Falling Star (29 page)

Their gazes locked. "Janet." He stopped. His
heart was pounding.
It must be from happiness
, he thought.
This must be how all men feel.
"Janet," he repeated, "will
you be my wife?"

Her face was still for a moment more, and
then it contorted into an expression of such unbounded joy he was
instantly relieved.
It must be right. Look how happy she is
.
She catapulted into his body and threw her arms around his neck and
he felt her tears against his skin. "Oh, yes, Geoff, yes, yes," she
was saying, and then a strong wave hit and they toppled backward
onto the deck, the man who was sailing the boat letting out a big
uproarious whoop. It was a glorious moment, what with her happy
tears, and then his, he was surprised to see, the sort of moment
you believe you will remember all your life, just like people tell
you it will be.

*

Natalie sat at a tiny table in the lobby bar
of the New York Hilton, a mammoth tower on the Avenue of the
Americas that played temporary home to thousands of guests a night.
They broke down into two categories, she decided, assessing her
fellow travelers from behind a glass of chardonnay. Businesspeople
who ranked too low on the corporate totem pole to pull off a stay
at a ritzier hotel. And tourists using discount awards to be able
to afford a Midtown room.
Which category am I in?
she
wondered. A businessperson whose sponsor, in this case WITW, wanted
to spend the least possible money and still get a passable hotel
room?

She glanced down at the paperback she was
keeping open, though it was serving more as a prop than as reading
material. It kept some of those traveling businessmen at bay,
though not all. A few bold souls made lame pickup attempts, unfazed
by her wall of disinterest. Not to mention by their own wedding
rings. Or by the telltale untanned skin on their ring fingers where
their wedding rings normally were located and would no doubt be
reinstated by their return home.

She sighed. It was very difficult, as a
soon-to-be divorcee and even more recent rejectee, to sit in a
hotel bar fending off married men not to be damned cynical about
love and marriage.

And not to feel conspicuous. By now, a little
after 7 PM, the pancake makeup she'd applied for the audition had
gotten seriously cakey. And her red suit, which had fallen far from
its previous perch as her favorite outfit, felt garish and
overdone.

She downed her chardonnay and raised a finger
to request the check. She knew that a better woman would use this
rare evening in Manhattan to dine in a fabulous restaurant, perhaps
go to the theater. In fact, she'd booked the night for just that
purpose, figuring why not call in sick to KXLA the extra day. But
in the end she would do nothing more than repair to her room for a
shower, room service, and a movie on the in-house system. She was
too exhausted and disillusioned to attempt a grander plan.

She signed the bill, grabbed her purse and
paperback, and stood up. A man across the bar, staring away from
her toward the lobby, caught her eye. Tall, commanding, thick mane
of silver-gray hair. Vaguely familiar. She squinted. It was Ben
Stilwell, one of the most prominent TV-news agents in the business.
A powerhouse. Natalie would have signed with him if Dewey, Climer
hadn't won her over. She smiled. What a happy coincidence. She
hadn't seen Ben in years. She'd go say hello.

She halted a few feet away when a drop-dead
blonde got to him first. Truly drop-dead, not to mention gorgeously
turned out in a stunning teal suit. Natalie stopped and stared.
Around her, heads swiveled, businessmen on the prowl newly
attentive, though this creature was clearly out of their league.
But the blonde—25 if she was a day—was oblivious to everyone but
Ben Stilwell. And to judge from the look on her face, absolutely
delighted with what he had to say.

Natalie sidled closer. Though she was at
Ben's back, she could make out his words. "—bowled them over.
Absolutely bowled them over. Drosher wouldn't give me a number but
I assure you, Tina, we'll have an offer in writing by the end of
the week."

The blonde's eyes filled with tears. She just
held on to Ben's arms, helplessly. Natalie watched her, unable to
move. She was still trying to process the words. And grasp that
they had been spoken to someone other than her.

Time moved in slow motion. She stared at the
blonde. How happy she was. How thrilled. How young. She could
barely hold it in, Natalie could tell. She was so happy she was
shaking.
What a triumph for her
, Natalie thought,
mesmerized.
What a day she's having, a day she'll always
remember. It's how I felt when I got hired at KXLA.

But that had been years before. That wouldn't
happen again. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Maybe you've
been at this too long
.

Someone jostled Natalie's elbow, snapping her
to attention. She maneuvered past the duo, of course not saying
hello. It was a private moment, a moment of benediction, though not
for her. She walked across the lobby, crowded with travelers and
bellboys, and made the mistake of entering an elevator crammed with
Japanese tourists in search of a tempura bar and a Midwestern
family who couldn't remember which floor they were on.

Finally she alighted on eighteen and made the
right turn down the hall, halting outside number 1842. Her key card
worked. She was home, such as it was. She was blessedly alone.

She sat on the bed and kicked off her pumps.
The room smelted of Lysol and cigarette smoke. It was silent save
for the muted roar of traffic eighteen floors below and a game show
playing on the TV next door. The only indication that it was her
room at all were the cosmetics on the nightstand.

The cosmetics she'd used that morning when
she still believed she had a chance at an anchor job in New York.
When she still believed she had a chance at an anchor job at all.
Now that illusion was shot. She was two months away from her
contract expiring and as far from an anchor job as if she had never
stood in front of a broadcast camera in her life.

Saturday, August 3, 9:24 PM

Kelly was damn irritated and who wouldn't be?
Here she was on a Saturday night, in this chichi Santa Monica
restaurant that Miles had taken over for his sitcom's launch party,
and he wasn't paying a damn bit of attention to her! Who did he
think she was, his
wife
? Sure, there were all these starlets
around, but she wasn't going to put out more than a slap in the
face later unless he shaped up but quick.

Or unless he gave her what she wanted. And
wrote the check tonight.

One of the waiters cruised by with a tray and
she snatched an oyster in cucumber sauce. Chinois on Main, the
restaurant was called, one of those Eurasian places, but here the
food was actually good. The place was small and all done up in
pastels, with exotic Chinese shit on the walls. The studio must
have paid a pretty penny to take it entirely over on a Saturday
night. But Miles probably whined to high heaven until they gave in.
That would be classic Miles. Living large, on somebody else's
dime.

One of the starlets sidled up to Kelly
wearing a slinky white dress that was even shorter than Kelly's
sequined blue one. Suzy, her name was, the blond bimbo star of
Forget Maui
. Kelly barely knew her but already hated
her.

Suzy cocked her head at Miles, who was
standing with some groupies across the restaurant. "So you're
seeing Miles now?"

Kelly just smiled. She knew it gave her
status big-time to be dating the executive producer. He was the big
dog.

"Miles and I saw each other for a while,"
Suzy said. "So what do you do?"

Like she didn't know. "I anchor
The KXLA
Primetime News
," Kelly informed her.

"Oh." Suzy looked bored, then sauntered
off.

Bitch. Like the only thing that counted was
acting! And those implants of hers were huge. They were really
fake-looking.

A motion across the restaurant caught Kelly's
eye. Great. Miles was taking over the center of the room, as if he
was going to make a speech. And he was looking all slick and proud
of himself.

Jeez, it was just a sitcom going on the air!
These people acted as if they were sending a man to Mars.

Miles stood there awhile and eventually
people quieted down. Were they sucking up or what? It amazed her.
Then they started applauding and he took a few bows. Kelly rolled
her eyes and snagged a glass of champagne.

"People," he said, holding out his hands as
if he were a preacher, "we're here tonight to celebrate the launch
of
Forget Maui
."

Everyone started applauding again, wildly
this time. Some of the guys whooped, including a cute young one
with curly black hair and a go-to-hell ass. Someone had told Kelly
he was one of the writers. She waited till he looked at her; then
she winked at him. His big dark eyes shot open as if he was
shocked, but then he smiled back.

Oh, yeah, he smiled back. Kelly forced her
gaze back to Miles, but she could feel the young guy watching. She
arched her back so that her spaghetti strap dropped from her
shoulder, then she left it down. She could almost feel the guy's
heat from across the restaurant.

Miles was talking again. "We're finally
getting our due. Heartbeat Studios, and NBC, recognize what a gem
they have in
Forget Maui
—"

Loads of people cheered at that. Jesus
Christ.

"—and I'm here to tell you they're right! I
guarantee you"—Miles opened his arms wide—"we'll be gathered here
again celebrating our Emmy for best comedy series!"

Everybody cheered again. At least the booze
was flowing at this shindig. Kelly threw back some more champagne.
She'd given herself a night off her diet regimen just to get
through.

She tried to get next to the cute guy, but
now that she didn't want Miles's attention, she had it. He was like
a fly on paper the rest of the goddamn night.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity,
it was over. They sped to Malibu in Miles's Porsche, him talking
the whole way about how great he was.

But if he's so proud of himself
, Kelly
realized,
this is the perfect time to go for it
.

He parked the Porsche in the driveway, but
before he could get out, Kelly laid her hand on his thigh. "Baby,"
she purred.

He looked at her, then grinned. "You're hot,
aren't you?" He put his finger on her lower lip, then stared at her
mouth. "I could really feel it tonight."

What an idiot
, she thought.
He
thinks I'm hot for him, not the writer who's half his age.

But of course she couldn't tell him that. She
sucked on his finger until she had him totally mesmerized. "Oh, I'm
hot, Miles," she whispered. "But I need something from you."

His voice was husky. "What do you need?"

"I need some cash to buy that house I told
you about." She paused. "A hundred fifty grand for the down
payment." She could get the other five thousand from maxing out her
credit cards. And then Kelly Devlin, LA Anchorwoman, would have a
Bel Air address.

"Whoa." He pulled back, his eyes wide with
shock. "That's a trig number."

"You don't have it?"

"Of course I have it. I'm just saying, that's
a big number."

She let her gaze drop to his lap. "Everything
about you is big, Miles."

He laughed "You're right about that,
sweetcakes." Then he stared out the front window and got all
serious again.

She waited. He'd cave. No way he'd bypass a
chance to show what a big man he was.

"I suppose I could do a loan," he said
eventually. "What the hell?" He laughed. "I'll draft something for
you to sign."

"Great." Whatever. So long as she got the
bucks. Eventually Scoppio would cave, too, and hike her offer and
then she'd have no problem paying Miles back.

She smiled at Miles. Now she did owe him a
treat. Maybe she could close her eyes and pretend he was the young
guy with the drop-dead ass. She met his eyes. "Let's go fuck on the
beach," she suggested.

For that, Miles needed no convincing.

*

Not what you like to see first thing Monday
morning.

Tony stood in front of his desk, briefcase
still in hand, staring down at the ratings from Friday night that
Maxine had put in his IN box.
The KXLA Primetime News
, 4.6.
The KYYR News at 10
, 5.0.

Harrumph.

Three nights in a row that he'd fallen back
below a 5 rating. Three nights that KYYR had kicked his butt. But
how in hell could that happen with a hot number like Kelly Devlin
at the anchor desk?

He shrugged out of his sport coat and tossed
it on the plaid couch on the far side of his office, its sagging
cushions half hidden by stacks of yellowing
Los Angeles
Times
. Then he unpacked his briefcase, varying his morning
routine by immediately tearing into the new bag of chocolate bars
Anna-Maria had given him.

"Maxine!" he bellowed out his door. "Coffee!"
He paused, considering. "And get Bjorkman in here!"

Maxine had just deposited his coffee on his
desk when Howard showed up, stinking to high heaven of that cologne
shit he doused himself with every morning. "Morning, Tony." Howard
threw himself on a chair. "How'd your son's wrestling match go over
the weekend?"

"Don't ask." Tony rolled his eyes. It was one
of God's cruel jokes that all the Scoppio men were built as wide as
they were short, and the only athletic field on which they could
hope to compete was the wrestling mat. But even that was failing
his kid now. It'd been no fun sitting with Anna-Maria in that high
school gym watching their son get pinned so often and so hard.
"Snickers?" He held up the bag.