Any Given Moment (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 3)

by Laura Van Wormer

  So it was with the greatest of pleasure that the FBI dramatically descended upon the executive offices of Metropolis Pictures in no less than four helicopters. It was like a scene from one of the stu­dio's own action movies, with agents charging all entrances and exits of the building, waving warrants, impounding the building, and relieving all workers of any papers on their person. Within fifteen minutes, Agent Healy in New York was notified that agents had obtained what they were after: a copy of the film Race in Space, and a file of handwritten notes between the president of Metropolis and the chairman of lCA, Creighton Burns.

  Meanwhile, hovering over the administrative building of Me­tropolis Pictures was another helicopter, this one with the call let­ters of KPL-TV. It was the Los Angeles affiliate of DBS.

  When the authorities smashed through the door to Creighton Berns's office at lCA, they found him in his private bathroom trying to stuff papers down the toilet. Unfortunately for him, even de­signer toilets back up when crammed with paper.

  The authorities read him his rights, and perhaps because it was Hollywood, they put handcuffs on him before taking him outside past the cameras.

  Ben Rothstein was standing outside with the press and waved a friendly bye-bye to Creighton as he was taken to a police car.

  "It's all rather exciting, isn't it?" Dorothy said to Henry later that night, watching the events of the day play out on "The DBS Nightly News." They were in their nightclothes, propped up against the pillows in bed.

  Henry remained silent, watching as the story unfolded on the screen.

  "Josh did say they got everything they needed?" she asked.

  "Yes," Henry said, eyes still on the screen.

  "Then what's the matter?"

  He didn't say anything.

  "Henry, I'm speaking to you."

  After a moment, he turned to look at her. "I overheard you on the phone today."

  "Yes, well, darling, our clients have been without an agent for a month, someone has to get on the stick."

  "But I don't want it to be us."

  Dorothy looked at her husband for a long moment.

  "I'm tired, Doe," he said. "I don't want to do it anymore. I'm too old."

  "Nonsense," she said.

  "But I am," he told her.

  She picked up the remote control, pointed it at the TV, and clicked it off. She dropped her hand to her lap and the room fell silent. They sat there like that for quite some time. Finally Dorothy said, "But I don't want us to be old, Henry."

  Elizabeth, Monty, and Georgiana watched "The DBS Nightly News" broadcast from the control room of the West End Broad­casting Center with Jessica Wright by their side. In the middle of the broadcast they were joined by Cassy Cochran, the president of DBS.

  "Word is," Cassy whispered to them, "the ICA board's so pan­icked they want to ask Ross Perot to be chairman."

  They all laughed, feeling terrific. DBS News had broken the story earlier in the day, and although all of the networks were running with it now, DBS was still the only one with footage of the actual arrests. It was quite a coup. When Creighton Berns was shown being led out of the ICA building in handcuffs, the control room burst into cheers.

  When the newscast was over, bottles of champagne and Perrier water were broken out in the newsroom. Today would bring DBS News Emmy awards; and tonight had brought them top ratings. When Alexandra Waring came in from the set, the group cheered again and the anchor merely grinned, curtsied, and gestured to Georgi­ana, Elizabeth, and Montgomery, saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the best damn stringers we've ever had!" The three re­ceived a near-riotous ovation.

  A few minutes later Georgiana excused herself to use the ladies' room. When she came out, she found Cassy Cochran waiting for her in the hall.

  "Georgiana? May I speak with you for a moment?" she asked, leading Georgiana back into Alexandra's dressing room and closing the door. "Could we sit down for a moment?"

  Georgiana felt vaguely alarmed as she slipped into a black-and­-white Eames chair.

  Cassy sat down opposite her, on the upholstered bench in front of Alexandra's dressing table. "You've had a rather rough week."

  Georgiana nodded. "It's just starting, I'm afraid."

  "Yes," Cassy agreed.

  The tension in the air was unbearable. Finally Cassy said, "Al­exandra and I are very close. And, technically, I am also her boss."

  "Yes, I know," Georgiana said. Here it comes, she thought. "If you want to endanger your career, Georgiana, fine, but leave our star anchorwoman out of it."

  "She's told me about the two of you," Cassy continued, turning, Georgiana thought, a little pink.

  Georgiana didn't say anything.

  "As the president of DBS, obviously I have to be concerned," Cassy said slowly. "It's my job. But personally, I couldn't be more thrilled for Alexandra. Or for you. I wanted to tell you that I think you may be the best thing that ever happened to her, and that I will be here to lend support—moral or otherwise—should either of you need it. It goes without saying the network stands behind Alexandra a hundred percent, no matter what she chooses to do."

  Stunned, Georgiana could only sit there.

  "Walk? In New York? What are you, crazy?" Monty asked when Elizabeth suggested they walk from West End to Central Park. She looked at him and he cringed. "Oh, God, I'm sorry—I didn't mean that!"

  But Elizabeth only laughed and flagged a cab. "No, you're right, it would be crazy." She got in. "Let's go somewhere," she sug­gested.

  "Where?" he asked, climbing in behind her.

  "I don't know," she said. "Anywhere."

  Monty thought a moment and then said, "Driver, take us to Brooklyn, the River Cafe."

  "I've never been there," Elizabeth said.

  The cab turned right on West End Avenue, heading south. "I'll have to pay the moon to get a decent table," Monty ex­plained. "But the food's great and it's really ro—" He stopped.

  Elizabeth looked at him. "Romantic?" she finished for him.

  He looked at her. "Does that bother you?"

  "That you fall in love with every woman you meet in New York? Not really," she said, laughing.

  "Hey, wait a minute! I just thought I might be in love with Georgiana. Besides, given the reality of her nature—say, what is the action between those two?"

  "Which two?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Georgiana and Jessica Wright. You don't suppose..."

  "No," Elizabeth told him.

  "You sure?"

  "Very sure." They rode along in companionable silence. "Mon­ty, I'm sorry, but I don't want to go to Brooklyn," she finally said.

  "No? Where do you want to go?"

  "I don't know," she sighed, looking out the window, "but some­where."

  "How about Chicago? Driver, we want to go to LaGuardia airport.”

  "LaGuardia!" the driver said.

  "Yeah!"

  The driver did a U-turn on Eleventh, came back up to Fifty­-seventh, and turned right to go across town.

  "But I don't want to go to Chicago tonight," Elizabeth said after a while. "I mean, do you? Really?"

  "Well," Monty said, "where do you want to go?"

  "If I knew, I would tell you," she said.

  "Well somebody's gotta know!" the driver called back to them. "I can't be makin' like Nancy Kerrigan all night doin' figure eights out here!"

  "Do you want me to take you back to the Hillingses'?" he asked.

  "No," she said, looking straight ahead.

  "Do you want to go somewhere with me?" he asked, placing his arm around her shoulder.

  "Yes," she said, looking straight ahead.

  Monty sighed, running his hand over his chin. "You're a real pain in the ass, Professor, do you know that? You know everything in the Encyclopedia Britannica, but do you know what you want? Nooooo."

  She smiled, but she still looked straight ahead. "Yes, I do."

  He threw his hands up. "So what do you want?"

  "I want you," she s
aid softly, looking straight ahead still, but settling in against his shoulder.

  "Ask a smart question," he said, kissing her forehead, "get a smart answer. Driver, we're going to the Regency Hotel.

  David finally found a parking spot down the block. He walked up Havenhurst Drive, trying to remember which of these West Hollywood complexes was Susie's. He finally found it—a split-level stucco affair. He walked up the stairs and let himself in through the iron gate. Some security. The complex wrapped around a swim­ming pool, where various people were lying in the sun, most of them drinking beer. David didn't see Susie and so he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  Her apartment door was open and music was coming out of it. When he stepped inside, it was obvious that a casual late-afternoon party was in progress.

  Everybody looked at him for a moment and then turned back to their conversations. Finally one of the girls came over.

  "Is Susie here?" he asked. "Susie Lanahan?"

  She shook her head. "She moved out."

  "Where to? I'm an old friend of hers and I want to say hello."

  "Wait a second." She went off somewhere in the apartment and came back with a piece of paper, which she gave to him. It was an address in Santa Monica.

  Santa Monica. Too far.

  He decided to swing by the Sports Connection and take a look at the women working out. Maybe he could find a date there for tonight.

  "I nearly died when Cassy started talking about us in your dress­ing room," Georgiana said, lying in bed. "I thought she was about to read me the riot act." She could feel the corner of Alexandra's face pull into a smile.

  "I asked her for some time off," Alexandra said. "I had to tell her—I haven't volunteered for a vacation in five years, so she knew something was up."

  Georgiana smiled.

  "Where do you want to go?" Alexandra asked.

  "I don't care."

  "Mmm, well it would be nice to have some privacy."

  Georgiana raised her head. "Fat chance, unless you're up for Antarctica."

  Alexandra smiled, touching the side of Georgiana's face before kissing her softly. "You know, I'm very much in love with you."

  "Thank heavens," Georgiana sighed.

  "This is positively bizarre, Professor," Montgomery Grant Smith said, standing there in his boxer shorts and undershirt, feel­ing like a complete idiot.

  "Well, you wanted to know what I was really like," Elizabeth said, dressed only in one of Monty's undershirts, sitting cross­-legged on the big bed. "Talking is mandatory, even in bed." Her eyes were twinkling. "Well, most of the time."

  He rolled his eyes, holding the pillow in front of him even tighter. He was dreadfully embarrassed. It was one thing to sleep with a woman, it was another to have her demand that they sit in his underwear and talk for a while. On the other hand, he knew Eliz­abeth was enjoying herself and felt completely comfortable. She had been talking on and on in a joyous way he was certain he had never heard before.

  But did this mean she was always going to want to talk this way? Because if she was­…

  "I'm making you nervous, aren't I? I used to drive David crazy."

  "Oh, Christ," Monty said, feeling a streak of jealousy, "we're not going to talk about him, are we?" The flash of anger got him to throw the pillow to the floor and crawl onto the bed.

  "Heavens no, particularly since you're so much more attrac­tive," she said.

  By the time he was sitting cross-legged beside her, he was smil­ing. "You think so?"

  "Honest to God, no comparison," she murmured. And she kissed him. Afterward, she sat back and smiled at him. "Nice mouth, Mr. Smith."

  "Yes, well, that's what they tell me," he said in his radio voice.

  "Oh, God!" Elizabeth suddenly cried to the ceiling. "Thank you! For once in my life, I feel like I am exactly where I am sup­posed to be!"

  “What?" Monty said.

  She looked at him, smiling to beat the day. "I am crazy about you, do you know that?" she said, leaning forward to hug him.

  Monty felt the pressure of her breasts against his chest and it was certainly not an unpleasant sensation. Nor was how Elizabeth's lips felt on his neck. And then there was the surprise of seeing the professor out of street clothes to begin with. Whether it was be­cause she was in fact so utterly lovely, or because she was in fact so utterly Elizabeth, he wasn't sure, but he did know he was getting excited—big-time. But he was nervous, a little shy. When had he ever made love with a woman for the first time stone-cold sober?

  "Are you all right?" she whispered in his ear.

  "Best ever I've been," he whispered back, turning to give her neck a kiss. "To be honest, I was just wondering how I could hold back after even touching you once."

  "But I don't want you to hold back," she murmured. "I want you to trust me as much as I trust you."

  "That's good," he murmured back, sliding a hand over her breast.

  Oh, yes, the professor was lovely. Big-time.

  He was kissing her now and he felt something unhinge inside. It wasn't sexual; it was something else. His self-consciousness had lifted. He sat back slightly to look at Elizabeth and hold her face in his hands.

  Her eyes were shining. She was happy, smiling. She was beau­tiful. And when her eyes narrowed, he knew she was as full of desire as he was.

  "Do with me what you will," she said, smiling, as if she were reading his thoughts.

  "And what about you?" he murmured, kissing her cheek.

  "Don't you worry about me, Montgomery Grant Smith," Eliz­abeth said. "I know exactly what I want now, and I'll be sure to get it."

  "Always the burning overachiever," Monty said, pushing her down on the bed.

  Part V

  60

  In the last week of July, Dorothy and Henry drove out to Long Island for a pleasant, quiet few days. The weekend included dinner with Millicent, who had been anxious to hear all the news. It was the first time they had seen her in nearly a month. When Dorothy came outside into the garden, Millicent took one look at the spring in her friend's step and the change in the color of her complexion and burst into tears. The two old friends flung their arms around each other. This pleased Henry enormously.

  "If you think you've come all the way out here to Bridgehamp­ton to have a lovely dinner under my grape arbor and you aren't going to tell me everything that's been going on," Millicent said to them, "then you've got another thing coming. All right, Dottie," she commanded, "spill it. What's happening?"

  "I've never known you to have a radio out here," Dorothy said, noticing a portable sitting outside Millicent's gardening shed on a shelf.

  "There's another radio inside, on the kitchen table," Henry said. "Could it be that our Millicent is suddenly listening to the radio these days?" He looked at his wife. "Now, whom do you suppose she could be listening to?"

  "Oh, don't be daft!" Millicent said. "Now, Dottie, begin. I want to know everything."

  "Well, as you know, Creighton Berns is gone from ICA," Dor­othy began. "He was arrested—"

  "But he's out now," Henry interrupted, "on five million dollars bail."

  Millicent looked at him. "But you got him? I mean, you really got him?"

  "We did." Henry beamed.

  "And Ben's back at ICA," Dorothy said.

  "Good. That's as it should be," Millicent said, nodding and smiling. "And now, what about the agency?"

  "The merger will go through with ICA," Henry said, "but with­out Marion Ballicutt—who's out of jail on a million-dollar bail bond—and James Stanley Johnson and about half the board of directors. Our old staff has been rehired by ICA."

  "And the offices?"

  "We're going to let them go," Dorothy said.

  Millicent opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it. The three sat there a moment, listening to evening songbirds.

  "I'm going to sell Patty Kleczak's book," Dorothy finally said. "And that will be the end of our participation." She paused. "And we're
putting the Gramercy Park apartment on the market."

  Millicent looked at her.

  "We want to go see Susan in Hong Kong while our health's still good," Henry said.

  "We've been promising her for years," Dorothy added.

  "And to visit with Peter in Portola Valley," Henry said.

  "And really get to know our grandchildren," Dorothy said. "We can visit them and then, perhaps, they can come spend weeks in the summer with us."

  Millicent was staring at them with what had grown to be a look of abject horror. "Well of all the nonsense!" she declared. "If you retire, then I'll have to retire, and I don't mind telling you, I'm not retiring!"

  "You can't retire anyway," Dorothy said, "you're a writer."

  "And you're my literary agent," Millicent said. "Now him," she said, kicking her head in Henry's direction. "He's been old all his life—always has been and always will be. Let him go play golf with all the other cranky old lawyers in Southampton, but Dottie, my darling, you're younger than springtime and you have to have some­thing to do besides smell the roses."

  Henry looked at his wife. He sighed, shrugging. "I don't know, Doe. I know what I said, but Millicent's probably right."

  "Well of course I'm right," Millicent told them impatiently. "When have I ever not been?"

  After a delicious dinner at Millicent's, the Hillingses went home and climbed into bed. It had been a long, emotional evening, and they fell asleep quickly.

  But then around two o'clock in the morning, Dorothy suddenly awakened and sat up, bedclothes falling to her waist.

  "What is it?" Henry murmured. And then he jerked awake, alarmed, and sat up. "What's the matter? Don't you feel well?"

  "I feel fine, darling," she said. "I don't know, I just awakened and thought, I love him so much."