Audrey's Promise
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Audrey’s Promise
by
Susan Sheehey
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Audrey’s Promise
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Susan Sheehey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Angela Anderson
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
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Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2013
Print ISBN 978-1-61217-929-2
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-930-8
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Susan Sheehey
AUDREY’S PROMISE
was a finalist in
the NTRWA 2013 Great Expectation Writing Contest
Single Title Category
Dedication
To My Son—Dreams Come True
To My Family—For Your Love
To all my critique partners, who helped me grow,
this is the start of something wonderful
Chapter One
Audrey Allen squirmed under the dozen cameras and bright lights glaring on her face. Sitting in the sofa chair across from the TV anchor might as well have been a police interrogation.
What am I doing here in front of these bloodsucking media fiends?
“And we’re back in five, four…” the producer counted from behind the shadows of the camera.
Because I have a sick need to constantly punish myself.
An even brighter light switched on and burned into Audrey’s retinas. Her normal motto of keeping her distance from reporters had to be sacrificed like a Mayan virgin to cruel gods, if only for three minutes. Every nerve ending in her body compelled her to stand and walk out. She pulled the collar of her sapphire blouse closer to her neck and forced a smile instead.
Breathe. Smile, Audrey.
You agreed to this.
“Welcome back, folks. I’m Cathy Claise here with Texas State Senate candidate, Audrey Allen.”
Could this woman’s hair be any more bleached?
Sandra Dee meets televangelist Jan Crouch in her mid-forties, desperate to look a decade fresher. But viewers had no idea she looked this fake up close. The magic of TV.
“Audrey has captured the political field by storm, stunning all of Dallas’s second district as the one candidate to take on Wyatt Williams in this surprising runoff election. Audrey, how have you managed to earn votes from both liberals and conservatives? Some conservatives criticize that you refuse to answer questions on family and religion to hide your deep-set liberal views.”
I knew this was a bad idea.
Fire fused to Audrey’s throat and spread up her jawbone. Even with the oncoming heartburn, she knew this question was bound to come up. Journalists latched onto any pinprick of weakness and blasted it into a gaping wound, turning what was nothing into a hemorrhage of lies and misinterpretations. Despite her heart rate thumping against her sternum, Audrey kept smiling.
As she opened her mouth to answer, she threw a glance over Cathy’s shoulder to her campaign manager, Miranda Gates, who’d stopped guzzling coffee and stared back at her.
“Cathy, I’m glad you brought that up.”
That way I can quash your attempt to sideswipe me.
“First of all, I’m happy my message has reached both conservatives and liberals on the independent ticket. After all, if elected I’ll be serving both parties equally. However, the only thing liberal about me is the high-def powder on my face from the make-up crew here.”
Audrey continued through the muffled snickers from behind the cameras, “Just because I don’t talk about my family or religious views doesn’t mean I don’t have them. I’m proud of my family. I’m the person I am today because of them.”
Even though they may not be proud of me.
“My focus right now is my campaign and the people I intend to help with my platforms. Not marriage. So many women in my district need help and a safe place to seek support. The Women’s Crisis Center I’m sponsoring will provide that refuge.”
Way to plug in the WCC, Aud.
She could almost hear Miranda’s cheers, silenced by guzzling more coffee. She watched Cathy open her mouth to jab another potential zinger, but Audrey’s fire was up.
“And Cathy, my personal faith has nothing to do with my ability to be an effective state senator. My experience in Texas politics has taught me that an ability to work with others and keep a level head is the best way to help everyone, without losing your sanity in the process.”
Cathy’s laugh-on-command was more a nervous cackle, devoid of genuine emotion. It bubbled under Audrey’s skin like hydrogen peroxide.
This desperate TV anchor was more fake than half the plastic-surgery-addicted women of mid-town.
But also the most watched by that demographic.
“Austin has its way of piling on the body count at the Capitol steps,” Cathy quipped. “You seem more than ready to take on Wyatt Williams next week. Though the other senators from around the state might be less forgiving.”
Audrey bit the side of her tongue to keep from rolling her eyes.
“This Women’s Crisis Center has a fundraising event coming up, is that correct?” Cathy added.
Finally, something worth talking about.
“Saturday night at the W Hotel in Dallas. We’ll be auctioning some valuable gifts for this incredible charity.”
“Don’t you think this event on Thanksgiving weekend is bad timing? Won’t many people have spent all their money on Black Friday?”
She never quits.
“On the contrary, Cathy. This is the season of being thankful for your blessings and there’s never a better time to give back to those who need a little help and compassion.”
“Well spoken, from The Peacemaker of the Second District.” Cathy flashed her veneers at Audrey until her cheeks cracked. A final turn to the camera let Audrey breathe. Cathy peered into the camera. “Thank you, Ms. Allen, for joining us here today. Stick around, viewers. We’ll be right back with the perfect trimming for that Thanksgiving turkey.”
The producer with a massive headset held up his fingers to count down. “And we’re clear.”
The microphone clipped to her silk blouse was the first to come off, followed by the bulky battery in her back pocket. As she fumbled with the wire, Cathy did as well with her words, fake yet again. “Thanks so much for coming today. And sorry for that last round of questioning. My boss would have fired me if I hadn’t asked them.” Fluffing her bleached bob, Cathy motioned for her make-up assistant. But trusty Miranda stopped her.
“Just how many times will you face termination before you’ll practice ethics?”
Amazing how her fake smile dissipated so quickly into a Nancy Grace scowl.
She must practice that in the mirror.
“Politics is a brutal game, and our viewers expect us to ask the important questions.”
“I think viewers are more interested in the truth, not sleight-of-hand tactics. Good luck getting us to visit your show again in the future.” Miranda bit with a half-smile. Her hazel eyes pierced Cathy’s plastic exterior. Audrey loved Miranda’s passion and unwavering loyalty, and even more loved watching her take the graceful kill. But the election was seven days away. As much as Audrey hated to do it, they needed to give the media a sliver of mercy.
“Cathy, thank you for having me on the show today.” The gracious tone was a lot easier to muster than Audrey expected, now that she’d handed back the microphone to the adolescent-looking sound tech. “And have a wonderful Thanksgiving.”
Ten years of interning in the political quagmire as her mentor’s aide and eventual protégé had taught Audrey that cooler heads always prevailed on the senate floor. But no amount of time or turmoil would ever dampen her dislike of the media. Stepping off of the artificial living room in the small studio, away from the intruding cameras, the nagging necessity of the media grew with every ding of Miranda’s phone.
“I need a Diet, Mandy.” Tension pulled at the muscles in her neck. Maybe it was the weight of the extra make-up they made her wear, or the weight of the election taking its toll. Soon enough it would all be over, and hopefully Audrey could make the impact that her district desperately needed.
Without taking her eyes off her phone and lightning-fast thumb, Miranda reached into her massive purse and pulled out a silver can.
“You’re scary sometimes. But I love you.” Audrey opened the can and sipped the delectable bubbles, letting it run across her taste buds.
“Pampering you is what I do best.”
“More like handling. Have you heard back from the investors yet?” Audrey asked between gulps. “We need their support for that building, otherwise the Crisis Center won’t get off the ground.”
“Relax, Aud. They’ll come through.” Miranda shoved her phone in her pocket and readjusted her purse. “Besides, I need you to put your Peacemaker hat back on, because there’s someone you need to meet.”
“Who?” Another gulp of Diet.
“Ethan Tanner. He’s standing in the corner waiting for an interview with you.”
Soda went up her nose, burning every inch of the way up.
“I thought I said I didn’t want to talk to him,” she managed to say as she grabbed a tissue from Miranda’s purse.
“Audrey, we need his interview to help us in the polls. This runoff election is getting brutal. With as much attention as his columns get and his series on every candidate, we can’t afford to pass this up.” The distance was closing between them and the corner as Miranda prodded her along, where a shadowy figure loomed against the wall.
“I do
not
want to give an interview to the
Dallas Morning Journal
’s most ruthless investigative journalist, just so he can write one of his infamous exposés. He’s a glorified dirt digger.” With each word Audrey lowered her voice.
Though hidden in shadows, Audrey could see the figure smile, or more precisely the cheeks rise, in a mocking grin. He wasn’t tall, maybe an inch higher than her, but something about his air that screamed “dare me.”
“Shh. Peacemaker face,” Miranda whispered back just as they approached the dreaded figure.
Audrey took a deep breath, forcing her diplomatic smile once again and braced herself for another onslaught. Ethan finally pushed himself away from the wall and stepped out from the shadows.
Every impression Audrey had of male journalists consisted of pushy individuals in casual and baggy clothing, often appearing as if they had just rolled out of bed and grabbed their bags from a city dumpster. Ethan’s wrinkled sports jacket and cargo pants certainly fit the stereotype, but everything else about this journalist shook her resolve.
Damn, it has to be illegal to have a smile that charming.
The way it spread across his shaven jaw line and cheeks and up to the corners of his light gray eyes stunned her. The color matched his sports coat and glimmered under the studio lights as he reached out to shake hands.
Strong hands, hmm.
Smooth chin, wide shoulders, and short mahogany hair that curled at the ends. Now Audrey knew how he’d managed to dig up so much dirt in his career. He’d wooed it out of his sources with his slick style.
All his charm and momentum vanished the second he opened his mouth. “Audrey Allen, pleasure to meet you, but I only dig up dirt on the weekends. The rest of the time I just watch the stories unravel themselves.”