I Know Who Holds Tomorrow

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Authors: Francis Ray

BOOK: I Know Who Holds Tomorrow
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This book is dedicated to those who have loved and lost,
and learned to love again.
F
IRST I WANT TO thank God. With Him in my life all things are possible.
My gratitude also goes to the following:
Rochelle Brown, executive producer of Insights, KDFW—Channel 4/ Fox, Dallas, Texas, and Marjorie Ford, producer of
Metro
, WFAA-Channel 8/ABC, Dallas, Texas. Both articulate and awe-inspiring ladies helped immensely during my research into the life of a television talk-show hostess, a life they live. Ladies, I couldn't have written this book without you. I wish you continued success.
Monique Patterson, my editor. Thanks for your guidance and faith in me.
LaRee Bryant and Bette Ford. Good friends who never doubted or faltered.
As always, to the home team, William and Carolyn Michelle Ray, husband and daughter, my biggest fans and supporters. I'm blessed by your love.
“
N
OT AGAIN,” MADISON REED groaned as she glared at the mocking red numbers of the clock radio on her nightstand. It was 4:33 A.M. Unlike the five previous mornings, she made no attempt to go back to sleep. She knew it would be useless. Instead she stared out the French doors in her bedroom and watched darkness slowly give way to hues of orange and yellow ushering in the coming day.
She didn't have to be a medical doctor or a psychologist to know the reason behind her sleeplessness at night or her headaches during the day. However, knowing the reason and correcting the situation were two entirely different matters. She'd helped so many others find their way, but she just didn't seem to be able to do the same with her own life.
Two doors down the hall was her office. On the walls, on her desk, and in the open bookcase were numerous awards, plaques, and accolades attesting to the success of her professional life.
The Madison Reed Show
had been the top-rated television show in its time period for the past six months, and market shares were increasing with each rating period.
Her dimpled smile was seen by hundreds of thousands in the North Texas region each weekday from four to five P.M. on WFTA Channel 7 in Dallas. The second child of Gladys and Billy Evans had always liked to talk and had put the talent to good use.
The alarm clock shrilled. She punched the off button, threw back the down comforter and left the bed, pushing her problems firmly to the back of her mind as she did so. Her adoring public and her co-workers could never know that Madison Reed was living a lie.
Crossing the thick oyster-colored carpet, she entered the bathroom. Stripping off her silk pajamas, Madison passed in front of the six-footlong
mirror over the white marble vanity. Not given to conceit, she spared only a cursory glance at her reflection, but it was enough to show there was nothing sagging or protruding where it shouldn't have been.
She'd always been slim rather than voluptuous. Sleek, her mother said, trying to spare the feelings of her youngest child who hadn't matured as her older sister had. Madison had been fifteen before she needed a bra. However, by eighteen her body had come into its own. She had curves instead of angles, and after waiting more than half her life for them, she wasn't in a hurry to see them disappear. Her passion for danishes and chocolates didn't show. Yet.
With a sigh she stepped into the shower and made a halfhearted promise that she'd start exercising before she had to ask Ray, the head cameraman, to put a filter on the lens. Politely she ignored the little voice that said she'd been telling herself that for the past six months. But it was difficult to find the energy when her mind was on other matters.
Adjusting the water, she reached for the floral-scented bath gel. Rubbing her body briskly with a sponge, she realized that, having passed her thirtieth birthday a month before, she wasn't going to be able to shed pounds as easily as before. She only had to look at her mother and her sister, Dianne. Surprisingly it was her mother who, rain or shine, faithfully walked five miles each morning in the neighborhood or in the nearby shopping mall.
On the other hand, Dianne, who had never lacked self-confidence, didn't seem to mind the fifteen pounds she'd added since the birth of her two children. She was always quick to say, if David didn't want her, she could easily find another man who did. On cue, David would always say that after the man got out of the hospital Dianne might not want him. Then, they'd look dopey at each other and grin. Their interchange was the standing joke of the family. They all knew Dianne and David had a good strong marriage.
For a moment Madison's eyes closed with regret before she hurried to finish. She had no time for reflection. They were taping the last show of the season today.
An abrupt knock on the Plexiglas startled her. She jerked around, the sponge falling from her hand. Through the frosted glass she saw the image of a man.
“Madison.” The knock came again. Brisker this time and more demanding. “Can I speak with you?”
For a moment longer she hesitated, then cut off the water. Stepping to one side, she slowly cracked the shower door open and stuck her head out. Wes, handsome enough to cause any woman's breathing to stall, stood a few feet away. As always he was impeccably dressed. Today in a dark blue five-thousand-dollar Brioni suit. She had known him almost seven years and had never seen him look less than his best or engage in anything more rigorous than a game of golf.
“I didn't know you were back,” she said, then thought how peculiar those words were.
Wes flashed her a smile seen by tens of thousands. If he had his way the number would soon be in the tens of millions. “I got back late last night. I didn't want to disturb you.”
Madison nodded, silently acknowledging his reasons and thinking how far they had drifted apart, how effortlessly Wes exuded his boyish charm when he needed something from her.
“I just wanted to make sure that you're still coming with me tonight to the awards ceremony.”
Her hand tightened on the door.
Duty called
. “I told you I'd be there.”
He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. Soft, manicured hands slipped into the pockets of his tailored slacks. In anyone else Madison might have thought the gesture indicated uneasiness or uncertainty, but Wes had never been either.
“A car is picking us up at seven sharp,” he told her.
That was expected. Wes always insisted on a limousine for their public appearances. “I'll be ready.”
His gaze narrowed. He crossed the white tile floor until he stood within a foot of her. “This is important to me.”
“I know.” She brushed the water running from her hair out of her eyes with a hand that wasn't quite steady and wished he had waited until she had gotten out of the shower.
His attention drifted to her lips, moist and trembling. He made a motion as if to step closer, then checked it when she jerked her head back. His mouth thinned. Whirling, he walked away.
Madison closed the door, picked up the sponge, then turned the water
back on. There had once been a time when just his nearness would have caused her heart to pound, her body to want. A time when, if he had found her in the shower he would have come inside and come into her. Their cries of passion would have filled the room instead of their stilted, awkward conversation.
Once they'd had so much and had been so sure of themselves, so sure their love would last a lifetime. Once. No more. They were husband and wife, but they only spoke to each other when and if they had to. For a woman who had always dreamed of a loving marriage the cause of her sleeplessness and headaches was all too clear.
Although she worked as a lowly gofer at a TV station in Chicago where Wes was a newly hired roving reporter, the first time they saw each other was at her second job as hostess of an upscale steakhouse. She'd taken the position to help pay off her college loan and help with expenses. Wes had come in with a date, but had called back after leaving and asked to speak with her. She'd thought that tactless and told him so.
A couple of weeks later they'd run into each other at the station. Wes had redoubled his efforts to get her to have dinner with him. A month later, finally convinced that he and the woman weren't in a relationship, she'd gone out with him. The manager at the steakhouse said he wished Madison had held out longer. Wes, coming in almost every night, was good for business. He always ordered the most expensive item on the menu and the best wine.
Wes had come from money, but he had never been condescending to any of the people working at the restaurant or the station. He was carefree, fun to be with, and attentive. It had been easy to fall in love with him. His parents hadn't felt the same way about Madison.
The first time A.J. and Vanessa Reed had met Madison she'd been working at the restaurant. They'd come from Texas to pay an unexpected visit to Wes, their only child, and he had brought them to see her. His parents' cool reception hadn't bothered Madison. She wasn't naive enough to believe that there wasn't a class and a color system among African-Americans.
Although A.J. Reed was a shade darker than Madison's honeyed-brown complexion, Vanessa Reed was high yellow and so was the obviously wealthy young woman they had with them. It hadn't taken long to realize that she, not Madison, was what the Reeds wanted for their son.
Madison had been taught by her blue-collar parents never to be ashamed of who she was. They might not own their own home or have a college education, but they were honest, hardworking people who loved their children and did without so their kids could have more than they'd had. For Madison to be ashamed of who she was, was to be ashamed of them. She'd shown Wes's dinner party to their seats and come over once at his request, then tried to do the impossible, accept that Wes was lost to her.
Later that night she'd come out of the restaurant to find him waiting with a large bouquet of flowers and a kiss that had made her heart leap and her body ache.
“You're what I want. What I'm going to have.”
“But your par—”
He'd kissed her again and she had ceased to think of anything, but being in his arms. The next day they'd met his parents for brunch. The other woman wasn't there. His parents had been pleasant, if not friendly.
Wes had surprised her on her twenty-fourth birthday with a stunning three-carat colorless pear-shaped solitaire engagement ring. Nine months later they'd had the big social wedding that Wes and his parents insisted on, and she had been the happiest woman on earth. By that time they were both in Texas, Wes's home state.
Wes had been hired at a TV station in Fort Worth, and luckily she'd secured a position in nearby Dallas at a rival TV station as assistant to the producer of
Wake Up Dallas,
a morning talk show. They'd spun dreams and plans for a bright future. Wes as head anchor on CNN, and she as the next Oprah Winfrey.
But all that had ended two years ago. Pain and a deep sense of loss hit Madison without warning. Her hand trembled as she cupped her stomach. Tears pricked her eyes. Her baby should have lived, and Wes should have been there for both of them.
Knowing she'd be no good to herself or anyone else if she gave in to the anguish and anger sweeping through her, she firmly pulled her mind back to the present. Shutting off the water, Madison left the shower, grabbed a towel, and quickly dried her body. She had a show to do and an awards ceremony to get through.
 
 
Madison wheeled her late-model Mercedes into her assigned parking space a mere thirty minutes before the taping of her show was to begin. Being late irritated the hell out of her. She prided herself on her punctuality. Besides, this was one of the most important shows of the season. But a traffic accident on Central Expressway had virtually shut down the freeway in both directions, and by the time Madison knew what was going on, it had been too late to take an alternate route.
Slamming out of her car, she slung her black Yves St. Laurent duffel bag over her shoulder and sprinted toward the front door, glad she could run in three-inch heels.
She reached for the code box just as she heard the buzzer for admittance. Opening the glass door, she smiled at the receptionist, Frankie. Thomas, the security guard, who everyone knew was trying to hit on Frankie, stood a short distance away. “Good morning, Frankie. Thanks.”
“Good morning, Ms. Reed. Good luck today.”
“Thanks, Frankie. Please let Sarita know I'm here and I'm ready for her to do my makeup,” Madison said on her way past the receptionist.
“Ms. Reed?”
Madison paused in her headlong flight. She glanced around to see a man in his mid-forties with four children in varying ages, from a toddler clutching him around his neck to a gangly teenager staring at her with sullen brown eyes. Impatience radiated through Madison, but she had long since mastered the art of hiding her emotions.
“Yes, but I'm in a hurry now,” she told him.
The man visibly swallowed. His hold on the child in his arms tightened. “The—the show you're doing is about breast cancer, isn't it?”

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