Stay Tuned (20 page)

On the way home, I resolved to push all negative thoughts out of my head. My jaw hurt from clenching my teeth. I rubbed my neck with one hand and gripped the steering wheel.

Joe. Nothing to worry about. I promised myself I would be better, more attentive.

Mother. I had to see her tomorrow. No excuses.

Rick. I’d deal with him tomorrow, too. Nothing happened, I reminded myself. Nothing. There would be no impropriety, ever. Or the appearance of it. I would clear the air and make things right. If it killed me. Or Rick.

I pulled up to the curb and parked the car. Our house glowed from the inside with the warmth of fireplace embers. Home.

Inside was Chris. My marriage. Both needed serious attention and there was no time like the present. I could fix things.

I made my way up the stairs and pushed open the door to our room. It was a little before midnight. The light was still on; Chris dozed, sitting up on the bed, notes from work spilling off his lap.

Without a sound, I stole across the room on tiptoes, clicked off the light, and slipped out of my jacket and shoes. I unzipped my skirt and let it drop to the floor.

“You’re home,” I heard Chris stir and yawn.

“Hey,” I said softly. “I wasn’t sure if I should wake you.”

“No, I wanted you to.” Chris stretched his arms overhead. “I was trying to stay up until you got home. I wanted to see you.”

Wow.
I stood still, unsure of whether to be flattered or ask why.

“Well, you first.” I reminded myself to be more sensitive to his job stress. “How are you? How’s work going?”

Chris didn’t answer for a moment. “Okay, I guess. Still tense around there. There’s so much competition going on, a few big projects. But, hey, I don’t want to talk about that right now.” He shifted on the bed. “Your turn. Tell me about your night.”

I hesitated, wanting to say the day was fabulous. But I couldn’t. The words spilled out of my mouth like they’d been poured from a bucket. “It was…terrible. The ten o’clock show was kind of a disaster. Not technically, just me.”

“Well, you seemed tense at first, but by the end you seemed back to yourself,” Chris remarked. “The six was flawless. You were funny.” He chuckled. “It’ll be okay.”

Did I just hear that right?
He watched both shows?

It was all the encouragement I needed.

“Thanks, babe. You’re so sweet.” I walked across the room to Chris and put both hands on his shoulders, bent down, and gave him a long, slow kiss. His hands circled my waist and pulled me toward him. I let myself fall into his arms.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he murmured into my ear.

“Not right now.”

I clung to Chris and let myself forget everything else in the world other than his skin on mine. We made love for the first time in more than a month, tender and sweet, then urgent. By the time I peeled myself away from the bed, more than an hour had gone by.

While Chris slept, I watched the clock. I was wide-awake. Two a.m. Three a.m. Four a.m. At five, I couldn’t stand it any longer.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him. But I knew the reason I couldn’t sleep.

Rick.

As much as I tried to swallow my anxiety like a bitter pill, a terrible feeling had lodged itself between my heart and stomach, burning and swelling.

Should I tell Chris? Should I bury it? The guilt gnawed at me, nibbling away at any good feelings I had built up over the past weeks.

I had to make a decision.

What happened was wrong. I pressed my hands to my forehead. I needed to talk to Rick like an adult, get it behind me, and be done with it.

Of course, my plan sounded great until a few hours later.

The moment I arrived at the television station, the WSGA sign stared me in the face like it knew my secret. My insides started to churn. The nausea was back. I cranked the air conditioner and parked, letting the cold air blow in my face.

Maybe I was sick. Maybe I needed to see the doctor. I called Candace.

“Melissa, sweetie, how long have you felt this way? Call and make an appointment. With a female doctor. Seriously.”

After Candace wrapped up her lecture, I broke down and made the appointment. I called WSGA’s own Ob/Gyn expert, Dr. Jennifer Freeman. After I gave my name, there was a brief pause. The receptionist cleared her throat. Was I the same Miss Moore who worked at the television station? she asked. When I said yes, she thanked me and immediately put me on hold.

For ten minutes with no music.

Great.
I tapped my fingers against the window.

Maybe she thought I said Alyssa, in which case she was probably calling the police. Or the Centers for Disease Control.

Then, the receptionist was back. As luck had it, there was a cancellation. They could fit me in the next day. One task done. I set my phone on the seat next to me, closed my eyes, and summoned the courage to talk to Drew and Rick.

Two minutes later, my cell lit up and buzzed with a text from Drew.
My boss, the mind reader.
Well, might as well go in and talk to him in person before I saw Rick.

Deep breath in, nausea somewhat under control, I grabbed my purse and slipped through the back door. Up the stairs, two at a time in heels, into the newsroom, and to my desk. A few people milled around, talking, or watching clips and banging out stories on keyboards.

A brisk walk around the corner landed me in front of Drew’s office. The door was almost closed, which meant he was busy, but not too busy if we needed to discuss something important.

I knocked and put my hand on the knob. It sounded like the television was on, but when the hinges creaked, the noise reduced to a murmur, then stopped.

“What is it?” Drew said brusquely. He didn’t seem annoyed, just distracted.

I smoothed my hair and suit, straightened my shoulders, and walked in. “Just me. You wanted to see me? That’s such a coincidence, because I was coming to talk to you—”

Drew reached over and clicked off the television with a look of slight surprise, but not before I saw what he was watching. Anchor demos. A stack of DVDs, in fact.

I didn’t count, but guessed about a dozen were piled up, names and addresses in bold print on each one. I shut my mouth quickly after I realized my chin had dropped open.

“Shoot, Mel, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Drew turned and grabbed a case off the pile. “You’re not in trouble. I wanted you to see this.”

“O-kay,” I said slowly, not understanding.

He started to laugh. “So, I’m going through this pile of demos. One that looks vaguely familiar. So, I pop in the DVD, start to watch, and it was our very own Alyssa Andrews.”

“Alyssa?” I blinked. “For real?”

“You have to see this. She’d colored her hair, changed her name, and wrangled someone into taping a few stand-ups by the highway and in front of the courthouse with bogus stories.”

“You’re not thinking…”

“About hiring her back? Hell, no. I finally got the restraining order. Judge signed off on it this morning.” He pointed to an official looking document on his desk.

“Um, so, what are you going to do?”

Drew snorted. “Nothing, unless she tries to bust the doors down. Word is she’s trying to land a job in California. I’m all for it. Hell, as long as she’s on medication, I’d even write her a recommendation.”

“Drew!”

“I’m kidding! I just thought this was funny. Like a ‘watch it at the annual station party bloopers’ kind of thing.” Drew took a breath.

“This is why you wanted to see me?” My body turned to granite. I couldn’t move.

“No, Mel,” he said and waved a hand at my face. “Stop looking worried.”

To cover up my own surprise, I started chattering out-of-control. “Well, in case you were wondering, I’m good. I’m actually feeling one hundred percent better. My bruise is starting to fade. I don’t really think you can notice it on air—”

Drew knitted his brow, trying to grasp the jumbled mess of what I was trying to spit out. “Melissa, slow down.” He checked his desk calendar, and then looked back up at me. “The reason I called is that one of the police officers is coming by to get a statement in an hour or so. Can you talk to him?”

My voice hit fast forward again. “Sure, great, okay. Whatever you need me to do.”

He looked at the blank television set, then down at his chair, the back of which faced me.

“Is that convenient for you, Rick?”

Rick? Was Rick on speakerphone?

Before I had time to ask who or what Drew was talking about, the chair spun around. Rick had been sitting there the whole time.

What was he doing here? Telling Drew to find someone else for the anchoring spot?
Drew watched me curiously. “Melissa, are you sure you’re okay talking to Macon PD? You look a little pale.”

“No. I-I mean yes.” I stammered, gripping my purse tight to my ribcage. “I’m fine, Drew.”

Rick wouldn’t look at me.

I started to back out the door.
The bastard. He’s pissed off because I rejected him. Serves him right, the lying jerk. I should tell his wife…

“Melissa, wait a sec,” Drew furrowed his brow. “Didn’t
you
need to see me, too?”

“Oh, not right now,” I gave Drew a smile, turned on my heel, and tried not to slam the door behind me.

I sprinted down the hallway, purse tucked under my arm like a football, and headed for the ladies’ room. Before I made it, Rick stormed after me and grabbed my arm. I wrenched it away and glared at him. “How dare you!”

“Melissa, you ignored me before the ten o’clock show last night. You barely spoke to me unless we were on-air. How am I supposed to apologize?”

“Well, you’re making it all better,” I said. “Helping Drew choose an anchor to replace me. I was going to ask if he’d consider hiring me. For good.”

Rick took a deep breath and blew it out. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

Tears filled my eyes. One escaped and rolled down my cheek. I brushed it away angrily.

“What do you mean?” I sniffed, trying to compose myself.

“If you want the job, all you have to do is tell him. It’s yours. He was just saying he didn’t think you were that interested.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I told him he needed to talk to you.” Rick held up both hands. “I didn’t say another word. Honest.”

“Really?” I managed a small smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” My hands shook. I had to ask. “And so, what about the DVDs?”

Rick crossed his arms and looked down at me. “Melissa, one of the reporters handed in her notice this morning. Drew’s looking for someone who can report and fill-in anchor. He asked my opinion on a few of the new DVDs. We weren’t talking about you. Or the six and ten job.”

Now I felt ridiculous. “Oh.” I wiped at my eyes.

“Okay?” Rick asked.

I sniffed back another tear. “Okay.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Rick lectured. “You’re better than that.”

I nodded and swallowed.

He glanced around and lowered his voice.

“And, I promise, I won’t cross the line. Or the anchor desk. Or anything.” Rick drew an ‘X’ over his heart, looked up with an innocent expression, and pressed his hands together in prayer. “That was me being needy and stupid. Which is what gets me into trouble every time. You didn’t do anything to encourage it. Call it temporary insanity on my part.”

“I…I don’t even know what to say,” I whispered back. “Except don’t ever do that again. Not with me or anyone at the station. Please. We’ve had enough drama around here.” I stared at Rick to emphasize my point. “Deal?”

“Deal,” he agreed.

“You can’t afford to get divorced again, anyway,” I jabbed in his direction with my finger. “Right?”

Rick frowned in agreement. “Yeah, and I don’t think my reputation could take the beating.” He pointed at the restroom. “Now take a few minutes and go clean up. That officer will be here any minute to take a statement about Alyssa.”

On cue, Drew boomed from the end of the hallway. “Melissa! Rick!”

I jumped, shaken by the interruption.

“Go ahead, I’ll cover for you,” Rick whispered and pushed open the door.

 
I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. My nerves were frazzled, and no doubt, I looked frightful.

“Go!” he urged me and gave my arm a gentle shove.

With a backward glance, I stepped through the ladies room entrance, flicked on the light switch, and pull the door shut behind me. The round, clear bulbs around the makeup mirror glowed bright as I caught my reflection.

Oh, baby. Pretty bad. Worse than I thought.

My eyes, swollen and puffy-pink, were rimmed with black streaks where I had rubbed mascara onto my cheeks and eyebrows. Along my jaw line and down my neck, red splotches could be found every few inches. No trace of lipstick.

Lovely.

But, as I relaxed, the angry-looking spots on my neck started to disappear. I set my purse on the counter and opened it up, praying I’d thrown in a spare makeup brush and loose powder. I dusted over the marks to try and hide them.

In the outside pocket of my bag, I found mascara, eyeliner, and lip-gloss. With a careful hand, I fixed my eyes, and then filled in my lips with a little color.

Much better.

I put away the brushes and tubes and checked the mirror one last time. Minus a few stubborn blotches, I looked almost back to normal. Thank goodness for make-up. It didn’t mend anything on the inside. But, at the very least, it camouflaged everything on the outside
.

Rick finished giving his statement and nodded to me through the glass window. He was an eyewitness to Alyssa’s hissy fit at the station and saw her running out of the ladies’ room at the gala.

I knocked to let Drew know I was ready. At the sound, the police officer looked up from his pad of paper, stood up, and opened the door. As Drew introduced us, I slid into the seat next to Rick.

“Miss Moore, as you know Mr. Mazner has already secured a stalking protective order against Miss Andrews,” the officer explained. “You have the option to do the same.”

I nodded, listening.

“For the protective order, you’d need to file the paperwork in Bibb County Superior Court,” he explained. “You can also file assault and battery charges.” The cop watched my expression.

“I’m not sure about that yet,” I said, shifting uncomfortably.

The police officer rubbed his chin. “Certainly, that’s your decision. However, know that Miss Andrews may face criminal charges whether you file or not. The DA has the final say.”

“I understand,” I said. “Thank you.”

Rick interjected, asking if anyone had found Alyssa. The answer was no.

Before Drew could ask me to escort the officer to the lobby, I excused myself and went back to my computer in the newsroom. I stared at the screen.

What Alyssa did was wrong. She needed help, some psychiatric counseling and maybe, medication, but I didn’t want to ruin her life. Of course, if she’d actually had a gun, things could have ended quite badly. I shivered at the thought, cold fingers running up and down my back.

It didn’t help that Macon PD hadn’t found her. I’d sure sleep better at night once they did. Until then, I’d be extra careful and keep busy. As I turned to look through the stack of paper in my inbox, a familiar figure caught my eye on the television screen across the room.

There sat Dr. Phil.

In his gray suit and tie, he gestured and talked earnestly to a young couple. I wondered what it would take to get him to come to WSGA. Of course, I’d need him the whole time just to unload all of my own issues. The viewers would never get to see him.

 
“Melissa?” Drew called out from his office.

“Yes?”

“Rick had an emergency and had to go home.”

That’s strange.
“All right,” I answered slowly. “When will he be back?”

“Tomorrow.” Drew said flatly.

Tomorrow? That meant I’d be alone for both shows. Producing, anchoring. Everything.

“No problem,” I said before I could convince myself otherwise. “I’ll handle it.”

It clicked then.
Rick did this on purpose.
I was certain of it. He wanted me to have the spotlight, with no distractions. It was a generous way to try and make up for what had happened.

I glanced at the clock. Plenty of time. I needed to make a quick call to Candace, then get to work. I needed some moral support. My stomach was still killing me.

She answered on the first ring. “Hey, I made that appointment,” I told her. “It’s tomorrow.”

Candace coughed. “Good, honey.”
Ah-choo!

“Oh, gosh, now you’re sick, too?” I asked. One of the kids wailed in the background.

“Everyone. Me, Addie. Oh, and Marcus, too.” More crying.

“What do you have?”

Candace started coughing. “You name it. Fever, cough, sneezing. Just started. So far, Jaden is fine, but Marcus and Addie are really feeling awful.”

“Shoot, I’m sorry. Can I do anything? Run to the store? Get medicine?”

I abruptly felt like the most selfish human being on the planet. The last thing I needed to do was unload about everything at the station and then ask Candace to watch both shows tonight. I
would
handle it myself.

“Thanks, no. We have a whole pharmacy here.” Candace started to cough again. “Mel? Can I let you go? I need to check on the girls.”

“Sure.” I answered, forcing my head to nod.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Fine.” I made a kissing sound. “Love you. Feel better soon!”

I hung up and started flipping through a stack of envelopes. Half way through, a piece of blue paper fluttered to the ground. I scooped it off the floor and flattened it out.

Melissa—call the nursing home.
The rest was so scribbled I couldn’t make it out.

It was dated today. My hand hovered over the paper. I dialed the nurses’ station. A busy signal droned in my ear. The moment I hung up, my cell showed a new text message from Chris.

Imp Project. Working late. Don’t wait up.

Tiny hints of suspicion crept into my subconscious. Who was he with? And where?

I pushed the questions away and tried to concentrate on the stories in tonight’s rundown. I made a face at the computer and rubbed my neck, trying to relax the tension in my shoulders. The bad thoughts came right back. Worse this time.

What if Chris had to work late with a woman?

No, I told myself. Get the show done. Go see Mother after work. Then, have a heart to heart with Chris. One thing at a time, Melissa. One thing at a time.