He rolls over, opening a bleary eye in my direction. "Kels, my love." He grins as he wipes his eyes, taking a few moments to blink and focus. He’s handsome even just from slumber: tousled blonde hair framing an angular face and clear blue eyes. He’s smiling at me and even though I’m late and frustrated, I find I can’t muster the anger that had been coursing through me moments before. But I don’t let him off the hook completely.
"Cut the crap. Where are the keys to my Mercedes? I'm running late."
"My pants." He gestures to the back of the chair, glancing to his bedmate who still sleeps soundly. I can tell from the muscular tanned back and the shock of bleached blonde hair that Erik hasn’t strayed from his surfer boy tendencies yet, and it makes me smother a grin. He’ll grow up some day but for now he prefers to play the field. "Sorry. We got in late. I didn't want to wake you," he continues, oblivious to my silent thoughts.
I retrieve his pants, fishing out my keys, capturing them in my palm to muffle the jingle. "No problem. I'll see you later."
"Hey?"
"What?"
"I have a late lunch with Calvin Alexander to-day." He grins at me as he sings the 'today' in his sentence. "Would my lovely and beautiful girlfriend please join me?"
"What time?"
"Two."
I draw a deep breath, running through my own hectic schedule. "Can you meet me at the studio?"
"Yeah, no problem."
"Okay, if you can meet me there at one-thirty, I should be able to cut out and go with you. You know how Chambers loves it when we go out in public together. If he sees you picking me up, he should bend over backward to get me out of there."
"Great. See you then." As I start to pull the door shut, his voice carries to the hall. "By the way you need gas."
"You little shit," I mumble, heading back down and calling for the elevator again. I grab my purse and cell phone just as the doors open and the attendant steps out.
"Good morning, Ms. Stanton." He smiles, holding the door for me. He’s a retired bellhop. I didn’t know people actually retired from such positions, but he told me that with pride many times our first few weeks here. He’s dressed smartly in a dark green uniform with gold piping and I think he looks plain silly, but he’s pleasant enough and always polite. And better yet, if he suspects something about mine and Erik’s relationship, he keeps his mouth shut. Of course, I tip him well.
"Good morning, Carl. Can you do me a favor?" I step onto the elevator and turn to face the grinning attendant.
"Of course, Ms. Stanton."
"When Erik tries to leave this morning, get him stuck between floors." I grin as I pull my sunglasses from my purse and slip them on.
"I'll do my best, Ms. Stanton." He gives me a wink and presses the button that will take us to the parking garage.
Before I turn to leave, I press a twenty into his palm. "For at least five minutes." I return his wink and head for my red Mercedes convertible.
My assistant meets me at the entrance to the studio. Gail is a nice enough girl, but something about her annoys me. I’m going to have to figure it out one of these days, but right now I am running late and don't have time to think about anything. Especially since Gail is shoving a stack of folders in my hands. "You're..." she starts, pulling the door open for me. We hustle down the hallway to my office.
"Don't even say it," I say, holding up a warning hand. "I know I'm late. It's obvious I'm late." I rifle through the folders. "What's the most urgent thing here?"
"Well, the top story coming off the wire is about some young Hollywood type who barricaded himself in his house early this morning and took his underage girlfriend hostage..."
"I'm not talking dirty laundry, Gail. I'm talking about real news."
"They're trying to schedule an interview with the Commander of the Coast Guard for you in the wake of the Kennedy thing."
"Yeah, could be something good there, I guess." She pushes the door to my office open and I head straight for my desk. I retrieve the remote from another stack of papers and begin switching on televisions. Then taking a deep breath, I turn to my assistant. "Could you get me some tea, please?"
"Sure."
As she leaves, I sit back for just a moment. Glancing up at the screens, I find myself captured by the absolute bluest eyes I have ever seen.
The crawl at the bottom of the screen identifies the pair as belonging to Harper Kingsley, a camera woman for True TV. Too bad, she was attractive until I knew she was tabloid. Brains do count for something in the total package. Memo to self: tell Erik this insight.
I am still chuckling over that thought when Gail brings back my tea. I don't like the taste of coffee, never have, even though I love the aroma of it. Each day begins with a cup of Earl Gray tea with just a hint of cream to smooth it out. Maybe Gail wouldn’t annoy me so if she’d picked up on that small habit and was actually ready for me each morning. Maybe that’s too much to ask for. I shrug the thought off, watching the small brunette fuss with some files piled in my out basket.
As Gail turns to leave, she sees the blue eyed wonder on the screen, my attention also turns back to those impossible eyes. "That's the woman the wires are going crazy about. She talked Sagemore out of his gun. Handed him a penlight instead."
I frown. "A penlight?"
"He was so coked up he thought it was a microphone. She got it all on tape."
"Naturally. They always do." I rearrange the papers on my desk. I don't know why this subject is annoying me so much, but it is. So I change it. "Why has the production meeting been rescheduled?"
"Jessica had something come up on her story."
Oh, God Almighty. I roll my eyes, fearful they might get stuck as they're so far back. Jessica "Who Thinks She Walks On" Water is the bane of my existence here at the station. She used to be the only woman and only blonde on the six o’clock until I was hired two years ago. She's still pissed.
Gail finally leaves me in peace and I can sip at my tea and glance at all the screens. She was right: Harper Kingsley adorns each one of them at some point. A two-shot shows her to be the same height as Channel 7’s Bruce Adams. And I know from experience the clean-cut man towers above me. She has raven black hair that’s pulled away from her angular face and I just can’t get over the color of those eyes. Despite myself, I find I’m cranking up the volume on the set. She’s answering the questions in a husky dark voice. She shows no emotion or any real interest in the proceedings but she’s dutifully plugging True TV along the way and I sneer.
Sensationalist television makes my blood boil. The ‘cutting edge’ camera shots and pure lack of decorum are media and not news. I hate that the business is a reaction to the ratings and not the events of the world. I hate more that my own station is pushing that direction. Our competition has stepped up to the battle, wielding flashy sets and expensive, form-fitting suits of pastels. The ratings show that audiences like this hip look and we’re losing to the competition. Change is afoot and I can smell it like rotten meat on a campout in June. I wrinkle my nose with distaste as I finish my tea and turn my attention to the stacks of files Gail handed me. I turn down the volume again, finding the tall woman distracting.
For once in his life, Erik arrives on time and is standing in the middle of the newsroom when we file out of the production meeting. Jessica, of course, dominated the meeting and made subtle jabs at me throughout. She’s all for a more risqué production and she never hides that fact. In fact, she takes every opportunity she can to point out that my backwater, small town attitude won’t sell news in a city this size and I need to step up to big city flashiness. It always escapes her that I’ve been here two years, won the station both of its Emmys, and can out-anchor her with both hands tied behind my back and my hair dyed green. Of course that’s my personal opinion and personal opinions don’t get you far in the news world when you’re at my level.