Talk of the Town

by Sherrill Bodine

  When Rebecca ran into the Daily Mail lobby half an hour late, Pauline stood beside a red-faced, weeping Shannon.

  Pauline shrugged her shoulders and looked bewildered.

  “Shannon, what’s wrong?” Rebecca asked quietly. Her instincts to help moved her closer.

  “I think David misunderstood. All I wanted was for this to be finished,” Shannon sobbed. “I honestly didn’t mean it the way it came out. I just wanted to know if I still had my job. Not to hurt you any more.”

  Shannon thrust the framed poster of the Chicago skyline that had hung in her office into Rebecca’s hands. “I understand it never belonged to me. I don’t know what else to do. I’m sorry for everything.” Covering her quivering lips with one palm, Shannon bolted out the door.

  “Did that make any sense to you?” Pauline asked, shaking her head.

  Rebecca nodded. “A little. I think Shannon is moving on personally.”

  “But what was she talking about with David? He has been in a terrible mood since his meeting with Shannon.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything is fine.” Once she might have worried about David’s bad mood, but now she knew she had the power to change it.

  But the instant Rebecca walked into David’s office, the buoyant, enthusiastic feeling of being on a new, exciting path crashed and burned.

  “Hello, Rebecca.” He stood when she came in, like he always did. And like he always did, his face and eyes changed when he saw her. But today was different.

  The light didn’t come on inside him. Instead, his eyes were cold as he stood, hands rammed into his trouser pockets, and stared at her.

  Fear clasped its icy hand around her heart, but then reason took hold.

  This is a business meeting.

  Of course, that was the reason the usual sexual tension wasn’t crackling in the air between them.

  She told herself not to worry. Even though all the other executive offices were dark and empty, she pretended to be discreet and sat in the chair on the other side of his huge desk, instead of on the desk as he’d once teased. Or on his lap or in his arms, where she wanted to be.

  Her mouth curled thinking of the incongruity of this stiff formality when a few days ago they were passionately involved in acts she knew must be illegal in several states.

  “I tried to reach you earlier today, Rebecca.”

  Why was he looking at her in such a strange, remote way? Was this the business glare he’d perfected to intimidate and conquer the competition? She wasn’t sure she approved.

  “Are you upset about something?” Throwing discretion away, she stood and moved around the massive desk to his side.

  “It’s been a . . . challenging day.” He looked up at her, his eyes searching her face, like he was looking for something he’d lost. “Perhaps we should go somewhere else to talk.” He swiveled the heavy stuffed black leather chair to the other side and sprang up.

  Watching him move quickly to the small built-in bar, she was struck by the same sort of panic she’d felt earlier when she couldn’t reach Kate.

  David wasn’t accessible. For some reason he’d distanced himself, closed her out, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  “I was visiting Kate,” she called out to him in the hope of lightening his mood.

  He turned, a martini glass in his hand. “How is she feeling?”

  “Great! Actually we were busy . . . brainstorming her new show when you couldn’t reach me. She’ll be back in tomorrow to talk with you about it.”

  “Good. I’m glad she’s feeling better.” He took a long drink and rolled his shoulders like he was tense and trying to unwind.

  Maybe he was just tired. He looked tired. He looked like he had the weight of the world on those broad, wonderful shoulders. She could help him.

  Smiling, she walked slowly toward him, trying to be provocative, trying to charm him into a good mood. “I think you’ll be very happy with Kate’s ideas for the new show.”

  “What kind of ideas?” he asked, the same watchful look in his eyes.

  Excited for Kate and hoping it would take the edge off whatever bad news was wearing him down, she decided to tell him.

  “Kate has come up with a brilliant new format. She wants to combine finance with cooking and . . . a personal advice segment.” She’d hesitated before adding the last, because she wasn’t ready to share her new career path with him. She didn’t quite believe it herself, and he was acting so . . . removed.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “What? No Chicago society gossip? No place for you?”

  He’ll love the idea of “Ask Becky” giving advice. I will tell him. “As a matter of fact, Kate does think there might be a place for me.” She smiled and swayed closer, to put her palms on his hard, warm chest.

  He took one step back and turned to set his glass carefully on the bar. The separation might be mere inches, but it was more like Lake Michigan lay between them.

  Rebecca wished she could disappear right out of this room. Be back at Kate’s still believing the magic of Rebecca and David was in the air. She stared at him, needing to understand. A hot wave of fear hit her. “What has changed? Please tell me. I can fix it.”

  David crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes heavy and watchful. “When I had my meeting with Shannon she told me about your . . . discussion in her office. You telling her that you would be getting your column and a television show out of me because you’d earned it.” He shrugged and then threw the dregs of his martini down his throat. “The implications are clear. I didn’t appreciate the unprofessional way she sobbed out the story, and I told her she’d have to make some changes. But that doesn’t change the facts. Evidently, it’s common knowledge you’d do anything to get your gossip column back.”

  His words stunned her. Little tremors of fear rolled up from her core while she struggled to find the right words. Shannon had tried to warn her, but she’d been so sure of herself she’d not paid attention. “Shannon is very upset over a personal matter between us that has nothing to do with you. It’s all tied up in her feelings for George and her belief that I stole him away from her. It has nothing to do with us. You misunderstood her.”

  He dropped his arms to his sides, looking so vulnerable she ached for him. “I’d like to believe that this is nothing more than my overreacting to her hysterics. But here you are with an idea for programming that somehow includes you. How can I believe what we’re sharing had nothing to do with business?”

  “My choice to become lovers with you was a personal decision,” she said softly, closing the space between them. “Not a business one. Remember, you taught me separating one from the other is possible.”

  His eyes lightened, and his lips began to curl in his irresistible dimpled smile.

  It’s all right. I’ve fixed it.

  “So you never bragged to anyone that you’d charm me into giving you back your job?”

  She heard herself declaring to both Harry and Kate that she’d do anything to get back her column. She wanted, needed, to be honest with him.

  “I can’t . . . exactly . . . say that I never planned to try to convince you to give back my job.” She could hear nervousness in her voice, feel her face flush, and it scared her.

  His lips curled into the cold, steely-eyed smile of the David Sumner who had taken away her job that first day. “Christ, Rebecca, I’m sorry you felt like you had to sleep with me in the hopes of getting your job back. Although it was my pleasure. Can we consider a role on the new show payment in full for . . . services rendered?”

  Images flashed in front of her. Her heart breaking as her parents drove away again and again, leaving her with Granny. Her pride shattering when she caught her husband betraying her in their marriage bed. Each time she’d done nothing. Felt powerless. She’d shut down her anger and the soul-searing pain, hiding it from the world.

  This time the pain was too much. Her self-control dissolved into rage, giving power to the upward swipe of her hand
.

  The contact of her flat palm against his cheek rippled through her arm. “How dare you say such a thing to me!”

  His derisive laughter threw her off guard. She stepped back, but he jerked her to his chest.

  “Now that we’re both on the same page, Rebecca, we can still enjoy each other.” His mouth swept down in a hot open kiss that made her dizzy and sick. There was nothing in this kiss of the David she loved.

  She pushed hard against his chest until he let her go. She stumbled back, the hard knot of pain in her throat strangling her. “You bastard!” Her voice quivered. “You finally get your wish. I quit!”

  Chapter 22

  Rebecca stood on the sidewalk outside the Daily Mail building, looking blindly up and down Michigan Avenue. She couldn’t remember how she got out here.

  Shooting her curious looks, Christmas shoppers and tourists walked around her. She blinked several times, her eye sockets drained of all tears. The millions of twinkling lights strung along the Magnificent Mile were hurting her eyes. The cold late-November night air stung her wet, raw cheeks and the still-burning palm of the hand she’d used to slap David. It told her she was still alive.

  I jumped, and it killed me.

  Killed the secret little hope buried deep inside her that with him she could have it all. She’d clung to that fantasy about true love, hiding it under layers and layers of sophistication and witty cynicism for years. Now it was gone.

  She felt hollow without it. Cold, like the part of her that fueled her to work harder, play harder, and be bigger than life had been partly extinguished.

  Like a zombie, she turned to walk north on Michigan Avenue, to her condo. She knew people didn’t really die of broken hearts. She wouldn’t dissolve into a pool of despair in front of Neiman Marcus or Water Tower Place. Only in period movies did heroines succumb to such drama.

  She remembered writing about a beautiful socialite who threatened to starve herself to death when her husband left her for an emaciated model. But it wasn’t long before she fell in love with her divorce lawyer, who was richer and more handsome than her ex. Now she was a pleasantly trim suburbanite in Winnetka.

  I’m already spinning the truth. Already hiding from it. Hiding from myself like always.

  A dark, ugly robe of pain wrapped around her chest, tightening.

  How could David walk away so easily? How could he have believed, said, such horrible things?

  Because I’m so eminently leaveable, like I’ve always been.

  How could he have fooled her so completely? My God, she was a mature, successful, worldly woman!

  She’d wanted to believe the fairy tale could come true. David had touched her in such a way that she yearned to open her heart to him and share a life together.

  Four blocks from her condo it started to snow big, wet flakes that wrecked her hair and soaked through her coat. She thought of hailing a cab but kept walking. The cold, wet, blowing snow seemed like the icing on the cake of her misery.

  Just inside her condo door she shrugged out of the soaking-wet cashmere and let it fall, damp and heavy, onto the floor. In the bedroom she kicked off her heels and threw her tote onto the bed. She lay down next to it. On her side, the way she always slept, her cheek rested on the silk pillowcase. Quickly, it grew damp from her hair and her tears.

  I will not cry anymore. A sob burst out like it had been heaved up by emotion so strong even her iron will couldn’t stop it.

  I’ll let myself cry for five minutes. She curled into a fetal position, rocking back and forth with the power of her painful sobs. It wasn’t just her heart breaking, it was her body ripping in two parts.

  How had it all gone so wrong when it had seemed so perfect? Only hours ago she’d marveled at how she’d ever lived without David, without the emotional explosion love brings, lighting up her life like fireworks on the Fourth of July. It was worse now because she’d had it for an instant and knew what she was missing from her life.

  Exhausted, sucking in a hiccupping breath to try to stop her fading sobs, Rebecca turned onto her back to stare up at the ceiling, her eyes tired and burning.

  She knew she could never go back to the Daily Mail. That was finished. A part of her life she must cut away. Like David had cut her off. Why? She hadn’t seen it coming. Could it have anything to do with his promise? Did she underestimate the depth of his commitment to that promise? Had he been looking for an excuse to break it off with her because the force of his feelings frightened him, like they once had Rebecca?

  Or am I spinning the truth again to make it less painful?

  Her eyes open, she faced the truth. She was alone again. But this time she felt so desolate, she couldn’t move or think beyond the pain. Life had taught her not to wallow in self-pity but to take action.

  I have to do it again.

  She forced herself up off the bed to stand in front of the mirror and stared into her pain-ravaged face. She knew she’d been a fool to risk this heartbreak, but it was too late now.

  She pressed her palms into her eyes, blotting out the world and wiping away her tears.

  With a ragged sigh, she dropped her hands and looked in the mirror to see the slight difference in her eyes. She was ready to do what had to be done.

  Charlie’s business card was tucked safely in the back of her small purple Symthson Panama diary. One glance at the clock confirmed it was past the dinner hour.

  “Charlie Bartholomew here!”

  A little frisson of shock ran through her at the sound of his voice. She couldn’t believe she was making this call. Yet she knew it was the right thing to do. This must be the true definition of courage.

  One part is the primal me howling in the wilderness. The other is the me that says get a grip on yourself and do something about it.

  “Charlie, it’s Rebecca Covington.”

  “What a nice surprise! I’ve been hopin’ to hear from you before the end of the year.”

  Her time had been nearly up. “Here I am!” She forced a laugh, a half-baked one, but at least she wasn’t crying. “I’d like to meet with you as soon as possible.”

  “Well, now, I’ve got a busy schedule tomorrow. Could we do breakfast? I have it served in my office every mornin’ at eight a.m.”

  “I’ll see you at eight. By the way, I like my eggs over medium.”

  His belly laugh sounded deeper than usual. “Always liked your spunk. Lookin’ forward to seein’ you tomorrow.”

  She slowly hung up, closed her eyes, and counted eight beats of her heart, relishing the feeling of coming back alive. That extra little spurt of energy she depended on to see her through flickered back to life.

  The phone by her bed rang, and her heart seemed to skip a beat. David? Hope and dread made her hand shake as she answered. “Hello.”

  “Rebecca, I’ve been trying to track you down.” Kate’s worried voice cut through her like a knife. “Your cell phone is off. I was concerned when you didn’t call about your meeting. Are you still with David?”

  Rebecca willed herself to ignore the nearly overwhelming urge to wail out her pain. She couldn’t burden Kate. Certainly not tonight. “No, I’m alone. I need to talk to you tomorrow. But I won’t be at the office.”

  “Something’s wrong. I can hear it in your voice. If David didn’t like our ideas for the program, I’d prefer to hear it from you first tonight.”

  “No, it has nothing to do with you. I promise.”

  After a short silence, Kate sighed. “If you’re not going to be at work tomorrow, then come to my place at twelve-thirty for lunch. Harry has arranged for a delivery, and I must be home to sign for it. Something about a holistic approach to my recovery.”

  “That’s my darling Harry. I’ll see you then.”

  It felt good to have a plan. Some reason to get up and face the lonely day. She’d call Harry next. Then Pauline. By noon tomorrow, everything would be in place for her to start fixing herself.

  The next morning, Rebecca took a last look
at herself in the foyer mirrors. She’d learned about survival over the years. Brick by painful brick, she’d walled in her feelings for David. Only when she was stronger and could bear examining her feelings would she risk little by little taking the wall down.

  It had been a lot easier to fix her red, swollen eyes with hourly applications of soothing masks. To be absolutely, positively sure she could pull off this meeting with Charlie, she put on what she fondly called her “drop-dead gorgeous suit.” The red Valentino suit people were so busy admiring that they didn’t notice if she looked a bit haggard around the edges.

  Twenty minutes later, with her leather portfolio of “Ask Becky” columns under her arm, she strolled confidently into the Chicago Journal and Courier building. It was a Gothic structure, older than the Daily Mail building. The heavy wood moldings and fine glass fixtures in the lobby harkened back to the days Colonel McCormick ruled his newspaper empire.

  The security guard checked her name and showed her the private elevator to the executive offices. There the doors slid open to a walnut-paneled foyer with a thick, rich ruby-colored carpet.

  There was such an air of quiet elegance she felt she should whisper to the older, austere-looking receptionist who was looking sternly up at her.

  “I’m Rebecca Covington. Mr. Bartholomew is expecting me.”

  “Beautiful suit,” the woman said coolly. She stood and, with a glance that indicated Rebecca should follow her, walked down a short hallway. She had the best posture Rebecca had ever seen.

  At the end of the hall, the woman rapped once on thick double doors topped by a magnificent carved lintel. Without waiting, she opened one side for Rebecca to walk through.

  In front of large windows with a view of Lake Michigan and the Chicago River, Charlie Bartholomew sat behind an antique desk of mammoth proportions. Everything about the room was scaled to match. Bookcases lined two walls, and a built-in bar ran the length of another. In front of the second set of windows, a small round table was set with china and crystal for breakfast.