Stay Tuned (17 page)

The pillow under my head was soft as a cloud. The sheets smelled as clean as rain showers on a summer day. I snuggled deeper under the layers of blankets, drawing them up around my shoulders. A few threads of light danced on the wall nearest my bed.

I slipped in and out of sleep, dreaming first about Kelly as a baby, then a toddler. My thoughts turned to Candace and Ella Marie. My mind wandered, finally turning to last night. Rick was there, and Chris, and Alyssa…

Alyssa. Oh my.

The gun. The gala. The newscast.

Certainly, it was a bad dream. No, not a bad dream. If it really happened, that would be a nightmare. Of the Chernobyl kind.

Slowly, I moved the covers down a few inches. I hesitated, and then squeezed my fingernails into my palm. I ran a hand along my chest, then my shoulders, and throat. No bandages or slings.

Mother always said I had a great imagination. She actually said I could write a book from all the silly stories I told her. Of course, I was vying with the television, book-signings, and movie stars who always won out for her attention.

No, I think it this was real.

I moved my hand further up, this time to my chin. Then, one finger extended, I patted my cheek.

Ouch!
I winced in pain.

The skin under my eye was as tender as a child’s scraped knee. My arm looked like I had tangled myself in a barbed wire fence. I pushed back the covers and examined my legs. Bruised. Stomach? Black and blue.

Someone—I’m sure Chris—had managed to wrestle a tee-shirt over my head. It seemed like my bra and panties were in one piece.

Candace’s dress lay carefully draped on the over-stuffed chair in near the window. What was left of it. The hem looked like edges had been dipped into a food processor. A long rip traveled from one hip to the knee. Splatters of dirt covered the bodice. And was that…more blood?

Okay. I didn’t dream any of it.

Wait. I remembered getting into the car. And driving. Chris was there and I was so sleepy. I must have dozed off in the car…

I sat up in a flash. Who did the ten o’clock news? And where was Chris?

My head swam, and then started to pound with the intensity of a steel drum. I covered my face with my hands, trying to block it out. My stomach churned. Could I make it to the bathroom if I was sick?

One hand behind me, I eased back down to my pillow and tried to swallow the nausea that welled up in my throat. Okay, so I probably should have gone to the emergency room. Why had I insisted I was fine?

I brought the other pillow to my face, blocking out the minute amounts of sunshine that made my eyes hurt. The floorboards in the hallway creaked. Chris. What time was it? I couldn’t move to look at the clock.

“You’re awake?”

The down-filled pillow muffled my voice. “Barely,” I replied.

I slid the pillow out of the way and looked at the ceiling, then moved my head so that I could see him in the doorway. “What time is it?”

“It’s just before eight a.m. You’ve been sleeping well. Hey,” he said gently, his eyes on my cheek. “How does that bruise feel?”

 
“Mmm. Not great,” I replied and looked away. “How does it look?”

“Not good,” Chris agreed reluctantly. His face was pale, matching the white-blonde of his hair. There were bags under his eyes. Dressed in pressed shorts and a crisp polo shirt, he looked ready for the golf course, except on any other day, he’d have been gone an hour ago, if not sooner.

“No work?” I prompted, wondering if I’d forgotten about a golf tournament or company picnic. There was no telling what was marked on the calendar. I hadn’t stopped to look at it in what seemed like weeks.

“Not right now.” Chris smiled quickly, and then frowned. “I told the office I was taking the morning off. We have lunch set up for noon. Tyler is perfectly capable of handling things until I get there. Actually, too capable.”

He gave a nervous laugh, shifted from side to side, and looked down the hall once or twice. I half-thought he expected people from work to be storming up the stairs, yelling that he was late for a meeting.

“If you think you need to be there, go ahead,” I offered.

I expected him to do the usual—nod and disappear—but he waited. So, I struggled to bring myself to my elbows, mostly to prove to Chris that I felt fine.

Obviously, I wasn’t fooling anyone, even myself. I wobbled and collapsed.

He rushed over to help, his hands so clammy on my arms that I shivered when he touched my skin. I couldn’t decide whether I trembled from the temperature of his fingers or the unusual amount of attention from Chris.

He grabbed two pillows and stuffed them behind my shoulders. Chris turned, opened a blind, then the window, and let the fresh air waft in.

“Better?” He sat down on the edge of the bed, his brow lined with worry.

“Yes, thanks.” After a few deep breaths, the cool air did start to clear my head.

“You fell asleep in the car. I guess Rick went back to the station to handle the news,” Chris confirmed, his expression sober. “He was pretty disturbed by it all.”

“Disturbed,” I echoed, making a face. “Alyssa tried to re-enact
Kill Bill 2
.” I tried to joke, but choked on the words. My hand shook as I smoothed out the sheets.

Where were you? Who was that woman with you? Did I dream that, too?

“No one could find Alyssa,” Chris finally said.

My hand stopped moving. I tried to remember. “You’re kidding.”

Chris shook his head. “They searched the whole place. Checked bags on the way out.” He bristled at my look of doubt. “I’m sure the police will be by later to talk to you about it.”

“At the station?” I started to get up.

“Whoa!” Chris stood up, suddenly protective. “You’re not going anywhere. Not yet.”

“Yes, I am.” I pushed the covers down and drew my bruised knees up to my chest.

“Why—”

My cell phone buzzed before Chris could get an entire sentence out. Candace’s name flashed up at me. Without thinking, I started to reach for the phone.

Chris cocked his head and read the screen. “I’m sure she’s worried. I told her a little bit about what happened when she called last night. She kind of freaked out when she didn’t see you on the ten o’clock show. And Drew called to check on you this morning. He said not to wake you. And that you should take the day off.”

“Really?”

Chris stood up and ran his fingers through his hair, then straightened his polo shirt. “Why would you even think about working today? After all of this?”

“Chris, I don’t think you realize how important this is to me. The station. The job. Alyssa’s trying to ruin it for me. I’m not going to let her.”

Chris scuffed his shoe on the wood floor like a little boy. “So it’s a fight between you two?” he asked. “A competition? Is that why you’re doing this?” Chris laced his fingers and put his hands behind his head.

 
I tried to put a cohesive thought together. My temples throbbed, my arms ached. “Not at all. Listen to me, Chris. She sent that box with the photos and the note.”

“She admitted it?” Chris looked stunned.

“Last night. She told me.” I paused. “She said she had a gun, too, but I never saw it.”

He digested that information. “Okay, wow. She really has lost it this time. I always thought she was a little high maintenance, but this stalking bit is ridiculous.”

“There’s no telling what else she might do,” I agreed. “Which means I need to talk to someone at the station. I should just head in—”

“Melissa. The station will be fine. You need to rest.”

“I’m okay,” I said as my stomach protested.

“Look, I know you’re dedicated. But this is ridiculous. You got beat up last night.” Chris fumed and started to pace. “Are you doing this for your mother?” He asked suddenly. “To get attention? For her approval?”

“No, Chris,” I replied. I pressed my fingers together and set them under my chin. “Mother’s never going to notice or truly approve of anything I do, even if I anchored
World News Tonight.
And most days, she wouldn’t know if it was me or Barbara Walters on WSGA.”

Chris tilted his head and listened.

“I made a commitment to the station to fill in. And that’s something I take seriously.”

“So, you’re going to keep doing both, anchoring and producing, as long as they want you to? It’s too much. You’re going to burn out or get sick, or both.”

“It’s not going to be this way forever. Besides, I like what I’m doing. It’s a good change for me. Drew will make a decision pretty soon.”

“How long does he want to keep you there?”

“I don’t know.” That was the truth.

But, if I wanted to shine and not sit on the sidelines, I had to tell Drew. And soon.

A gust of wind interrupted. Tree branches brushed against the house; leaves rustled. It smelled like rain—a change in the air. Maybe it meant a change for us, too.

Chris’ mouth crumpled into a bent line. He shook his head.

Surely, I hadn’t hurt his feelings?

“Chris,” I said gently. “I know it’s taking time away from us. We’re both incredibly busy. I know you have had some awful stress, with your parents gone, and Kelly leaving. I miss them. I miss Kelly something awful. That doesn’t mean I’m unhappy—”

He put a hand up. “I’m not being fair. You’re exhausted. We don’t have to talk about it right now. Just get to feeling better.” Chris managed a small smile.

“Okay.”

“As for the ‘new’ you, Melissa Moore—the anchor and producer and all around news person—it’s going to take me a while to get used to all of it.” He shrugged. “Hey, I’m going to let you rest and head on to the office. Call me if you need anything.”

Without another word, Chris closed the door behind him.

Alone in the room, I stood up and shook out my hair. My body still ached. I looked in the mirror at the black-and-blue marks on my face. At the moment, I looked the way my heart felt. Bruised.

Three Post-it notes from Chris waited for me on the kitchen counter after my shower. I cracked open a Diet Coke and took a few bites of the eggs and bacon Chris left for me, and glanced at them warily.

“Call my cell phone if you need anything.” Anything was underlined twice.

The second Post-it was better. “Dinner Friday after the show? Reservations at Blue Bistro, 7 p.m.”

Number three said:
 
“Called the Day Spa. They’ll fit you in.”

Yes. He was definitely trying to make up. Sweet. Very sweet. And doable today, if I wanted to. A long, hot shower helped, but my muscles were still screaming from last night’s tussle with Alyssa.

I picked up the phone to call the spa, but found myself hitting speed dial for Candace.

She answered on the second ring.

“Well, if it isn’t Mike Tyson’s sister.” Candace made a ‘ding’ sound into the phone. “When’s round two?”

“Hopefully never,” I teased.

“Sweet Jesus, I hate that I missed last night!” Candace moaned.

“Yeah, you could have been there to help me,” I reminded her. “I’m afraid your dress didn’t survive as well as I did. It’s ruined.”

“Don’t worry about that old thing. I care more that you’re okay. How did Chris handle it?” she asked. “Did he ride up on a white stallion, brandishing his sword?”

I considered telling her about Chris and the mystery girl, but decided against it. “He helped Rick carry me out to the car, I think. Then took me home and put me to bed.”

“Are you okay?”

“Nothing a little makeup won’t fix. I think.” I touched my face. “I guess I can go on air like this.”

“Hey, if you do have a bruise, it’s a medal of honor.” Candace insisted. “You were attacked! What were you supposed to do? Lie there and let her beat you to a pulp? You’d be in the hospital.” She took a breath. “Everyone’s talking about it. The rumor mill is churning, and not in a terrible way. You know, after the on air fist fight, lots of people thought she might have been abused.”

“By Tim? Come on.”

“She plays a pretty good victim.” Candace laughed. “But now, everyone’s finally seeing Alyssa for what she really is. A very scary, crazy girl.”

“And what about me?”

“Oh honey, this will do wonders for the six and ten shows. Everyone knows you’re the innocent one who was forced to fight back. You can be tough, beautiful, and edgy. Um…think Jennifer Garner in
Electra
. Alyssa is Halle Berry playing Cat Woman.”

“Cat Woman. Didn’t she kill people?” I buried my face in my hands. I couldn’t help giggling. At least it made me feel better.

“Well, a few.”

“Thanks. I’ll let Drew know that I’ve become a super heroine. That’s exactly the look he’d go for, by the way. Tights. High-heeled boots. Weapons.”

“Now,
that
will get you a boost in ratings.”