Only last week they had ventured to the occasional dry kiss. This should have seemed extraordinary for two people who had maintained only God knew how many lovers between them. Interestingly, for Jessica, it did not seem extraordinary; it seemed inordinately right.
There were three rapid knocks on the dressing-room door before Bea came bursting in. "Jessica—" She stopped when she saw Will down on his knee.
"Yes?" Jessica asked.
"Um—" She was looking at Will's hand on Jessica's. "They've sealed off West End and Dirk's going to frisk the audience or something."
"He's going to do what?"
Bea tore her eyes away from Will's hand to look at her. "Yeah. He says he's going to keep them in the cafeteria and screen them one by one."
"I'm beginning to think Dirk's a little whacked," Jessica muttered. "Okay. Let me hop in the shower and then I'll be up to see what's going on."
Bea backed out and closed the door.
Jessica smiled and looked into Will's eyes. "You realize that tongues are going to start wagging now. And we were doing so well."
He smiled back. "Are you sure you're all right?"
She nodded.
"Jess?"
"Hmm?"
"What's with your secretary's hair?"
She threw her head back and laughed. When she finished she looked back down at him, shaking her head and still chuckling. "I have no idea. When I first hired her, I thought she was pretty normal, but lately—"
He was kissing her.
Will was thirty-eight years old and had never been married. She was thirty-four and had been married once, disastrously and years ago. The kiss was wonderful, but what were the chances of this ever working out?
"What do you mean we can't get on the bus?" the old lady wanted to know. Jessica's studio audience had been ushered upstairs to the company cafeteria for the traditional buffet following the taping. (Jessica always preferred that her audience come hungry; she said it made them more alert.) "Last time I came to the show, you wouldn't let me finish my dessert before shoving me on the bus and shipping us out. Now I've had two desserts and I want to go home and you won't let me get on the bus!"
"I apologize for the delay, madam," the security guard blocking the door said. "If you'll just take a seat, I'm sure the buses will be ready soon."
"What's going on?" a man came up to ask. He looked at his watch. "It's getting late and I've got to drive back to Philly. And where did those other people go? Did they get to leave?"
"The president of the network is coming right up to explain the delay," another guard said, walking over. "If you will just take a seat—"
"I've been sitting for days!" complained a young woman. "I came here from Australia!"
"Jessica, damn it, come back here!" Dirk Lawson barked down the hall.
"If you're going to hold my audience captive," Jessica said as she followed Cassy toward the cafeteria, "then the least I can do is wait with them."
Cassy stopped and turned around. "Jessica, you can't." "Why not?" "Because your stalker's probably in there!" Dirk said, striding over to take hold of Jessica's arm.
"You put them through metal detectors when they got here," Jessica said, exasperated. "What's he going to do, stab me with a plastic knife?" She shook Dirk's hand off and pushed past Cassy. "These people are my guests." And she banged her way through the doors—scaring the heck out of the security guys—and entered the cafeteria.
The audience members looked up with interest. Jessica stepped on a chair to climb up on a table. She had showered, washing off all the gook on her face and in her hair, and then had hastily blow-dried her hair. She was in well fitting jeans, blouse, hoop earrings and loafers and looked fantastic.
"Hi, everybody, I'm so sorry about the delay. I was downstairs taking a shower and I didn't hear about the bus problem until just now. So I wanted to tell you it won't be long, we're trying to board people one by one, and I'll be waiting right here with you until each and every one of you is on his or her way."
She pointed across the cafeteria to Denny and Alicia, who had just come in carrying large cardboard boxes. "We've brought up some bound galleys of my book I thought you might find interesting. I'll sign them for you. It's not the finished book, but it is, technically, the first printing, and it just might be worth something someday. And of course you know there's lots of food and fruit and cheese and desserts and coffee and tea and juice and water and stuff over there, you are to just help yourselves.
People roared their approval.
"While we're trying to sort out the bus problem," she continued, having decided there was no need for her fans to know that they were being considered potential psycho stalkers, "we'll be taking your picture, and taking down your name and address, and we'll be asking you a few questions. This is so we can contact you about future shows that might be of interest to you."
An hour later, Cassy leaned heavily into Denny in the corner of the cafeteria. “Before, they were breaking the doors down to get out and now they won't leave,” she groaned. The crowd was laughing and chatting with Jessica, who was still signing bound galleys of her book, publicity photos and DBS T-shirts, and handing out water bottles and coffee mugs and baseball hats and whatever old promotional goodies they had been able to find downstairs.
Finally, at almost midnight, every audience member had been screened and bused off. No stalker found. Jessica left West End for home, bodyguard in tow.
Cassy stood by the elevator, wearily preparing for the next phase. The West End Broadcasting Center was still sealed off and there was a lot more screening to do. There was the whole news group in Studio A and then the evening shift in the Darenbrook research group in another part of the complex.
This was the part she dreaded. She did not want to find out that Jessica's stalker was someone working right here at West End.
3
"If you must know," Jessica said, arriving the following day at her office with Cassy on her heels, "I'm more than a little annoyed that no one will do anything about that creep outside my apartment, but you'll shut down the whole complex and shake my audience down over the only polite stalker I've ever had."
"Jessica! This stalker has infiltrated security!"
"Careful," Jessica said, throwing her head in the direction of the hall, "you’re blocking the view of my bodyguard. We mustn't have that. Good morning, Bea."
"Messages on your desk, Jessica, coffee on the way," her secretary said, standing up. "Hello, Mrs. Cochran."
"Hi—" Cassy stopped for a moment, vaguely taken back. Then she recovered. "You've done something to your hair."
"Do you like it?" Bea asked, smiling, touching it.
"Sure," Cassy said helplessly, following Jessica into her office.
"Hi, Alexandra Eyes," Jessica hailed the anchorwoman sitting on her couch.
When Jessica had first arrived at DBS, she had not even met the star anchorwoman for the news division before deciding to hate her. All Jessica had heard was how great Alexandra was, how smart Alexandra was, how beautiful Alexandra was, how lucky DBS was to get her (as if she were chopped liver). The only problem was, after Jessica had gotten to know Alexandra, she found out that it was all true—Alexandra was smart and beautiful, and not only were they lucky to have her, Jessica was quickly ineffably grateful that Alexandra wanted to be her friend.
And thus the talk-show host and the anchorwoman had ended up becoming inseparable friends, and Jessica called her "Alexandra Eyes"—a reference to the anchorwoman's trademark, a set of positively mesmerizing blue-gray eyes—instead of "Queen of the Daisy Chain," which was how she had originally perceived her.
Whenever Cassy had a problem dealing with either Jessica or Alexandra, she would inevitably ask the other for assistance. Jessica assumed that this morning was no exception. She'd bet her bottom dollar that Cassy had coerced Alexandra into talking to her about the stalker.
"Hi, Jess," Alexandra said from behind a newspaper. "I was just reading an item in
Liz Smith. 'Everyone who's anyone is clamoring to be invited to the party of the year to be given next month by mega-movie star Georgiana Hamilton-Ayres and DBS anchorwoman Alexandra Waring. It's being held in honor of their pal Jessica Wright and the publication of her autobiography. Yours truly is invited—of course!'"
Cassy closed the office door in the face of Jessica's bodyguard and came in, whispering, "Jessica, what in Sam Hill's with your secretary's hair?"
"Cleo did it," Jessica said, dropping her big leather satchel on the floor by her desk with a thud. "She says it's hero-worship."
Cassy and Alexandra exchanged looks—which Jessica caught. "Leave the kid alone. She's quick, and great on the phone." She picked up the pile of messages on her desk, started to scan them and then paused, looking up. "Not that you aren't two of my favorite people in the whole wide world, but what do you want? I've got a ton of reading to do before today's show." She reached for the telephone and started punching in numbers while waiting for their answer. Neither woman would take offense, Jessica knew; it was just how one had to proceed in TV in order to get everything done.
"It's about your stalker," Alexandra began.
"I've got a bodyguard with me twenty-four hours a day, what more do you want?" Jessica demanded. Into the phone, "Hi, is Kate there, please? It's Jessica Wright returning her phone call."
"Dirk thinks—" Cassy began.
"Dirk is a jerk, Cassy," Jessica said. "I'm sorry, but he is, and this macho power trip he's on with me has got to stop. I've got his bodyguard—" She spoke into the phone, her voice immediately softening. "Hi."
Cassy looked at Alexandra and rolled her eyes.
"Dirk is a little heavy-handed," Alexandra said.
Jessica was smiling now, listening into the phone. And then she said, "Really? It is?" To Alexandra, "Could you go out and tell Bea to stand by the fax machine? There's a fax coming in from Kate."
Alexandra did as she asked.
"We'll need to make this fast, Kate," Jessica said into the phone, "because the big boss is sitting here." There was silence for a moment while Jessica listened, then suddenly, she looked surprised. To Cassy, "I'm talking to Kate Weston and she says you've been talking to her."
"And I'll be talking to her again later today."
"It's coming through," Alexandra reported, returning to her spot on the couch.
"Okay, it's coming through," Jessica said into the phone. "Thanks a lot. I'll call you later." Jessica jumped out of her chair. "It's a review from some magazine that all the booksellers and librarians read before the book comes out." As Jessica reached the door, Bea was on the way in with the fax. Jessica quickly took it from her, walking back slowly as she read, then stopping altogether, allowing Alexandra a chance to jump up and read over her shoulder.
TALK by Jessica Wright
Bennett, Fitzallen & Coe 232pp.
$22
The autobiography of the TV talk-show host
makes for terrific reading. Born a child of privi-
lege in suburban New Jersey, Wright was
known for her brains, wit, charm and physical
attractiveness even as an adolescent. However,
hers is a ta1e of gifts gone awry, a young life
turned to sex and excess, of harrowing adven-
tures and narrow escapes, including a marriage
to a violent drug dealer. Ultimately it's the
story of an immensely talented young woman
whose accidental discovery on a public-access
TV show in Tucson set her on the road to over
coming first her drug addiction and then later
her alcoholism, and blossoming into the most
beloved talk-show host since Oprah. At turns
saucy, sassy, intelligent, and hilarious (much
like Wright herself), this memoir is surprisingly
moving. An introduction by Wright's friend
and fellow DBS star, anchorwoman Alexandra
Waring, is a bonus. Fans will eat this up. (June)
250,000 first printing. $200,000 ad/promo.
Author Tour. 1st Serial to McCall's; Featured
Selection Literary Guild and Doubleday Book
Club, TV Rights to Strenn Productions
.
"Wow, Jessica," Alexandra said, patting her back. "This is unbelievable. This is wonderful!"
"Of course you'd think it's wonderful," Jessica said modestly. "You only rewrote every sentence in the book for me."
"I did not," Alexandra said.
"Yes, you did, Alexandra Eyes, but who cares? They like it!" Jessica waltzed around her office and then she stopped to strike a mockingly seductive pose. "Please note the physical attractiveness for which I have always been famous."
All three laughed.
While it was true that Jessica had become a beautiful woman, it was equally true that until very recently no one could convince her of that fact. Since coming to DBS she had always compared herself to Alexandra, the dark-haired "intelligent beauty" of the airwaves, who had always used those blue-gray eyes the way a master carpenter wielded a hammer. And then there was Cassy, the most classically beautiful of the three—with blue eyes and long blond hair, streaked now with ash gray, still wound around up on the back of her head in a style reminiscent of the seventies—who had run away from her looks all her life and so had insisted on the production side of the industry. Even now that she was closing in fast on fifty, while she might not stop people dead in their tracks the way she used to, Cassy still turned heads wherever she went.
People around West End had nicknamed the women "Charlie's Angels." (Jessica was always quick to insist that no matter what anybody thought, she was the smart one.)
"Come here, sweetie, and sit down," Cassy said to Jessica, pointing to the couch. "We need to talk about this stalker business."
"How many network presidents call the help 'sweetie,' I wonder," Jessica remarked to Alexandra, sitting down. "May it be duly recorded in the notes that 'sweetie' is now seated."
"Okay, first, we need a list of who you think your stalker might be." "How would I know?" Jessica said. "I don't know anyone named Leopold."
"I told Cassy to put the Doc on the list," Alexandra said.
Jessica hesitated.
Matthew, aka the Doc, had been Jessica's one almost significant relationship since she had stopped drinking. He had been a doctor, divorced, with two kids living nearby in Manhattan, and while Jessica thought her prayers had been answered, her friend Alexandra had been (a pain in the neck and) less enthusiastic about him. As it turned out, about ten months later, Jessica finally had to admit that she could not ignore that her boyfriend was self-medicating with highly addictive drugs and that his mood changes were unbearable. And no matter how many times the Doc told her differently, Jessica knew dam well that a shot of Demerol was not like a shot of penicillin and Valium was not in the least like Prozac.
It had been the Doc's lack of interest in his children that had gotten to her most, though. It had now been two years since Jessica had broken up with the Doc, but she still saw his children occasionally. Even his ex-wife had come to like her and vice versa. It was through the ex-wife, in fact, that Jessica had recently learned the Doc had crashed into a rehab upstate, an institution especially set up for doctors so they wouldn't lose their license to practice. The Doc had not gone for the usual twenty-eight days, but for three months, and Jessica knew there was a good chance he might be truly clean for the first time in years.
And it had, admittedly, crossed her mind at one point that the Doc might have something to do with these letters. That he might still hold a grudge and wanted to scare her.
"Okay, put the Doc down," Jessica finally said. "I'll give you his ex-wife's number. She can tell you where he is these days."
"Good," Cassy said. "Who else?"
"I gave her the name of that guy in the Nerd Brigade," Alexandra said.
The Nerd Brigade was the generic term for t
he electronic research and development staff under Dr. Irwin Kessler in another part of the complex.
"Oh, come on, Alexandra, no way he's a stalker. Leave him alone. Just putting his name on that list is going to hurt his career."
"No, no." Cassy was shaking her head. "Absolutely not. This is completely confidential."
"Yeah, right," Jessica said skeptically. "If it's in a file somewhere..."
"Jessica, get it through your head," Cassy said sharply. "Whoever this is, is playing a very serious game. And if it's one of our people, then he is a person we do not want here."
Alexandra withdrew a folded sheet of paper from her blazer pocket. "Cassy.'" She handed her the paper. "This is a list of the people around here who I know are smitten with Jessica."
"Let me see that," Jessica said, snatching the paper out of Cassy's hands. "What is this? You've got Will on this list!" She looked at Alexandra. "What are you, nuts? You write down your own friend and producer as a possible stalker!"
"This is not a—" Alexandra started to protest.
"The woman in the cafeteria!" Jessica nearly yelled, looking back at the list. "You mean that fat lady who's always yakking at me over the desserts?"
"Jessica," Alexandra admonished. (Cassy was laughing.)
"Well, this is weird! Will? The lady at the dessert wagon? You've got my cue-card holder on here! And look—your news intern, your graphic designer, your soundman. What the hell are you doing wrong over there, Alexandra, if your whole staff's obsessed with me?"
They were laughing, all of them now.
Talk (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 4) Page 3
