Falling Star (51 page)

She did and instantly forgot everything else.
Because inside was a check, made out to her, in the amount of ...
"One point five million dollars?"

Jerry nodded. "I've done a deal with
Heartbeat Studios. They want me to take over as
Forget
Maui
's executive producer. That's half the fee."

She was flabbergasted. "But I don't
understand."

"Natalie, I'd be receiving no fee at all if
it weren't for you. I was so immersed in Tuscan vineyards and
writing my screenplay and playing the expatriate American that I
had no idea what was going on back here. Thanks to you, I found
out. When I said I wanted to repay you, I meant it. I was thinking
maybe you have a favorite charity you'd like to donate it to."

"But, Jerry, you could donate this money in
your own name." She forced herself to hold the check out to him.
"It's unbelievably generous but I simply can't take it. It's too …
enormous."

But Jerry raised his hands in the air. "I
want you to have it, Natalie. Really. I insist."

Reluctantly, she lowered her eyes and gazed
at the check. She'd never seen such a number arrayed on a check
before. It looked fake.

But it wasn't. It was astonishingly real. An
idea wormed its way into her brain.
Why not put it into the web
venture? Make Jerry an investor? It would get you started, and who
knows? Someday you might be able to repay him ten times over
...

"That's settled, then." Jerry smiled and rose
to his feet.

"Jerry, I don't know how to—"

He shook his head. "I should be thanking
you
."

"I'll walk you out," she offered when her
phone rang. "Hold on a second." She crossed over to her desk and
picked up the receiver. "Natalie Daniels."

"Good, I caught you."

She frowned, caught off guard. "Rhett?"

"Have a moment to chat?"

"Uh, sure." She glanced at her watch.
11:22.

"Meet me in the news director's office," he
said, then hung up.

*

Tony missed all the monitors he used to have
at KXLA. At home he had one TV.
One.
A stinking 28-inch in
his family room. How could he do any serious news watching on
that
? And serious news watching he had to do, because Kelly
Devlin, who he'd been stupid enough to let ruin his life, was on
every newscast in town. He half expected her to make the networks
by dinner.

He sat in his La-Z-Boy across from the TV,
the room as dark as he could make it, even though it was noon and
Valley life was going on all around him. That was what he hated.
Even the cheery little rays of sunshine that sneaked in around the
curtains were annoying. He wanted to be closed off. He wanted it to
be dark. He wanted to be alone.

Twelve noon exactly. For a change from local
news, he switched to
CNN Headline News
.

They had a good-looking woman anchor. Young.
Read PrompTer well. "But you should be doing the Charlotte refinery
fire as the top story!" he yelled at her. Bad producing, but that
wasn't her fault. He relented, thinking maybe he should write down
her name for future reference, but then he remembered. Why bother?
He couldn't hire her. He'd been fired himself, after only six
months on the job. For the first time since he was thirteen years
old and worked after school and on weekends in his old man's shoe
repair shop, he was unemployed.

Maybe that was what he'd end up doing, now
that his name was mud in TV news. He could smell the polish even
now. He felt his stomach turn.

Then the phone rang. "I'll get it,"
Anna-Maria called out. She was acting as if she was scared to be
with him. Her own husband.

He closed his eyes. He'd screwed up big-time
for Anna-Maria. No Cadillac now. Sure, they could hold on to the
Hondas, and they had money socked away for retirement and the kids'
college, but he'd wanted to give her life's real luxuries.

She came back looking puzzled and holding out
the cordless phone. "It's Gino Carlutti."

He frowned. His old GM from WNNC in Syracuse,
where he'd gotten his start? Calling him at home? Did Gino know
he'd been canned? Did everybody? He took the phone, girding
himself. "Gino!" he boomed. "How's it hanging?"

"Like a
gavone
, my friend." Carlutti
chuckled, then hesitated. "You're sounding well."

"You're fishing, Gino."

"Can you blame me, when I hear that the best
news director in the goddamn business is on the beach because of
some cockamamie screwup?"

Tony's heart leaped. Gino didn't believe the
stories? Which were true, of course, but still. "What're you saying
to me, Gino?"

"I'm saying I lost my news director two weeks
ago. Guy up and left for a job in Minneapolis. No warning. Now I
know you're in the big time and Syracuse might look like small
potatoes to you, but hey!" Gino laughed again. Tony loved Gino like
a brother. "Would you and Anna-Maria consider your old stomping
grounds for, what do they call it these days, lifestyle
reasons?"

Would Tony
consider
it? Despite how
tiny the Syracuse market was, despite the fact that it'd be like
starting out all over again, despite how he'd probably have a heart
attack shoveling snow, he had to stop himself from grabbing Gino's
offer right then and there. How many offers was he gonna get, after
all? Tony Scoppio was a marked man! Only a friend would hire him.
And he didn't have many friends in TV news. He'd never bothered to
make them. His strategy had been to kick ass and take names.

"I've got to tell you, Gino, you're not the
first person to call," he lied. "But you are one of my good buds
from way back."

"So for old times' sake you'll look at an
offer? Lemme fax it over to you. What's the number there?"

Tony gave Gino his home fax number and they
hung up. He hoisted himself out of the La-Z-Boy and made for the
kitchen. "Anna-Maria!" he yelled. "How about Syracuse? You like
Syracuse?"

*

Rhett Pemberley rose from behind Tony's desk
the moment Natalie entered the news director's office. "Come in.
Good to see you." He shut the door and waved her toward the lone
chair in front of Tony's desk.

None of this is Tony's anymore
, she
had to remind herself. The office had an entirely different aura
now that Tony had cleared out his junk and the cleaning crew had
given it a good once-over. No more yellowing newspapers or
coffee-stained cups or greasy takeout. No more blinds pulled down
over the windows that overlooked the newsroom. No more news
blasting from all six monitors. Not to mention that the immaculate
Rhett Pemberley, reclaiming the chair behind the desk, cut quite a
different figure than Tony Scoppio. The only similarity between
Before and After was the teetering stacks of resume reels.
Tony
may be out but my competition's still here
, she thought,
and
they're not going anywhere.

"I'll get right to the point." Rhett leaned
forward, interlocking his fingers. "I've always admired you,
Natalie. Over the years you've contributed a great deal to this
station and been a valuable asset to Sunshine. That said, KXLA is
in serious trouble and I have to take strong action to salvage
it."

Natalie stared at him, every inch the cool,
calculating executive, and felt as if her heart skipped a beat. The
fates, cruel, cruel fates, were throwing her back in time, to that
horrible June day when Tony said he wasn't going to renew her.
I
cannot believe this. Now Pemberley's going to fire me. I've been
back on the anchor desk one goddamn week and I'm getting blasted
out again!

Somehow, she wanted to be the one to walk out
on KXLA. Even though she was considering leaving either to start
the web venture or cross the street to KNBC, she wanted to step out
on her own, not have them—
again!
—do the pushing.

Rhett began to tick off items on his fingers.
"We've had three high-profile firings, of news director, main
anchor, and managing editor. We're losing at 10 o'clock. The news
department is in the red. Two lawsuits are pending against us.
Children's rights groups are organizing an advertiser boycott.
Morale is rock-bottom. And our reputation is shot."

Amazingly, all that was true. But none of it
was her fault. "Rhett," she began, "I . . ."

He slapped open a manila folder. "Today is
the final day of your personal-service contract," he went on. "Is
that correct?"

She shook her head. "It is, but . . ."

"Then today is the perfect time for you to
make a new start." He locked her gaze, and then, slowly, he smiled,
revealing a set of perfect white teeth. "How about taking over as
news director?"

She gave an awkward laugh. No way could she
have heard him right. "I don't understand."

"What's not to understand? I'm offering you
the news director job." He came out from behind the desk and
perched on its right front corner. "Natalie, it makes perfect
sense. You know the station inside out, you have the respect of the
staff, and you have solid news judgment. Moreover, you have the
kind of character and integrity I want to see in this position. Why
is it so surprising?"

Why indeed? Natalie fell back in her chair
and wondered. Maybe because she'd never held the job before, in any
station anywhere, let alone in the second-largest TV market in the
country. Maybe because, thanks to Tony Scoppio, lots of TV people
nationwide thought she was mentally unstable. Maybe because she'd
spent the last eighteen years trying to make news directors happy
and had never dreamed of being the one in the power seat
herself.

But did she think she was up to the job? Yes,
Natalie realized, surprised. Yes. As a matter of fact, she thought
she'd make a damn fine news director.

"Of course," Rhett was saying, "with all
these hurdles to get over, the job is no walk in the park. Nor does
the salary compare to what you earn as an anchor. I'm prepared to
offer a three-year deal at two hundred the first year, two fifteen
the second, and two twenty-five the third. But Sunshine does have
an attractive stock option ..."

Natalie tuned out, completely flummoxed. This
was so far out of left field, it might as well be coming from
another ballpark. She had never in her life considered going the
management route in television. She'd have to give up being on the
air, but being a news director certainly had compensations.

Power, for one. Both editorial and over
personnel. And experience was genuinely valued. True, news
directors did face some of the same risks as anchors—station owners
were always on the lookout for the latest news director star,
too—but it wasn't quite as capricious.

Rhett was still talking. "... at Sunshine. A
few years down the road, you might be interested in coming out to
Phoenix. We could use a woman of your caliber in Sunshine
management. Who knows? Maybe it would make sense for you to do a
midcareer executive program, at Harvard Business School, for
example." He paused. "What do you say?"

She took a deep breath.
What a great
feeling. In demand, able to say yes or no, and he's waiting for my
answer.
She rose and paced the office, staring down at the
woven gray carpet. "I say I'm very flattered, Rhett, and certainly
interested, but I need time to think."

"Certainly. Of course." He rose and extended
his hand, then held on to hers and covered it with his own. "If
you'd rather stay on the anchor desk, Natalie, that's an option,
too. But I truly believe the best next step for you is the
news-director role."

"I will think about it."

"If you have any questions, call me.
Anytime."

She nodded and walked out, her head high and
her heart thumping. It wasn't until she was leaping up the stairs
two at a time to grab her purse out of her office and dash off to
Geoff's wedding—so much for not making an embarrassingly late
entrance; it had started ten minutes ago—that she realized what a
rich turnaround Rhett's offer presented.

Not only did Tony Scoppio lose his
job—Natalie Daniels found it.

*

Geoff stood before the mirror in the west
anteroom at St. Jude Episcopal Church in Pacific Palisades and
adjusted his bow tie one more time.

His brother, Russell, also in black tie,
watched from across the tiny room, bewilderment on his face. "It
hasn't moved in the last two minutes, mate."

Geoff dropped his arms to his sides. No, the
tie hadn't moved. Nothing had. Nothing had changed. Except the
position of the hands on the loudly ticking clock set on the musty
room's mantel.

A knock sounded on the door, which then
opened a crack. St. Jude's senior minister poked his head inside,
his expression grim.

"Just a bit longer," Russell said, and the
minister slid away, looking unconvinced. Russell raked his fingers
through his dark hair and cleared his throat. "Quarter after now,
mate."

Geoff noted the discomfort in his younger
brother's voice. Naturally. Several thick doors and a few dozen
yards away, 400 well-dressed guests were arranged in pews. From
noon until ten after, they'd been quiet. But now, five minutes
later, they were starting to get restless. Geoff sensed their
consternation more than he heard it. The questions no doubt racing
through their collective mind were also making tracks across his
own.
What's the problem here? Is this going to happen or
not?

"The problem," Geoff muttered to himself, "is
that for the first time in my life I dread the future."

Russell came a few steps closer, his head
cocked. "What's that? Didn't quite hear you."

Geoff regarded his brother. "Did you feel
like that when you got married? Like the best was behind you?"

"Oh, no, mate." Russell shook his head
vigorously. "Just the opposite. Couldn't believe my luck,
really."