by Brenda Bone
Lame excuse, she thought, but instead she suggested, “Let’s forget about what happened.” Yet she couldn’t.
When Derek called Lindsay a few days later at the radio station and asked her to dine with him at his very own Eden’s Restaurant after she finished her show, she didn’t have the opportunity to go home and change out of the cotton pastel print dress that she wore all day. “You’re twenty minutes late,” he complained when she finally joined him at his table.
“Sorry.”
Eden’s had midnight blue walls with flower paintings and bright green planters which lent a festive summer atmosphere to the inside of the room. Lindsay appreciated the way that the tables were set well apart, allowing guests privacy and quietness as they ate. She also liked the French Nouvelle cuisine, that was French, but still appropriate for people concerned with healthful living and a slim line.
As Lindsay ate a cold salad of red lettuce, beans, endive, mushrooms and truffles mixed with a warm goose-liver dressing, she listened to Derek making conversation about his latest new songs. Soon the waiter brought roasted-live lobster creatively arranged to display its natural form and with a surprising, but tasty vanilla sauce.
“Look! It’s Derek Eden!” a female voice called from nearby. Lindsay saw a petite blonde teenage girl with a woman who looked so much like her that she was probably the girl’s mother. The two whispered to each other, then the girl left her table to head toward Derek.
“Excuse me, Mr. Eden,” she began. “I’m a big fan of yours. May I have your autograph, please?” She stood expectantly beside Derek and Lindsay’s table as she held out a pen and a small notebook.
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Derek snapped, frowning. “I want to eat my dinner in peace. Please go back to your table.”
His unkind behavior embarrassed Lindsay as she glanced at the hurt expression on the girl’s face. “It would only take a few seconds to give her your autograph, Derek.”
“This is no concern of yours,” he retorted. “You don’t have to deal with the problem of being constantly recognized wherever you go like I do. If I make an exception one time, then everyone expects me to do it the rest of the time, too.”
“You’re Lindsay Blair, aren’t you?” the girl asked hesitantly. “I listen to your show on WCIT all the time. Would you give me your autograph?”
“Of course,” she replied, but Derek jerked his napkin off his lap and threw it across his plate as he glared at his young fan.
“C’mon, Lindsay. Let’s leave.”
“Wait,” Lindsay insisted, reaching out to accept the notebook from the girl. “I’m happy to sign this and glad to meet you.”
She wrote her name and a short “good luck” message for the girl who thanked her and left without another word to Derek. When the girl returned to her table, Lindsay saw the look of disapproval that her mother shot toward him.
“Was it really necessary for you to appease that silly girl?” Derek scolded. “One might think that you deliberately seek attention from the public.”
A glowering expression appeared over his handsome features, alerting her that he was still in a bad mood. “I’m sorry, Derek, but I hated to see you treat her rudely when she was excited to see you. Have you forgotten that it’s fans like her that buy your songs and attend your concerts? The public has a fickle heart. They can make you a star, but they also have the power to trigger your downfall.”
“Let’s get out of here,” he said in a petulant voice.
Lindsay felt the tension, as well as the hot, inquisitive glances from patrons that overheard their exchange. Walking toward the door, she was glad their dinner date ended.
That evening, she found it difficult to fall asleep because her mind wandered back over the past few weeks. There’d been more than one annoying incident regarding Derek that bothered her. When he wanted to be a perfect escort, he could be, but if everything didn’t proceed exactly according to his plans, he behaved like a spoiled child. She knew he had his choice of women to go out with, so why did he continue to ask her out, then end up quarreling with her? Maybe he was using her for some reason, but what could it be? She had no idea, but was grateful that he kept his word about not pressuring her into having an affair with him.
After recalling the humiliating incident in the restaurant, she decided it would be best to put more distance between her and Derek. She planned to say she was busy the next time he called to ask her out. That is, if he called again.
He did the very next evening to invite her to the opening of a new Broadway play. “It sounds interesting, Derek, but I already have other plans. Maybe another time,” she said.
“Cancel them, Lindsay. Do you have any idea how scarce these tickets are, even if you’re plugged into this city’s ‘in crowd’? I went to a lot of bother, not to mention expense, and now you say you’re busy. What could you possibly want to do that’s more important?”
“Never mind. I’m sorry, Derek, but I have no intention of changing my plans, so call someone else. I’m sure there are many people who’d love to attend the play with you.”
“Of course there are. And I will get someone to go in your place.”
She held the phone away from her ear which still rang a bit from his rudeness. Why couldn’t she shake the feeling that there was more behind Derek’s recent behavior than just selfishness and being accustomed to having his own way?
“You’re a hit! The majority of our listeners love you,” Dawn told Lindsay after her first month on the air at WCIT. “Many responded that they think you’re witty, but tactful, smart, but not a show-off.”
Lindsay felt pleased that she achieved her career goal and in such a short time, but something was missing, preventing her from being fully happy. At WCIT she forced herself to act more outgoing, the way Brant did at WBKB, and her plan worked. She created a new, more dynamic image of herself as a radio personality. However, now she began to feel trapped by that image since no one allowed her to be anything but WCIT’s star host that was charming, confident, pretty and intelligent. No one cared enough to take the time to meet the real Lindsay Blair, who could be as lonely, miserable and unsure about where her life was headed as anyone else. Sometimes she felt like she moved into a city inhabited by people who didn’t care or even notice when a person like herself went out of their way to be kind, honest or generous.
One breezy autumn afternoon she stood by a soda machine in the WCIT lobby when a tall, sloppily-dressed man with drab-looking brown hair approached her. She vaguely remembered when Dawn quickly introduced him to her once as Dean Vincent. “What’s wrong, Lindsay? You don’t look good today, and that’s unusual.”
“It’s one of those bad days like we all get occasionally.” She tried to don a fake smile, but it didn’t fool Dean.
He reached inside his shirt pocket and took out a tiny gold case. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “These should get rid of the dark circles under your eyes and put a smile back on your face. Consider them as a little gift to welcome you to this city. They’ll leave you feeling great in no time.”
He grinned slyly, then walked away as she opened the case that was cold and smooth against her palm. Colorful little capsules lay inside and she cringed at the sight of them, but at the same time, she felt tempted to swallow them. They seemed to be the only way she could temporarily escape the world that didn’t look as beautiful to her as it did in the past.
Picking one up, she raised it closer to her lips and stared down at it, then it made a “clink” as she threw it and the others in the case into the nearest trash can. I’m not so stupid or desperate to resort to this, she finally convinced herself. Nevertheless, her problem of getting through each day without feeling depressed remained unsolved.
As she sipped a cup of coffee the next morning, Lindsay switched on the radio in the kitchen just as the news began. “Yesterday in Los Angeles actor Marco Moore was admitted to a private hospital following an apparent suicide attempt,” the announcer began. “
The popular film star allegedly mixed a nearly lethal dosage of drugs and alcohol. He remains in critical condition at this hour.”
The report about Marco shocked Lindsay, but she was further surprised when the phone rang about forty-five minutes later and Derek was on the line. “Did you hear the news about Marco?” he wanted to know.
“Yes. I’m sorry to hear about the incident.”
“I’ll bet.”
Did she detect a note of sarcasm in his voice? “Since you and Marco are friends, Derek, I know you’re probably upset. If there’s anything I can do to help him or you, I will.”
“No, we don’t need you. You’ve done enough to poor Marco already!”
“Me?”
“I never dreamed he’d try to take his life.” Derek sounded remorseful. “Damn it, Lindsay! If I hadn’t started going out with you, this wouldn’t have happened!”
“What difference does it make that we went out together? You aren’t making sense, Derek. You mustn’t blame yourself for Marco’s actions.”
“Don’t you understand what I’m telling you? Marco didn’t want me to become involved with you. He became jealous and insecure when my publicist urged me to keep dating you.”
His words hit her like a bucket of cold water splashed on her face. “You mean that you and Marco…?”
“Do I have to paint you a picture, Lindsay? Yes, we’re gay. We’ve been involved with one another for years. He couldn’t stand being thrust in the background recently.”
She didn’t hear when Derek hung up because for the next several seconds she stood, stunned, with the cold phone in her hand. Her suspicions turned out to be correct. Derek used her. His publicist probably told him that it would be better for his career if he pretended to date her. After all, his image was that of a romantic ladies’ man, and if the truth of his true sexual preferences leaked out, it would probably signal the end of his career.
But why did Derek single me out?she wondered, wishing now that he never noticed her.
Finally laying down the phone, she sat down on the sofa just as her legs threatened to collapse out from under her. How many other people knew that Derek used her as a cover to hide his intimate relationship with Marco from the public? She wondered how she could have been so naïve as to believe that Derek, who lived in the fast lane, had been interested in her as a person. If he’d tried to get her into his bed, especially the night she met him backstage, she would have realized instantly that he probably planned to take advantage of her. He hoodwinked her into believing that he was sincerely interested in her and that he respected her. She trusted him enough to fall for his ploy.
That evening, Lindsay turned her TV on to watch an Entertainment World program and she couldn’t help recalling when Kelli Brendan spied on her and Derek in New Orleans. Derek had been eager for all the publicity he could get with Lindsay, and this knowledge made her cringe with embarrassment now that she knew he played her for a fool. Kelli Brendan obviously discovered Derek’s secret since Marco’s suicide attempt was her top story for the evening. She showed several shots of Derek rushing to Marco’s bedside and holding the hand of the gravely ill actor. Lindsay could recognize the look of love in Derek’s eyes as he peered down at Marco’s pale face.
She felt dismayed to see her own image flash across the screen now as she looked at a picture of Derek kissing her in New Orleans. Kelli Brendan went on to identify Lindsay as “the woman in Derek Eden’s life.” There was more, but suddenly Lindsay reached out and switched off the show. She saw enough and so had the viewers all over the country. Now everyone would know what she should have been able to see before…that Derek ruthlessly used her to mask his relationship with Marco.
Luckily, the next day was Saturday, so she’d have the weekend to be alone before she had to return to work and face the gossip. The first faint rays of the red sunrise stretched over the city when she was awakened by the insistent ringing of the doorbell.
Reluctantly crawling out of her warm bed and reaching for her chenille robe, she called out, “Just a minute!”
Padding sleepily to the door, she opened it to find Bella Garrett standing there with a knowing expression on her face. “Good morning, Lindsay. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by so early, but I’d like to ask you a few questions to get your side of the story.”
“What are you talking about, Bella?” Lindsay asked nervously.
“Oh, come now. You don’t need to pretend innocence with me. I’ve been on this story about Derek Eden and Marco Moore for months, but I needed proof of my suspicions. Now I have it, but it’s only fair to present your side to the public, even though you’re not as well-known as Derek and Marco.”
Anger flared inside Lindsay as she realized that Bella delved into this matter the night she met her at Derek’s party. This is what the two women in the powder room must have discussed, she thought.
“I hope Marco recovers, but other than that, I have no comment,” Lindsay said firmly.
“Wait a minute! I’m sure you’d like to stay out of this scandal, but it’s a little late for that. Marco left a note in which he blamed you for taking Derek away from him, or didn’t you hear about that yet?”
Lindsay braced herself in the doorway while dizziness spread over her. She needed to remain calm and get rid of this woman. “Actually, Bella, I heard no such thing, but naturally rumors run rampant during sad circumstances like these. I really have nothing more to say. Please excuse me.” She pushed the door shut, leaving Bella on the other side, and wondered why each day seemed to turn out to be worse than the one before lately.
Arriving at the station early the next morning, Lindsay browsed through the small stack of mail piled neatly on her desk. There were the usual letters from listeners who enjoyed her program, and occasionally she came across a minor complaint or suggestion as to how she could improve her show. One letter, however, was unlike all the rest because it contained honest criticism based on an acute observation on the part of the listener. Many people would have been upset and ripped the letter but Lindsay was intrigued and read more.
“You seem to have your act together so much that it isn’t credible,” a woman wrote. “Others might think you’re almost perfect, but I’m one listener who’s not fooled by the way you pretend to be overly enthusiastic about doing your show.”
In the beginning Lindsay felt genuinely excited about her new job, but lately she merely pretended as the writer pointed out; it was true. Success came rather easily for Lindsay in New York. As much as she hated to admit it, the glamour of her job faded, only to be replaced by nagging doubts. Did she make a major mistake in leaving Columbus—and Brant—after all?
At home that night she sorted through the day’s mail which consisted mostly of bills or ads. Spotting her mother’s large, flowing handwriting on one envelope, she pulled out the letter that was enclosed and began reading. All that her mother said about her new job was that she was “glad things are going well in New York.” Lindsay felt disappointed that her mother didn’t take a more personal interest in her career now and she had to admit to herself that an unexpected visit from her parents would lift her spirits. Yet they never volunteered to come visit her. They seemed to be more content since they moved to Florida where they hoped to leave their sad memories behind in Ohio. She realized that it must be difficult for them every time they looked at her to be reminded again of Constance as the resemblance was remarkable between the sisters. Didn’t they know, or care, that she couldn’t help it if they thought of Constance when they looked at her? Even her parents seemed to slip away from her. Except for her work, Lindsay couldn’t think of one thing in life that she had to look forward to in the immediate future.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Who ended the relationship you had with Derek Eden—you or him?”
“How do you feel about everything that happened recently, Miss Blair?”
“Do you resent Derek because he used you?”
“Were you aware of Dere
k Eden’s involvement with Marco Moore while you dated Derek?”
Voices shouted these questions at Lindsay as she walked out of the radio station and the smell of car exhaust systems tainted the air. Why didn’t she have the foresight to guess there might be reporters waiting for her to leave the building? Biting her lip and frowning, she refused to answer their questions. “Let me through, please.” She pushed her way past the group of reporters and photographers.
Cameras flashed around her. She hated publicity of this type, and ever since the scandal erupted over Marco and Derek, persistent reporters and photographers barged into her life, making it miserable.
As she tried to escape the uproar, she heard a familiar voice call out her name and she froze. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted one of the last people she wanted to see at the moment—Frank Thomas. Approaching her, he took her arm and led her to his car that was parked nearby before he snapped, “We can’t have this, Lindsay. It doesn’t look good to have all of these hungry gossip hounds hanging around my station.”
Sitting on the comfortable leather front seat of his Cadillac, she avoided looking directly at his face. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help it that they insist on harassing me. You don’t think I want them here, do you?”
His steel gray eyes, the same shade as his hair, narrowed and he scowled. “Regardless of whether you want them here or not, it’s your fault that they’re a problem. I can order them to leave or call the police, but it’s your responsibility to get rid of them and prevent them from dragging your name through the mud any more than they already have. Ugly scenes like this are bad for your image as a radio personality.”
He pulled up to the curb and dropped her off in front of her car. “Thanks for rescuing me.”
“See that I don’t have to do it again,” he said gruffly.
On her way home she silently reprimanded herself for the hundredth time for not seeing the light sooner about Derek. Now her job seemed to be in jeopardy even though she did nothing wrong.
