by Anita Notaro
She walked for miles, until the back of her legs hurt and Charlie was like an old-age pensioner limping along beside her. She thought about going straight back to his house, pounding on his door, demanding an explanation, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. He’d already moved on and that’s what hurt the most. She was still confused, couldn’t make sense of some of what he’d said, but knew from bitter experience that she could be analysing this till the cows came home and it wouldn’t make a shred of difference. She knew it was over.
In the midst of all this it was funny to realize that he’d come to mean more to her in a few short weeks than anyone else, including Paul. It was a relationship based on talking and sharing and laughing and being friends and being vulnerable. A real relationship. Not like with her and Paul, where she was the lover and he was the loved – she knew that now. This was a coming together of two equals – despite his celebrity status. And the saddest thing of all was that it had so much potential, so many possibilities and that was what she was grieving for now.
In fact, when she thought about it, she realized it must have been love.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
WHEN SHE LET herself into the house it was almost dark and the phone was ringing. She answered it without thinking.
‘Lindsay, hi, this is Alan Morland. Sorry to disturb you at home.’
‘Alan, hi, no problem.’ She tried to sound cheerful. ‘What’s up?’
‘I was wondering, would you be able, by any chance – and please say if you’re not – to meet for a drink this evening?’
‘Sure.’
‘Em . . . would you mind calling round to my house? It’s a bit complicated. I’ll explain when you get here. I need to talk to you about something to do with the show. It should only take an hour or so.’
‘No problem, give me your address.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yep, I’ll be glad to get out of the house for a bit.’ If he only knew.
‘Great, thanks. I really appreciate it. Say around seven-thirty?’
‘See you then.’
She peeled off her clothes and climbed wearily into a hot bath, feeling as if she’d severed all her nerve endings. Charlie had refused to make even the short journey down the stairs and lay stretched out at the front door, where he seemed intent on remaining for several hours, or at least until he’d recovered from the London marathon.
She refused to think any more, except to decide that she was going to handle things differently this time.
Actually, I’m becoming quite an expert at surviving, she thought bleakly, as she soaked in the hot, steamy suds. One or two more and I’ll be setting up a support group and making a name for myself.
She decided she wasn’t going to talk about it – to anyone – for the next few days. Not even the girls. She just didn’t have the energy for it and she now knew that she couldn’t go through it all again, in the same way as before.
No more self-indulgence, she lectured herself. I’m not going to think about it or him again. I’m simply going to forget I ever met him.
If only it were that easy, a little voice jeered.
She took the answering service off her mobile and unplugged the phone at home. At seven she dressed in jeans and a big comfy sweater and took a taxi to Alan’s house a couple of miles away. She stopped to buy a bottle of wine and then wasn’t sure. He was her boss, after all. She decided against it, although she badly needed one herself. It won’t solve anything, you’ve already learned that the hard way, she thought cynically as the cab pulled up outside the modern apartment block in fashionable Dublin 4.
Alan greeted her warmly. ‘Thanks for coming, I’m sorry to break up your weekend but I needed to talk to you before Tuesday and I won’t be available tomorrow.’
She was intrigued. ‘I wasn’t doing anything anyway.’ She gave a weak smile. Not unless you count trying to scratch the eyes out of one of our top stars.
‘Glass of wine?’
‘I was going to bring a bottle but thought you mightn’t like it as this was business.’
‘God, do I look like that kind of guy?’ He was horrified.
‘No.’
‘My girlfriend is always telling me to loosen up at work, so maybe I am that kind of guy. Now that would be gruesome.’
‘I promise I’ll let you know if it happens. I’d murder a glass of white if you have one.’
‘So would I. Sit down.’
It was a typical modern apartment – bright and stylish with incredibly little space, even though it was two-bedroomed and had probably cost almost half a million euro, given its location. Very male. She wondered about his girlfriend, but didn’t like to ask.
He returned with two very civilized crystal glasses – nothing like her balloons, which was just as well given her new-found sobriety.
They made chit-chat for a couple of minutes and then he told her.
‘Remember I wasn’t feeling well?’
She nodded, sensing something immediately.
‘I had stomach pains in the middle of the night last night and had to call my doctor early this morning. The pain was bad enough that I couldn’t drive. He came round here and examined me. He wants me to go into hospital in the morning.’
She tried not to show too much concern.
‘What does he suspect?’
‘He honestly doesn’t know. The pains had gone by the time he arrived but he doesn’t like the tiredness and lack of energy so he wants to run some tests. He says I’m not to worry.’ He grinned at her, a very weak one. ‘Why do they bother telling you that?’
‘I know, but at least you’re doing something. I’m the type who runs to the doctor with everything. If something’s wrong with me I want it caught very fast. It’s the only option, believe me. I cannot, for the life of me, understand people who won’t get something checked. What does that achieve? You still have the pain and you’re worried sick as well.’
‘I know, but I’m a big coward. My girlfriend’s a doctor and she’s the same as you. She’s in London working for six months. I haven’t told her yet because she’ll be on the next plane home.’
‘If it were me I’d want to know.’
He smiled at her, looking like a little lost boy and she wanted to hug him but didn’t know him well enough.
‘I’ll wait till after tomorrow.’
She nodded knowingly.
‘So, basically, I need you to take charge. I’ll be on the other end of a phone and hopefully I’ll be back in the office in a couple of days. I’ve spoken to the Head of Programming and he’s a bit reluctant, to be honest, as you’re so new to the job, but I’ve assured him you’ll be fine and, just between you and me, there’s no one else. All the good people are already assigned to other programmes. How do you feel about it?’
‘Nervous, excited, terrified, elated and scared stiff,’ she smiled. ‘But I’ll do it.’
‘Good girl, I knew you would. It’s a great opportunity to get noticed by the powers that be and remember, I’ll be around.’
‘I’ll be your most frequent bringer of grapes,’ she grinned at him half-heartedly.
They chatted for a while about the items on the agenda for this week and agreed to wait until she saw the Saturday figures before making changes. Lindsay knew he was unhappy with the way things had gone and she was sorry he now found himself ill in the middle of all this.
‘Don’t let Tom order you around. Stick to your guns.’
‘I will.’
They talked some more and drank another glass of wine, then Lindsay left to get some sleep and give him time to get organized for the day ahead.
‘If there’s anything I can do, call me in the office, I’ll be in early.’ She couldn’t resist hugging him as she left and she sensed he was embarrassed and touched at the same time.
‘I’ll be OK, ring me whenever and leave a message and I’ll call as soon as I can.’
‘Good luck.’
‘Thanks.’
She asked the taxi to drop her at Chris’s house to collect her abandoned car. His was nowhere to be seen and she was glad, because she didn’t quite trust herself yet.
She drove home thankful that she at least didn’t have Alan’s problems and grateful to have something to keep her busy for the week. It helped in her new plan not to think at all about her own problems. The plan worked until she tried to sleep and kept seeing Chris’s face.
She woke at six, feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all and after several cups of coffee and a ton of make-up she was at least ready to face the world.
She arrived at the office at seven-thirty and immediately called up the viewing figures on her computer. She stared at the screen for ages, convinced she was reading it incorrectly. A glance over the previous week told her she wasn’t. Saturday night had been the worst show this season. The figures had started off as normal but the graph had gone sliding steadily downwards, losing thousands of viewers every fifteen minutes. The final result was that they had dropped out of the top-ten programmes for the first time in years. Lindsay shivered, suddenly aware of the responsibility.
After a quick visit to the canteen for coffee and brown toast with honey – which she didn’t really want, but it was part of her newly established health kick – she settled down and drew up a comprehensive list of possible guests and topics for the next four shows. Although Monday was officially their day off, she was surprised and pleased to see that most of the team popped in at some stage during the day, as if aware that this week was going to be extra tough. David and Alice spent a couple of hours on the phone and Kate was the only researcher who didn’t appear. Lindsay worked hard until eight that night and went home and fell into bed, exhausted. There was only one message, from Alan, to say that he had no news but would ring her the next day. He hoped things had gone well for her.
Lindsay was awake by six again on Tuesday and took Charlie for an early-morning walk, purely out of guilt. It was still dark and it felt odd, as if she was out and about at the wrong end of the day, but he bounded along happily, knowing no different. She showered and dressed in her best black suit, which gave her an air of authority and at the same time matched her mood. Not even her newest gipsy top could disguise the lack of sleep, although she barely noticed this in her haste to get to work and keep occupied. By the time the others drizzled in at around nine-thirty she was prepared. She was also nervous.
At ten she asked if everyone would be happy to meet at ten-thirty.
‘Shouldn’t we wait on Alan?’ David asked curiously.
‘He won’t be here so he’s asked me to take the meeting. Grab a coffee everyone and get your stuff together.’
By ten thirty-five all phones were on voice mail and Lindsay explained briefly that Alan was off sick for a few days, leaving out the details as he’d requested. She’d printed off copies of the figures and there were groans and gasps as they were digested. Calmly, she told them that they needed a very strong show this week and distributed a suggested running order based on the best and worst scenarios.
‘First up, Alice, how are we doing with our Latin heart-throb?’
‘Well, you know what happened last week, but I talked to his manager last night and he’s confirmed him again for this week. I think it’ll be OK.’ She smiled nervously.
‘Great, well done. I know how hard you’ve worked on it.’ Lindsay smiled and Alice glowed.
‘I also have Colin Quinn for this week,’ the younger girl said shyly, not quite managing to hide her triumph and turning pink in the process. The news was greeted with murmurs of ‘nice one’ and ‘cool’ – compliments indeed from the competition.
Colin Quinn was one of Ireland’s top actors, having made it big in America about ten years ago at the age of twenty-eight. He now commanded millions of dollars per project and was considered one of the hottest properties on the movie market. He was also, if the gossip columns were to be believed, one of the nicest guys in the business. He rarely gave interviews, unless promoting a movie and even then almost never commented on his private life. But what was really interesting and the absolute coup about getting him now was that he had just come back on the scene after almost two years of solitude, following the untimely death of his wife, which had left him with two young children. Everyone wanted to hear him, wanted to see how he looked, wanted to know what had happened.
‘Wow, how did you manage to keep that so quiet?’ Lindsay tried to hide her elation. This was exactly what the show needed.
‘I’ve been working on it for weeks, months even, but I didn’t know if it would really happen, because he’s apparently quite shy and avoids the media like the plague. But, for some reason his agent liked me and I assured her we wanted to do a serious interview and not a tabloid piece and he’s decided it’s time to come home to visit his parents and face everyone again . . . so . . . they’ve said he’d do the show this week.’
‘That’s fantastic. You are an angel; it’s just what we need.’ Everyone agreed and Alice basked in the glory.
‘Er, I’ve got the celebrity chef back on,’ David blurted out, presumably wanting a bit of the warmth himself. They all burst out laughing.
‘And, he’ll say the sixteen-year-old threw herself at him and that he loves his wife and wants to be a good father.’
‘Brilliant, well done, David. That means we’ve got a heart-throb for the teenagers, a good old gossip for the tabloid readers and hopefully a serious and meaty interview for our regulars. Anything else? Kate, anything on the horizon?’
‘I’m working on a couple of big names.’ Kate was immediately defensive and Lindsay wondered why the other woman seemed to resent her so much. ‘OK, well, why don’t we talk separately later in the week and you can bring me up to date if Alan’s not back?’ Lindsay smiled and refused to be drawn into the chiller cabinet.
‘Now, anything else? Let’s see, we need to talk about other, smaller items, as well as the audience. And by the way, I don’t think I want any “bits” in the show this week, no competitions, demonstrations, etc. We’ve got a really strong line-up so let’s give it to them hard all the way. No fillers. OK?’
They chatted on for another half-hour and the meeting had just broken up when Tom Watts phoned.
‘Lindsay, I’ve just got a message from Alan. What the hell is going on?’
Lindsay was unsure from his tone what he meant and played for time.
‘What did he say?’
‘Just that he was sick and wouldn’t be around for a couple of days and that you were in charge.’
‘Oh, right, well yes, but it’s all under control, don’t worry.’
‘I am worried. Quite frankly, we need a producer, no offence meant.’
‘None taken. Well, I know he talked to the Head of Programming and there is a shortage of people available and—’
‘That’s bullshit, we’re the top-rating show in the country.’
Not any more . . . She held her tongue.
‘I want a top producer, I need one. I’ll talk to him.’ Tom Watts was furious.
‘Are you coming in today? I’d really like to go through the running order with you. We actually have a very strong show lined up for—’
‘I’m not coming in until I get to see Jonathan Myers. I’ll ring him now on his mobile and talk to you later.’
‘OK, then, bye.’ Lindsay said to a dead phone line. She went for a takeaway coffee to clear her head and cool her burning cheeks. It was clear that Tom Watts had absolutely no confidence in her and it bothered her but there was nothing she could do. He was perfectly entitled to go straight to the top – after all, he was one of the biggest stars in the country and she’d done nothing to prove herself. Hell, she’d never even met the famous Jonathan Myers.
That was about to be rectified because as soon as she returned to the office there was a note on her desk to call Aoife, P.A. to the Head of Programming.
It seemed the great white chief wanted to see her at five this afternoon
if she was free. She agreed and spent the rest of the day preparing her defence, feeling she was getting ready to face the hangman.
Chapter Thirty
AT EXACTLY FIVE minutes to five that afternoon, Lindsay presented herself at the very luxurious penthouse offices of Jonathan Myers, feeling nervous, even though she knew she had done nothing wrong. She desperately wanted a chance to prove herself and knew that this man had the power to give her that chance.
He came to meet her and she was surprised to find she liked him immediately. He smiled and held out his hand.
‘Come on in, I’m sorry I haven’t had an opportunity to meet you before now. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.’ This, of course, completely disarmed her and she felt her resentment fade, which was not what she needed right now. She wanted to remain indignant, in combat mode, but his grin made it impossible.
‘Well, I sure as hell had the ear chewed off me this morning by Mr Watts,’ he said with a slight American twang, ‘and I suspect you had your share too?’
Lindsay grinned and nodded.
‘To be fair, I see where he’s coming from. The show is obviously very important to us and it needs a really good producer. The problem is that there are really only two or three people who could handle it and at the moment they are committed elsewhere, and the soonest I could free one of them would be in about six weeks’ time and even that would present me with a whole new set of problems. I could bring in a good freelancer but he or she would be starting from scratch in the same way as you are and would have little experience of the show, which has a very particular style as well as a, shall we say, challenging presenter. Anyway, tell me how you feel about being asked to cope on your own?’
