Alexandra Waring (63 page)

“I’m not ripping the operation apart,” he said. “It’s no different from a newspaper. I’m just backing the editor—in —chief to buy it, that’s all.”

“But that’s not what you’re doing,” she said. “What you’re doing is dragging Alexandra into the middle of a fight with your family. You’re taking advantage of her sense of obligation to you, Jackson, and I don’t think that’s fair.”

“I’m not taking advantage of her,” he said. “I’m going to make her and her people some money, instead of making it for those jerks in my family. She knows that—look, Cassy,” he said, tossing the legal pad he had been writing on down on the coffee table, “she wouldn’t have had the clause in her contract in the first place if she wasn’t interested in the idea.”

“She’s going to London out of personal loyalty to you and you know it,” Cassy told him. “You can’t do this, Jackson, and not do damage. You can’t try and fix something that’s not broken.” She stamped her foot. “For God’s sake, you guys made me design the division to be inseparable from the network!”

“Come on,” Jackson said quietly, holding his arms out to her, “come here. Sit down here and we’ll talk about it.”

“No, Jack,” she said, turning to walk over to a chair, “I can’t do it like that.” She threw herself down in the chair.

“Then don’t come here,” he told her, smiling, “and don’t hear what 1 have to say.” (He loved to see her energy; he loved seeing her energy come surging back through her, even if it was with anger.)

She rolled her eyes. “What do you have to say?”

“That maybe I know everything you’re saying and that maybe 1 just feel like kicking up a little fuss because I got canned tonight—by my own family.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And so maybe I think you should go to London this week too and, after we make her an offer, you make a counteroffer to Alexandra on behalf of DBS to keep DBS News. And while you’re there, finalize an international tie—in agreement with Hargrave. Then you call back home and tell dumbo Darenbrook Communications that, if they want to keep Alexandra and DBS News, then they’re going to have to increase their budget, expand the newscasts to seven days a week and have international affiliation immediately.”

Cassy was starting to smile.

“And if I was a real stickler I’d tell you to tell dumbo DC that Alexandra won’t keep DBS News with them unless I’m voted back in —but I’m not doing that,” Jackson said, making a face at her. “Because I’m a grownup and can find my own means of employment.”

“Really?” she said.

“Really,” he said. He really did wish for Cassy to stay in love with him, and so he saw no reason to tell her that he had just made all this up on the spot. That, until she said it, he hadn’t realized that what she said was true—that he had intended to take advantage of Alexandra’s personal loyalty. She had no fight with Darenbrook Communications, and buying DBS News would only pit herself against the corporation she would be forced to deal with on a daily basis for the next hundred years. Well, so, now he had a different purpose in mind—

One he actually liked a whole lot better. He’d make a show of power to the board—that he
could
take DBS News if he wanted—and he’d let Alexandra win some concessions out of them for DBS News in the process. That was fair. Heck, that was fun! (It sure was a lot more fun poking holes in a corporation than it was trying to plug up the leaks.)

“You cause such a ruckus,” Cassy said, smiling. “You’re just one big fuss, aren’t you?”

“Part of my charm,” he said, getting up and walking over to her. Cassy slid her arms around his waist and rested the side of her face against his stomach. He cradled her head in his arms, leaning over to kiss it once, and then straightened up.

“I’d like to let Alexandra stay the week in London then,” she said. “Open and close from the BINS studio. She’ll have to do it at two in the morning over there—but at least she could see Gordon and they could have the weekend together.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

After a long moment she said, “I love you, Jack.” She looked up at him. “And I’m very sorry about what happened to you today.”

He smiled, touching her nose.

“Darling?” she said, standing up.

“What?” he said, taking hold of her hands and bringing them up to his mouth to kiss.

“When I see her in London,” she said, “I want to tell Alexandra about us.”

He looked at her. “Fine with me.”

She smiled. “Okay
…
Jack?” she said a moment later, touching his cheek.

His eyebrows went up.

“Someday I’m going to ask you to remember tonight. And I’m going to want you to remember that I wanted to tell you something then, but I couldn’t without breaking a personal trust to someone else.”

He looked confused.

“All I want you to know is that I love you and that I want you to know everything about me.” She kissed him, gently. “It’s late,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom.

While she took a bath, Jackson stretched out on his back across the king—size bed, hands behind his head, smiling at the ceiling, listening to the water sounds. When the sounds stopped he picked up the phone, pushed the button for the second extension and dialed the number of the first. The phone in the bathroom rang and rang.

“Jack?” Cassy called.

He got up from the bed, picked up his telephone and moved the cord from around the table so he could carry it with him across the room.

Cassy finally picked up the phone in the bathroom. “Hello?”

“Well, hi,” he said. “Whatcha doing?”

“If you must know,” she said, “I’m toweling myself dry.”

“Can I help?” he said, moving through the dressing room.

“I’m almost done.”

“Cassy?” he said, standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

She was holding the phone between her chin and shoulder and was wrapping a towel around herself. “Yes?” she said, just as she looked up and saw him standing there.

“Ignore that man in the doorway,” Jackson whispered into his phone.

“Why?” she whispered into her phone.

“Because he’s going to ask you to marry him again and the bum doesn’t even have a job.”

She smiled. “Tell the bum to take off his robe—I like his looks,” she said, hanging up the phone. And then she went over to help him, conveniently losing her towel on the way.

48
Alexandra Goes to London

Immediately following her newscast from KSCT in Kansas City on Monday night, Alexandra and Will raced out of the studio and to the airport and just made a 9:45
P.M.
(Central Time) flight to New York. Arriving at Kennedy at 1:36
A.M
. (Eastern Daylight Time), they dashed through the terminals with Alexandra’s dress bag and their carry—on bags to make a 2
A.M
. flight to London. Five minutes after takeoff, Alexandra was sound asleep in her seat in first class, head against the window. She slept through all offers of food and drink; she slept through Will putting a pillow under her head; she slept through the stewardess throwing a blanket over her; she slept through the movie; and she even slept through the lady who kept coming up to loudly ask if Alexandra wasn’t awake yet so she could get her autograph.

Will finally drifted off to sleep, and as they began their descent into Heathrow he awakened to find Alexandra sitting there, smiling at him, eating dried fruit and nuts out of a plastic bag. “Wait until I tell Sissy we spent the night together again,” she said, winking and holding out the bag.

“I can’t put on my seatbelt—” They heard a woman saying from somewhere behind them. “But if she gets off the plane I’ll never catch her! I had to chase Ed Bradley halfway across Paris last year and still didn’t get his autograph!”

The stewardess came up and got Alexandra’s autograph for the woman.

They got in at 7:40
AM
New York time—or 6:40
AM
, Kansas City time—which meant that it was 12:40
PM
Tuesday afternoon in London. After getting through immigration, they found the driver Lord Hargrave had sent to meet them, who led them outside to a Silver Spur Rolls Royce.

“Buy the company, buy the company,” Will urged Alexandra, climbing in after her. “We like this.”

“Oh, my,” Alexandra sighed, looking at the inside of the car.

“Alexandra Waring,” Will said, holding his hands up in front of him, reading it off an imaginary marquee, “Media Mogul. I
like
it.”

She winced, hitting him in the arm.

The car took them into London, where Lord Hargrave had made arrangements for them to stay at the Ritz. As they turned off Piccadilly onto Duke Street, nearing the hotel, Alexandra suddenly said, “What has happened to all of us? What am I
doing
here?” She looked at Will. “I’m from Haven Wells,
Kansas
, for heaven sakes.”

“Marcellus, New York,” Will said, holding up his hand.

“And I’m a reporter—right?”

“You’re a star, baby,” Will said, elbowing her.

She groaned, sinking in her seat. “You know how sometimes it takes awhile for reality to sink in? Well,” she sighed, looking out the window, “I think it just did.” She looked at Will. “I’m supposed to be part of the fourth estate, not a plaything of the landed gentry.”

“You can always give your money to me,” he said, shrugging, as they turned onto Arlington Street. “Oh, wow,” he said then, leaning forward, “look at this.” Sitting at the head of the taxi line, in front of the west entrance into the Ritz, was a green and black brougham, drawn by two beautiful black horses.

“Miss Glitz from America has arrived,” Alexandra said under her breath as the car stopped and her door was opened.

Will snapped his fingers. ‘That’s it,” he said. “That’s the story we do while we’re here—the treatment of British anchors as opposed to American.”

“Yes,” Alexandra said, jumping out of the car. “Yes! The American anchor and the English presenter, news anchor versus news reader, celebrity versus authority. Oh, Will, we’ve got to get to Sue Lawley, she’s leaving the BBC—and Alastair Burnet at ITN, we have to get to him.” She was walking backward up the stairs while talking to Will confusing the doorman a bit as to what this young lady was doing and stopped altogether when Will pulled a pad and pen out of his jacket pocket to write this down. “Oh—thank you very much!” Alexandra called, waving to the driver.

“Who else?” Will said. “I’ll get BINS working on it today—I don’t know any of these English guys.”

“At the BBC, Martyn Lewis. And then over at ITN, I told you, Burnet—that’s Sir Alastair Burnet—and let’s try one of the new ones.” She winked. “One of
my
contemporaries.” She pointed to his pad. “Fiona Armstrong—she’s the one I keep hearing about. Hargrave’s going to try to hire her, I hear.”

There were messages waiting for them at the desk. After they signed in and were shown up to the third floor, they parted ways to meet later that night at the BINS studio. Alexandra was shown into 321, a lovely, elegant suite overlooking Green Park. The architecture was turn of the century, and .both the living room and bedroom had pale yellow walls, high ceilings, intricate wood moldings and touches of gold leaf decoration. In the living room there were two sets of triple windows—practically floor to ceiling—and in the bedroom there was one set of windows, and all had gold drapes hanging to the floor. The living room was furnished in a Louis XVI style; at the end of the room was a marble fireplace, elaborate mantel and gorgeous mirror above. In the bedroom there were two full brass beds pushed together and a dressing table and mirror in front of the window. There was a small crystal and brass chandelier in each room, as well as brass lighting fixtures in the wall.

There were also two flower arrangements in the living room. Alexandra opened the card to the first. It was a plain card, with a small coat of arms engraved on the corner.

Welcome to London

it said.

The second was a florist’s card.

Dorchester is expecting you and/or your things any time tomorrow. I should be back by seven, hoping to find you. Dinner? I promise to get you to the studio on time. Call me in Rye Harbor.

Love, G

Alexandra called downstairs for tea and sandwiches. When the tray arrived she settled onto one of the two small sofas in her living room to eat while returning telephone calls. Yes, she was here, she told Lord Hargrave’s office, and would be there at four. Yes, she was here, she told BINS, and would be there tonight. Then she returned Chi Chi’s call from West End, who said they couldn’t get Cassy into the Ritz but that she should be at the Connaught on Carlos Place by six or so. Then Chi Chi transferred her to Kate so she could check in with her. Then she called the number in Rye Harbor for Gordon, where he was shooting on location this week, and left a message for him that she had arrived, her plans were a little up in the air at the moment, but yes, she would see him tomorrow night for dinner. And then she called her apartment to return Jessica’s call. Jessica just wanted to say hello and wondered if Alexandra happened to have the number of a plant
doctor
.

“Just kidding, just kidding,” Jessica said. “We’re having a great time here—aren’t we, guys? We’re just sitting here eating breakfast. Here, Greenie, have some grapefruit. Hey, Waring—Lisa called me last night.”

“I told you we were having dinner,” Alexandra said.

“Yeah, you did—but you didn’t say anything about being down in the dumps. I know you’re busy taking over the company or whatever it is you’re doing over there—by the way, you’re supposed to go into food companies, or don’t you pay attention to your own newscast? And you’d be much better off in food. You’re perfect for a cake mix box Kansas Home Cooking with the Divine Miss W—”

Alexandra was laughing.

“
Anyway
,” Jessica continued, “Lisa seems to be a little concerned about you. She wouldn’t tell me what it was about, only that you weren’t very happy. And that she thought you needed someone to talk to.”

Silence. Alexandra was looking into her cup of tea.

“Oh, great,” Jessica said, “now I’ve shut you up completely. Listen, Alexandra, this is not an interrogation. I’m not mad at you for telling Lisa things you don’t tell me—I’m not even mad that, after pretending that you scarcely know her, she turns out to be one of your closest friends.” She was laughing. “I’m beginning to understand the enormous entertainment factor in being friends with you. Half the fun is trying to figure out who the person is I might be friends with.” She paused. “You still there?”

Alexandra swallowed, clearing her throat. “Yes.”

“
‘Yes,’ she says,” Jessica said. “Look, I’m not trying to be nosy. I don’t want you to tell me anything you don’t want to—especially since, as you said once, it’s not good to tell people who drink too much too much, is it? And I know I haven’t been sober for very long—”

“Oh, Jessica,” Alexandra said quickly, “that’s not it. Really, it’s not. I trust you very much. Really.” She paused. “It’s just me. Lisa’s known me a long time. Um; , she…” She sighed. “I don’t know.” She laughed to herself. “That’s exactly it—I don’t know. That’s my problem, Jessica—I just don’t know a lot of things anymore that I thought I did. About myself.”

“Are you okay?”

“Actually, this crazy trip over here is probably a very good thing for me. It’s just crazy enough to inspire me to find out some things while I’m here.”

“Like what?” Jessica said.

“Like what I’m doing in this life.” Alexandra hesitated, then went on. “One of the reasons why I don’t like to talk about my problems is because, as soon as I hear myself talking, I can’t pretend there aren’t any problems anymore. And if I tell someone else, then I feel compelled to do something, because I can’t
not
do something when other people expect me to do something. And I just don’t have the time to drop everything and try and sort out some of this stuff that’s been so confused for so many years.”

“But you don’t have to do it all in one day,” Jessica said. “Waring, listen to me, you’re allowed to be human too, you know. You’re allowed to have a life to work on.”

“But this isn’t about someone being sick, or not being able to pay the rent, Jessica,” Alexandra said. “It’s just feelings—and feelings aren’t real things.”

“What?” Jessica said. “Feelings are real things—and they’re very important—”

“Not in my line of work they’re not,” Alexandra said.

“Yeah, but your work is not your life,” Jessica said.

“But it is,” Alexandra said.

Jessica sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Right now, anyway.”

“So is it any wonder I don’t
want
to talk about it?” Alexandra said.

Pause. “It?” Jessica said.

Alexandra sighed, pressing the bridge of her nose for a moment. Dropping her hand, “Yes. It. Something in particular.” She paused. “And the reason why I can’t talk about it is because I’m scared to, Jessica. I’m scared of what you’d think—.of me. And I’m scared what it would do to our friendship. Because I’ve been so grateful to have a friend my age at DBS—a friend, period—and I just couldn’t take it right now if you were to—”

“I
am
your friend!” Jessica said. “It’s a done deed, Waring. You can’t just undo it. Do you hear me? No matter what, I’m on your side. Got it?”

Alexandra sighed. “I know I’m not making any sense—”

“You’re making perfect sense,” Jessica said. “Because it’s something I recognize very well. It’s called fear, which in some circles is better known as Fuck Everything And Run—a method of coping with emotional pain that I know very well, believe me. And maybe I got drunk doing it and maybe you look very productive doing it—but either way, haven’t you noticed how often you and I keep meeting around the quicksand?”

“I know,” Alexandra said.

“But I feel sorry for you, Waring,” Jessica said. “Because at least my drinking dragged me down, whereas with you—you’re so goddam perfect and driven to be perfect, and so goddam strong and otherwise unself—destructive, it’s gonna take hurricanes and earthquakes and centuries to wear you down to where you have to start talking to people.”

“I think that’s changing,” Alexandra said. “I think that’s why I saw Lisa. And I think it probably has to do with the shooting.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” Alexandra said, sighing, “the first time I got shot, it sent me running in one direction—the safest direction, I guess. Because I was scared, Jessica. Nobody knows how scared I was after that happened.” She paused. “But then this time—I don’t know, I seem to be reeling in another direction.” She cleared her throat. “And definitely not the safest direction. But maybe the one that’s right—I just don’t know.”

Pause. “It’s Gordon, isn’t it?” Jessica said.

Alexandra sighed. “It’s me. My life, my work, what I want, where I’m going, what makes me happy.”

Silence.

“Should I be worrying about you?” Jessica said.

“No,” Alexandra said.

“You do know that I’d do anything for you, don’t you?” Jessica said. “And I guess that’s really all I wanted to say. That I’m here if you need me. And that—oh, brother, Alexandra Eyes, I mean, come on—you never let me do anything for you.”

“Thanks,” Alexandra said.

“Now is Cassy going to be over there or what?”

“Uh—huh. She’ll be here tonight.”

“So I don’t have to worry about you, right?” Jessica said. “You’ll talk to her if you need someone—right?”

Alexandra was rolling her eyes. “Right,” she said.