Instead, she lowered her gaze. “Thank you for breakfast. It was good to see you again.”
He stood over her for a moment more before turning to stride toward the door.
“Conrad?” Rachel began, but faltered.
He paused, turning slightly to her.
“Merry Christmas,” she offered feebly.
“Merry Christmas,” he growled back. He was gone again before she could begin to process what to say.
What had happened to the warm and fiercely loyal man she knew? Her appetite for breakfast and a day at the spa gone, Rachel showered and headed home. At least her cat would be happy to see her.
CHAPTER ONE
JULY 3
THE ODD ENCOUNTER WITH CONRAD had bothered her, but she’d handled it the same way she would anything else: she’d thrown herself into her job. It had worked to some degree, but even now, six months later, an image of Conrad flitted through her mind as she sat in her office, twirling her pencil and staring absently at her view of Rockefeller Center.
A tap at the door interrupted her thoughts before they could spiral too far out of control. She looked up with a charming smile just as the station’s assignment editor settled himself into the chair opposite her desk.
“You swiped the Springsteen piece from Brian, didn’t you?” he asked without preamble.
“Jacob, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I merely worked an angle for the best interest of the station.”
Jacob Bailey arched an eyebrow in an expression Rachel knew well. It said quite plainly he wasn’t buying it. “Have you ever heard of a little thing called journalistic ethics?”
“Did you want to lose the interview to Stewart?”
“He’s not even a real news show.”
It was Rachel’s turn to arch an eyebrow that said she wasn’t buying it.
“Admit you have a thing for him,” Jacob goaded.
“I do not. He’s married. Cute, but married. And you’re changing the subject. I had a finite window of time to lock in an interview with Bruce Springsteen,” she said, emphasizing the name for effect, “so I did what I had to do to close the deal. The man leaves for Europe soon, and you know he only has time for a handful of interviews right now — and even fewer on-air interviews.”
“Brian isn’t happy. He was looking forward to doing something lighter for a change.”
“He has all the fun. Come on, Jacob, throw me a bone here.” Her eyes pleaded.
“I’ll talk to him,” her friend and colleague conceded. “No promises, though. And stop taking the man’s stories. I’d hate to have to fire you.”
Rachel’s Cheshire grin said she knew she’d won. She couldn’t help needling her old friend just a little more. “You can’t fire me, and you know it. America loves me. You love me.”
He changed topics, obviously knowing he’d lost. “Are you going home for the Fourth?”
“I guess, since you’re abandoning me for the wilds of Michigan.”
“Unlike you, I enjoy visiting my family.”
“That’s because you might as well have been a Walton. How many of you are there? Fifty? Sixty?” Rachel smiled at the thought of Jacob in the midst of a 1970s television series.
“Slightly less, I think. And I assure you not one person will utter ‘Goodnight, John Boy’ the entire time I’m home.”
“I don’t believe you. And you just got a new nickname.”
“You are not going to start calling me John Boy.”
“You think?” Rachel’s grin was devilish. She loved teasing Jacob and had to admit some part of her was pouting ever-so-slightly that he’d gone and gotten himself engaged. Her relationship with the boyishly cute forty-five-year-old had never been more than platonic, but they’d been bound by their dedication to career and truth. They’d been bound by their solitude. She was officially down her dinner buddy.
“You should be nice to your family while you’re there. Your mother is proud of you.”
“My mother is a pill popper who goes through men like they’re a box of Kleenex,” Rachel snapped uncharacteristically.
“Your sister looks up to you.”
“You mean the fourteen-year-old who rarely pulls her nose out of the Internet, only to smart off when she does? Gee, I can hardly wait to see that precious gem.”
“You’re nothing but sunshine and lollipops today. I think I’ll slink off while I still can. Oh, and you’d better hurry if you plan to be on time for the interview you stole. Try to be nice to him at least.”
“Sorry,” Rachel apologized miserably to Jacob’s retreating back. He waved without turning, a gesture Rachel recognized as forgiveness. She had no idea why she was suddenly being such an insolent brat.
But none of it mattered at the moment. It was time to put on the face America loved and get her butt over to Asbury Park to meet her idol, her unsettled soul hidden beneath the smooth polish she’d honed over the years.
She sincerely hoped that same polish did half as good a job hiding her little-girl nervousness over meeting the one person her family didn’t argue over. The interview was supposed to take place at a cozy little bar just off the boardwalk. She was waiting out front when the Boss himself parked his black Escalade and strolled across the street, greeting her as if they were old friends. The place was just opening up, so they snagged a table in a dimly lit corner. He ordered a Heineken with a shot of Jack; she didn’t trust herself with anything stronger than a soda.
It didn’t take long for Bruce’s easy manner to put her at ease. He tended to stammer a bit and chuckle a lot. Rachel found it reassuring that a man as musically brilliant as the one across the table from her was human too.
“Did you get everything you need for your interview, or did you just give up on me?” he asked as she dismantled the small camera and tripod she used for these interviews. She could have requested a crew, but she liked the cozy feel of the smaller camera and a more natural setting.
“No giving up here. You were perfect,” she assured him, surprised at the humility rolling off the man despite several decades of intense fame.
“Excellent.” He motioned the waitress for another drink, then for her to bring Rachel the same.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Rachel shook her head at the liquor that had just been set on the table. She’d made it this far without making a fool of herself; she saw no reason to start now.
“Nonsense. Stewart won’t be here for half an hour. We have plenty of time to chat.”
“Great.” Rachel forced a smile. Stewart never did on-sites; he was obviously going to great lengths to get this particular interview. She should have known she couldn’t scoop him; he’d probably find a way to make sure his piece ran before hers. She’d never buy that he wasn’t a real newsperson; the man was brilliant and well-connected. He reported better news than any of their competitors. He just did it with an ornery little grin and a healthy dose of acerbic wit.
“Tell me about yourself,” Springsteen said, interrupting her rueful reverie.
“There isn’t much exciting to tell.” Rachel took a sip of her beer.
“I doubt that.”
Their conversation was interrupted by an eager young woman wanting her picture taken with Bruce. Rachel obliged, taking the picture before returning to the previous discussion and assuring him she was rather dull.
“Are you married? Have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Cat?”
“Sadly, the answer to that one is that I do happen to have a cat.” Rachel didn’t want to think about the man who’d bought her that cat.
“Ah, but you’ve been in love before. I can see it all over your face.”
“I have,” she admitted softly. “But we wanted very different things out of life.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” He shook his head, a twinkle in his eye and a half-cocked grin on his face. “From the look in your eyes, I think you still have a thing for this guy. You’ve gotta call him.”
“I am not go
ing to throw myself at him. Not after all this time. Not after I chose my career over him.”
“Ouch.” He winced. “That had to have hurt. But you don’t have to throw yourself at him. Just a call. Two completely different things if the one is done correctly.”
“I’ll think about it,” she promised, surprised to realize she wasn’t lying. “Hey, could we grab a few shots on the boardwalk before your appointment with Stewart?”
“I’m not meeting him today.” Bruce’s grin was reminiscent of a small boy who’d pulled off a great prank.
“You’re not?”
“Nah. One of your co-workers called and asked me to tell you that. Said it would really get your goat.”
Rachel knew without asking it had been Brian. She would have been irritated, but the look on Bruce’s face was so ridiculously endearing, she couldn’t help but share his amusement.
They spent the next half hour wandering up and down the boardwalk, Rachel grabbing random shots of Bruce as the mood struck. She wanted to capture the essence of him and this place that was so integral to his rise to fame. When they parted ways, he urged her one last time to reach out to Conrad.
“You love the guy; at least make a gesture, in some fashion.”
“I promise.” She nodded and thanked him again for everything.
It wasn’t until much later, when she was curled up in her favorite easy chair with a glass of wine and her Russian Blue cat stretched across her lap, that she admitted to herself there might be some small piece of her that longed for what Neena and Charlie Russell had.
If she weren’t such a chicken, she’d take Bruce Springsteen’s advice and call Conrad. Rachel poured herself another glass of wine and debated dialing the phone. At long last, America’s sweetheart crawled into bed, slightly tipsy, with loneliness squeezing her heart.
The weakness she’d felt the night before vanished with the bright light of a new day. Rachel’s cheerful countenance was once again in place. She’d faced down oil cartels, dirty politicians and human trafficking rings; surely she could get through one Fourth of July celebration with her mother and half-sister.
That resolve got her through the process of getting ready and loading an overnight bag into her mint-condition ’66 Mustang. She poured a large bowl of cat food for Darcy, enough to get him through a late night.
She plugged her iPod into the radio and cranked up the volume, singing along with Elvis for all she was worth. It kept her mind off of anything too deep and made the trip go by a little faster. She pulled up in front of the small house she’d bought her mother years ago, put her car in park, and paused to give herself a pep talk.
Rachel could see her mother peeking through the curtains and knew the longer she delayed stepping into the lion’s den, the hungrier the lion would be. With a deep breath, Rachel plunged in.
As expected, the awkward weight of strained family relations followed them all the way to the dinner table. Stiff hugs were given. Polite conversation came in spurts. Rosemary Phelps took it personally when her eldest daughter politely declined second helpings, despite Rachel’s insistence that it had nothing to do with her appreciation of the meal and everything to do with portion control.
Rachel had been pleased to find her mom was in between men, which meant she wouldn’t have to make polite conversation with a complete stranger. Still, she struggled to make polite conversation with the woman who gave birth to her.
“Did you hear that Uncle Jack just had a son?” It was a risky conversation topic, but Rachel was running out of things to say.
Rosemary frowned. “Isn’t he about to become a grandfather?”
“Yes. Kate and Gavin are expecting in the fall.” Rachel realized with a sinking feeling that she wouldn’t get out of that baby gift by sending an intern. Kate already had one of those.
Rosemary snorted.
Rachel let it drop. She adored her Uncle Jack. After her own father had passed away and her mother had begun her downward spiral, summers spent with Uncle Jack had kept her sane and grounded. She didn’t feel inclined to debate his life choices with Rosemary at the moment. Venturing down a safer path, she said, “Neena and Charlie just had their second baby. A girl. They named her Janey, after one of Charlie’s cousins. I guess they were really close as kids.”
“What is it with you and babies? You aren’t pregnant, are you?” Rosemary eyed her shrewdly.
“No, Mom. I’m not pregnant.” Rachel sighed. Maybe it wasn’t a safer subject after all. Giving up on her mom, she turned her attention to her sister.
“So, Julia, how’s school?”
“It sucks.”
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
Julia’s snort was reminiscent of Rosemary’s.
“Maybe you’d enjoy school more if you would spend less time in chat rooms and more time with real people,” Rosemary admonished.
“My friends in Chatspace are real people.”
“Real people you’ve never met,” Rosemary muttered under her breath.
“Just be careful on the Internet, sweetie,” Rachel warned softly.
“You’re as bad as Mom.” Julia’s glare was mutinous.
Rachel tried a new tactic. “You know, Neena and Charlie’s oldest daughter is about your age. Maybe both of you could come visit me in New York on your next break.”
“I’m busy.”
Julia was lying and Rachel knew it, but she gave up. Instead, she picked absently at the key lime pie on her plate. She hated key lime. Did these people not believe in good old apple pie?
The instant she’d visited long enough to be polite, she suggested Rosemary open the birthday gift Rachel had brought along. Her mother’s birthday was still a week away, but no force on earth could bring Rachel back again that soon. “Oh, and Julia, I brought you a little something just because.”
Julia softened considerably toward her older sister after trying on the outfit from Rachel’s favorite boutique in Manhattan. Rachel had to pat herself on the back for that one. They were ridiculously darling clothes. The blue-and-white sundress complemented Julia’s exotic complexion perfectly. Most days, Rachel didn’t mind looking like her English father while her half-sister claimed the stunning beauty of her fully Italian heritage, but as Julia modeled the trendy little dress, Rachel had to admit she was a bit envious.
“What’s she going to do with a dress that expensive?” Rosemary demanded.
“Feel pretty in it,” Rachel shrugged. “Open your gift, Mom.”
Rosemary and Rachel might have been polar opposites, but they had one common ground: like any good Jersey girls, they were both die-hard Springsteen fans—which meant the autographed copy of his new CD was a definite win. God bless that man for being sympathetic to her cause; he’d even tossed in a couple of tickets to see him at the Meadowlands.
With Rosemary truly beaming for the first time in a very long while, Rachel sighed and leaned back, thinking that Bruce was good people. Rosemary ran like a schoolgirl to put on her new CD, turning the volume up and insisting her daughters dance with her.
Rachel kicked off her shoes and jumped up on the couch with her mom and little sister. All the weirdness melted away as the three of them bounced around the living room until their skin glistened from the exertion and all three collapsed in a happy heap on the couch, allowing the last strains of the music to wash over them.
“That was fantastic,” Rachel giggled.
“What was it like meeting him?” Rosemary wondered, a childlike wonder creeping into her voice.
“Completely unreal,” Rachel admitted. It didn’t matter how many celebrities she knew; this one was different. “You know, he gave me dating advice.”
“Did you tell him he was wasting precious breath?” Julia teased. Rosemary guffawed.
Rachel sighed. “He told me to call Conrad.”
“I liked Conrad,” Julia commented in a rare moment of sincerity.
“Me too.” Rachel pursed her lips in thought.
“We’d better head out if we’re going to make it to fireworks, girls,” Rosemary said, not allowing Rachel time to put a finer point on the thought nagging at the back of her brain.
“Sorry, Mom. I’m headed out tonight.”
Rachel brightened. “With a real live human being?”
“Yes, with a real live human being.” Julia punched her sister in the arm.
“It’s a valid question. What’s his name?”
“Kevin.”
“Cool. Have you met this guy, Mom?” Rachel asked.
Rosemary shrugged, nonplussed. “First I’ve heard of him.”
“Maybe I should stick around to meet him.”
Julia shot up. “Not a chance in hell.”
“It’s not unreasonable,” Rachel argued.
Rosemary intervened. “Oh, leave her alone. First you want her to date a real person; then you complain when she does.”
“I’m not complaining. Just concerned. Don’t you at least want to meet this guy?”
“Just because you’re some big, fancy journalist now doesn’t mean you know how to be a mother. Last I checked, I’m the only one who can actually lay claim to that one.”
“Wow. Just wow.” Rachel felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. “That’s fantastic, Mom. I’ll be sure to save that line for when I have kids. That’s mom-of-the-year stuff right there.”
“You mean if you have kids,” Rosemary interjected.
“Alright, that’s it. I’m going home now. Julia, have fun tonight.”
Rachel was proud to hold the tears at bay until she was in her car and away from her mother’s house. She had no clue how the evening had spiraled so out of control.
Part of her railed that this was exactly why she should never get married and have children. Who in their right mind would pass on genetics like hers? Another part of her kept going back to Springsteen’s words earlier that night. She didn’t question whether or not she still loved Conrad. She did, however, question the sanity in calling him.
Devil in Disguise Page 2
