it down beside her barely touched plate. She stood up.

  “Andy—”

  “Shut up, Les. I think you’ve said enough.”

  For the scene outside she had planned to wear something soft and more casual than the outfits she’d worn for the other scenes. She had asked the general not to put on his coat and tie, as well. More than any of the other sessions she had been looking forward to this one. The riverbank was such a lovely setting.

  Now, it was to be the farewell interview, too, and that added a nostalgic quality to it. She’d never given a thought to the time she’d have to leave. She’d known that the time would come, but she’d never dwelled on it.

  “Admit it, Andy,” she said to herself in the mirror. “You hoped to go on seeing Lyon after you left.”

  Now she saw the fallacy in such wishful thinking. He had his life. She had hers. The directions in which they were going would never run parallel. Perhaps it was better that she leave with him thinking the worst of her. She didn’t think she could have turned her back on him otherwise.

  She dressed in toast-brown slacks and a yellow blouse. It was called a poet shirt because of its full, deeply cuffed sleeves, open throat, and blousy cut. She gathered her hair into a loose ponytail on the nape of her neck to add to the romantic look.

  Everyone was waiting for her on the patio. General Ratliff was sitting in his wheelchair in the shade of the cabana. She diverted her eyes from the building. It brought back too many stirring memories. If she’d ever relied on professional detachment, she’d have to now. The tears were close to the surface. With the least amount of encouragement, she’d throw herself into Lyon’s arms as he stood remote and stony, watching everything, saying nothing.

  “I thought I’d get some B roll as the two of you walk down the path. The scenery is so pretty,” Jeff said.

  “That’s fine,” Andy said. “What do you want us to do?”

  “Why don’t you just walk alongside General Ratliff’s chair and talk. I’ll do the rest.”

  “All right.”

  The general had heard Jeff’s directions and turned his chair onto the paved path. Andy fell into step beside him. She was going to mime the conversation, but the general surprised her by initiating it.

  “Andy, you don’t look well.”

  “I’m glad we’re not wired for sound,” she said lightly, hoping the camera couldn’t detect how insincere and shaky her smile was.

  “I don’t mean in a physical sense,” Michael Ratliff continued. “You know I think you’re beautiful. You’re unhappy about something. Lyon tells me that you’re leaving this afternoon.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jeff thrashing through the trees as he followed their progress. Trained to know better, she didn’t look at the camera he was toting on his shoulder along with the recorder. This stroll through the woods was supposed to appear candid and unrehearsed. The conversation certainly was.

  “Did he tell you he ordered us to leave?”

  “I don’t think he likes this Mr. Trapper.”

  “I’d say that’s an understatement. He doesn’t like any of us.”

  “He likes you.” Andy caught herself from stumbling on the pathway just in time. The general went on, unaffected by either her stunned reaction or the camera. “Lyon’s been acting strange lately. We rarely see him during the daytime. He’s up and out at dawn and usually doesn’t come in until dinner. Often not even then. Since you’ve come, he’s been hanging around the house like a pup waiting for kitchen scraps.”

  “He’s on
ly protecting you. He warned me about tiring you, prying into your personal affairs.”

  “I think that’s what’s wrong with Lyon. He’s been dwelling too much on the state of my life and not enough on his. If you ask me, his is in worse shape than mine.”

  They had reached the clearing, where Tony and Warren were standing by with Gil, who was hovering over his battery-powered microphones like a mother hen. A chair for Andy was positioned next to the wheelchair. As soon as the mike levels had been checked and the roar of the river water filtered out as well it as could be, Jeff began to record the last interview on video tape.

  Tony fell asleep against a tree, since he didn’t have lights to worry about. Warren hastily scratched Andy’s questions on a tablet. They would be needed when she was ready to do reverse questions. Gil sat cross-legged on the ground, listening to the interview through his headset. Les hunkered down behind Jeff, tapping his thumbnail against his teeth as he listened. Lyon, leaning against a cypress with his ankles and arms crossed, glowered at all of them.

  At what point in the interview Andy lost control, she never could pinpoint. One minute she was asking questions about the war, keeping them nonspecific as the general had requested, and the next she was laughing over a story he was telling about a French farmer and his wife who had hidden a whole platoon of GIs in their hayrick.

  From there on General Michael Ratliff related story after story. His recital was peppered with “Ike said,” and “George decided.” Tony awakened from his nap to listen. Soon all of them were laughing. Gil didn’t even try to filter the laughter out. Andy even saw Lyon smiling at one of the more colorful stories.

  The general was laughing and animated, thoroughly enjoying himself. When Andy got a frantic time cue from Warren, she gracefully deterred the general from embarking on another story and ended the interview.

  “Oh, General Ratliff, that was wonderful,” Andy said, taking off her mike and handing it to Gil. She leaned over the old man and undid the clip that held his mike and hugged him heartily.