“So, tell me about your new things,” he said, pretending to be casual, as he stood up and looked around. “What kind of stuff did you order?”
“Oh …just the usual stuff,” she said vaguely, continuing to tell him about the politics of the newsroom, hoping to distract him.
“You know, your layout is so different than mine, the two places don't even look remotely related.”
“I know. It's funny, isn't it? I noticed that, too, when I was at your place.” She was smiling at him. She had had a beautiful day, and she was totally relaxed, even though she was a little bit tired.
“How much space do you have upstairs?”
“Just one bedroom and a bath,” she answered easily. “We have another bedroom downstairs, but we never use it.”
“Can I look?” He had let her wander all over his place and it would have seemed unfriendly not to let him do the same, so she hesitated but nodded, as he walked easily upstairs and asked her for another cup of coffee. And when she went into the kitchen to get it, he whipped like whirlwind through her bedroom. It was as empty as he had expected it would be, and within seconds he pulled open both closets, and looked through the bathroom cabinets, pawed through the boxes where she kept her clothes, and discovered what he had just figured out but she had never told him …unless his things were downstairs, and suddenly Bill wanted to know, but he didn't dare ask her. A sixth sense told him that there was a reason why Steven Townsend had loaded all their belongings into a van, and it wasn't because they were going to redo the apartment. Even their wedding picture in the silver frame now sat on the bedroom floor with the room's only lamp, because Steven had taken the dresser and all the tables.
“I like the layout,” he said, as he came downstairs looking relaxed, his whirlwind tour having gone unobserved, and then he asked her if he could use the bathroom. There were two doors on the main floor, and he intentionally chose the one he suspected was a closet, pulled open the door and found it empty save for a handful of empty wooden suit hangers. And then he opened the right one, and closed it behind him as he walked into the bathroom. He opened all the cupboards as quietly as he could, and then flushed the toilet and ran the water. And as he sat down to coffee with her again, he watched her eyes for the answers to his questions. But there were none. She had said nothing to him. She had pretended for weeks that Steven was away on business, that he would be back in a few days, that everything was fine, although she had admitted over dinner that it wasn't always easy. She was a beautiful girl, and he knew she was married. She was still wearing her wedding ring. But he also knew one other thing, after going through every closet in the place. For whatever reason she chose not to disclose, Steven Townsend was no longer living with his wife, and when he had left, he had taken everything with him.
Bill thanked her after a little while, and told her he'd drop by the newsroom the next day. And he thought about her all the way back to his place on the other side of the complex, and he just couldn't figure it out. He was intrigued by her all over again. What was she doing? And why? Why was she pretending that everything was okay? Why hadn't she admitted that she was living alone? What was she hiding? And why? But as he thought of the empty closets again, Bill Thigpen was delighted.
THE COMPLICATED PLOT TURNS HE WAS ABLE TO DE-vise were seemingly endless. And at the moment, Helen's husband, John, had recently been arrested for the murders of Helen's sister Vaughn, played by the late, great Sylvia before she moved to New Jersey, and a young drug pusher named Tim McCarthy. Vaughn's drug habit had been unveiled, her misdeeds as a call girl had come out and caused untold embarrassment, and a politician with whom she was involved, and for whom she had had an abortion years before, was about to become publicly disgraced when the entire scandal hit the papers. But even more important, the fact that Helen was pregnant was about to be unveiled on the show that week. And the real scandal was that the baby wasn't her husband's, a blessing in this case, but it would be the cause of untold guessing games in kitchens across the country for the next several months. Who was the baby's father? Eventually, John and Helen's marriage would end in divorce when he wound up in prison serving a life sentence for the two murders, and the identity of Helen's baby's father would become known, but not for a long time. And Bill was going to have a lot of fun with it in the meantime.
And he was thinking about Adrian as he drove to work the next day, and why she hadn't told him that Steven had left her. It was not unlike one of his plots, although undoubtedly the reasons were a lot simpler. And there was always the possibility that he was wrong, he realized, but he didn't see how he could be. There wasn't a stitch of men's clothing in the house. No men's toiletries, no after-shave, not even a razor. He was absolutely sure of it after his brief investigation. But what was she hiding? And why hadn't she told him? He wondered if she was embarrassed, or if perhaps she just wasn't ready to go out yet.
He didn't have time to think about it once he got to work. One of the actors was sick, and the show's two principal writers were having a major battle, and it was almost noon before he had time to catch his breath, and he wanted to go to Adrian's show and pick her up to bring her on the set to watch their one o'clock airing.
And in her office, Adrian was coping with the discovery that a local senator's son had been wantonly kidnapped and murdered late the night before. It was a shocking case, and the family was devastated. The boy had been only nineteen, and the entire newsroom was depressed. And it made Adrian sick to see the tapes as they came in. He had been dumped on his parents' front steps with his throat cut.
She was busy assigning editors to work on what had come in, and reporters to speak to close family friends, when someone told her there was a call holding for her, but she didn't recognize the name when she picked it up, and she had no idea who it was. It was a man named Lawrence Allman.
“Yes?” She was in the middle of a dozen things and writing notes frantically as she waited to hear what he wanted.
“Mrs. Townsend?”
“Yes.”
“Your husband asked me to call you.” Her heart stopped as she heard the words.
“Has he been in an accident? Is he all right?”
He felt sorry for her as he listened to her reaction. This was not a woman who didn't give a damn about her husband, contrary to what Steven had said to All-man. “No, he's fine. I'm representing him. I'm an attorney.” She looked confused as she listened to him. Why was a lawyer calling her and why had Steven told him to call her?
“Is something wrong?” For a moment he didn't know what to say to her. She seemed so totally unprepared for what was coming. He felt like a real heel for calling.
“I thought perhaps your husband might have said something to you. But I see that he hasn't.” Or maybe she was playing games with him, but he doubted it. She didn't sound like that kind of person. “Your husband is filing for dissolution and he wanted me to work some things out with you, Mrs. Townsend.” She felt as though she had been on a roller coaster all day and it had just stopped and pitched her right out of her seat,leaving her heart back about a dozen miles. She could hardly catch her breath as she listened to him. Steven was doing what?