Tangled Vines (15 page)

Ignoring the red fight, Sam crossed the street and strolled down a shadowed side street past an old brownstone. He had no destination in mind. When he heard the driving beat of an old rock-and-roll song, he wandered toward it.

A three-piece band entertained the patrons at the outdoor cafe on the lower plaza of Rockefeller Center. Tourists had gathered around the upper level to watch. The band struck up an old Fats Domino number and Sam drifted over to the corner and paused there.

A woman came out of the building across the street, a heavy shoulder tote slung over her arm. The way she moved, fluidly with just a hint of hip, Sam knew at once it was Kelly Douglas. It was those long legs.

“Yes, it's me and I'm in love again,” the vocalist in the lower plaza sang, a microphone amplifying his voice. “Had no loving since...”

Suddenly Sam was angry with himself. He could have walked in any damned direction from the hotel, why the hell had he come this way? He'd already been burned once, and he had no intention of going near a fire again.

Yet he stood and watched while she climbed in the backseat of the car parked at the curb. He thought she glanced in his direction, but he couldn't be sure. He told himself it didn't matter anyway. He was leaving this concrete island tomorrow and flying back to California. That would be the end of it.

The production offices for the new magazine show “People and Places” had none of the newsroom's underlying thread of urgency, none of its moments of near frenzy with stories breaking and airtime approaching. Here, voices seldom snapped, orders were seldom barked, even the ring of the telephones sounded somehow civilized, Kelly thought as she walked down the hall to her office.

After three days she still hadn't adjusted to the easier tempo that didn't demand a finished product at day's end. The pressure and the tension were still there, but it was a different kind, more subtle.

“Kelly. Hey, Kelly.”

She halted at the sound of her name and backtracked two steps to the open doorway she had just passed. When she looked in, DeeDee Sullivan was halfway around her cluttered desk. She was dressed in her usual attire of baggy slacks and an equally baggy polo shirt. A pair of glasses rested on top of her head, the earpieces buried in the sides of her short brown hair, already liberally streaked with gray at thirty-six.

“You're back early.” DeeDee glanced at the big, leather-banded Timex on her wrist, her Texas origins revealed the instant she opened her mouth. “I figured you would be digging into your plastic chicken about now. How did the speech go?”

“The speech went fine, and the luncheon was sold out. Which means the coffers for the child-abuse program are a little richer,” Kelly replied, then smiled. “And the plastic chicken came first, then the speech.”

“The film on the children, what was the response to it?” DeeDee had produced it, donating her time and persuading others to do the same.

“Sorry, I slipped out when they started to show it. I had too many things I needed to get done back here to stay and watch it.” In truth, Kelly hadn't been able to face the scenes of bruised and battered children, their frightened eyes and haunted looks, just as she'd never been able to work directly with them. The feelings of rage were always too great. But that wasn't something she discussed with anyone. “What do you need?”

DeeDee gave her a big smile and a thumbs-up sign. “I just got off the phone with John Travis's press agent. Lunch tomorrow, Russian Tea Room, one o'clock with the man himself.”

Kelly brightened, hope springing. “Does this mean he's agreed to let us do a profile on him?”

“Officially they won't commit yet. They claim they want Travis to meet you first, see how you get along. It's part of the game they like to play. As far as I'm concerned, honey, we can break out the tequila and the tacos – we got him.”

“I hope you're right,” Kelly murmured, too cautious by nature to share DeeDee's exuberant optimism.

“I know I am,” she insisted and leaned back against the doorjamb, pulling her glasses from atop her head and wagging them in a release of energy. “My God, do you know what this means, Kelly? This guy is hotter than a Mexican jalapeno. His new movie has been breaking box-office records everywhere and it's only in its second week of release. More than that, his role has ‘Oscar' written all over it. Have you seen the film yet?”

Kelly nodded. “I went to a private screening a few weeks ago.”

“So did I.” DeeDee leaned forward and her look became intent, determined. “If we slot this profile in the first show, it will air about the same time the Academy Award nominations come out. Think what that will do for our ratings. It's just the kind of kickoff we need.”

“I agree, but I still can't help thinking about his costar. Has anyone been able to find out whether there's any truth in those rumors that she won't be doing any more films?”

“Who can separate the truth from all the Hollywood hype that's surrounded that movie?” DeeDee lifted one bony shoulder in a shrug.

“To me, if it's true, it would make a terrific story for the show. I mean, why on earth would Kit Masters give up her career when she was on the verge of stardom? It doesn't make sense.” Kelly frowned, then sighed. “Unfortunately, Hugh doesn't think it's a compelling story at all.”

“He's right, you know. The public isn't going to care why she turned her back on the American dream. Why should they? It's practically unpatriotic. They're just going to shrug and figure that she needs her head examined. They definitely won't turn the show on to find out. Viewers want to see stories on people like John Travis who have been knocked down and pulled themselves back up to the top.”

“What's this about John Travis?”

Turning, Kelly found herself face to face with Linda James, the network's West Coast correspondent and her former rival for the position as host on the new show. She gave Kelly a cool smile and made no effort to conceal the glitter of animosity in her blue eyes, a glitter that was as chilling as the ice blue suit she wore.

“Hello, Linda.” She kept her voice level, forcibly reminded that, deservedly or not, she had made an enemy out of this woman when she'd landed the job of host of the show.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't the network's West Coast correspondent, Linda James.” DeeDee Sullivan folded her arms and kicked back against the doorjamb. “What brings you all the way out here to our corner of the world?”

“Business. I was just in chatting with Hugh. I wanted him to know that I was disappointed I wouldn't have the opportunity to work with him, but naturally I wished him the best.” She paused fractionally. “As I do you, Kelly. It's a little late, I know, but congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Kelly accepted the hand Linda offered. “To be honest, right up to the minute they offered me the job, I thought I would be the one congratulating you.”

“Really?” Linda raised an eyebrow, as golden as her hair. “As close as you and Hugh are?”

“Yes, really,” Kelly replied firmly, inwardly bristling at the innuendo of favoritism.

Linda James reserved comment on that and idly glanced down at her hands before again lifting her gaze to level it at Kelly. “Actually, after Hugh explained the format of the show, and the focus of it, I realized that it doesn't have sufficient challenge to appeal to me. I prefer doing stories that have more meat to them and less fluff. But I'm sure a light treatment will be much more suitable for you.”

“It's very reassuring to know I have your support, Linda.” Deliberately Kelly matched the saccharine sincerity in the woman's voice.

Linda's lips thinned briefly, then smoothed out into another fake smile. “When I walked up, the two of you were discussing John Travis. By chance, were you hoping to arrange an interview with him for the show?”

DeeDee spoke up. “Kelly is having lunch with him tomorrow.”

“How nice.” She almost purred the words. “John T. and I are old friends. He's in such demand now that he's become very selective about what shows he'll do. I'll put in a word for you.” She smiled at both of them. “Luck to you all,” she said and walked off toward the elevator lobby.

“I have the feeling the only luck she's wishing us is bad,” Kelly murmured.

“She'll put in a word with Travis all right.” DeeDee echoed the sentiment. “A word to queer the interview. She definitely doesn't like you, Kelly.”

“I'm taking that as a compliment.”

“Smart thinking.” DeeDee grinned briefly, then sobered. “And you'd be smarter yet to watch out for her. The dangerous snakes are the ones that don't rattle before they strike.”

“I fully intend to stay out of reach. We didn't have many snakes in Iowa, but we had plenty of skunks. They don't give you much warning either.”

DeeDee glanced down the hall and frowned before turning back to Kelly. “Do you know what bothers the hell out of me?”

“What?”

“That people who meet Linda James might believe that all women in television are like her.” She pushed away from the door frame, her shoulders moving in a theatrical shudder that had Kelly laughing. “Don't forget – lunch tomorrow.”

“I'll have Sue mark it on my calendar,” Kelly promised, referring to her assistant. With a parting wave, she set off down the hall to her own office.

But Sue Hodges wasn't at her desk when Kelly walked into the anteroom outside her office. The day's mail and phone messages lay in a stack on a corner of the desk. Kelly picked them up and carried them with her into the small private office that overlooked the plaza.

She sifted through the phone messages first. Finding none that required her immediate attention, Kelly turned to the mail and gave most of the letters little more than a skimming glance until she reached a handwritten note from Katherine Rutledge, graciously thanking her for the interview and expressing admiration for her work.

Even as she read it, it wasn't her meeting with Katherine that came to mind, but rather that moment outside the building Saturday night when she'd looked across the street and saw a lone man standing on the corner. For a split second, she had thought it was Sam Rutledge. Which was ridiculous, of course, considering he'd been blocks away at the wine auction.

More ridiculous was the disappointment she'd felt when she had realized it wasn't him. She should have felt relieved-she was relieved.

The phone on her desk rang. Kelly glanced at the blinking line, then at the connecting door to the anteroom. When the call wasn't intercepted after the second ring, she knew Sue wasn't back yet. She laid Katherine's note aside and picked up the receiver, pushing the button to the blinking line.

“Kelly Douglas.” Automatically she reached for a pen and notepad.

The long-distance operator announced, “I have a person-to-person call for Miss Kelly Douglas.”

“This is she.”

“Go ahead, sir.” There was a faint click that signaled the operator had left the line.

“Lizzie-girl, is that you?” The voice, the hated nickname that had never been used with affection, only with a taunting edge, had Kelly stiffening in her chair, shock sweeping through her in angry waves. “Lizzie-girl, it's me -”

She cut him off. “I know who it is.” Instantly she regretted that admission, furious with herself for not feigning ignorance. It was too late now. “What do you want?”

“I saw you on television the other night, giving the news. First time I saw you, I thought my ears were playing tricks on me.”

“Don't you mean the whiskey?” she snapped.

“You always did have a sassy mouth.”

“What do you want? Why did you call?” But she knew the answer, and bitterly said, “Let me guess you want money, right?”

“It's the Rutledges. The great Madam herself. She's trying to take my land away. I got a little behind in my payments; now she won't give me a break. She's demanding that I've got to pay all of it, or she's taking the land back. The house, the vineyards, everything. I can't let that happen. You've got to help me. You've done pretty good for yourself, got a big job on television, making lotsa money. Thirty-five thousand wouldn't be much to you.”

“No.” Her answer was quick and final.

“You've got to help me. I've got no one else. Dammit, you owe me!”

“I owe you nothing!” The anger that had been just below the surface broke through. It trembled through her voice and her body. “Nothing, do you hear?”

“Lizzie-girl, you're not thinking -“

But she didn't want to listen to him anymore; she'd heard enough. “Don't ever, ever try to get hold of me again.”

“You don't mean that!”

Kelly slammed the phone down, cutting off his protest, then pressed her hands to her face, covering it while she fought through the shock, the anger, the memories. She hated him. After all this time, she had hoped he was dead. She had wanted him to be.

She pushed her hands into her hair and dug her fingers into her scalp. Fear came, just as it always had, right after the anger and defiance.

“My God, what have I done?” Kelly swung out of her chair to cross to the window and stare blindly out. She hugged her arms across her stomach, trying to stop its nauseous churning as the panic set in.

She should have sent him the money. She had the thirty-five thousand, She had saved religiously ever since she'd started working in television, squirreling away every penny she could. With the accumulation of interest, she had almost fifty thousand invested in ultrasafe, ultrasecure treasury bonds. Why hadn't she simply given him the money and shut him up?

It was blackmail, she knew that. And it wouldn't stop at thirty-five thousand. She rested her forehead against the glass pane and closed her eyes. It would be just like before, he'd take every penny she made. She had been able to keep only what she could hide from him.

No, she had been right not to give him any money. She tried to reassure herself with that.

But what if he talked? What if he started telling people about her? What if-

“Stop it. Just stop it.” Kelly caught herself up sharply and gave herself a hard mental shake. She tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling, blinking at the tears that tried to form in her eyes. “Now think, what if he told the world? What is the worst that could happen?”

The answer was easy. Hugh, DeeDee, everyone on the production staff, everyone at the network would know the truth about her – how she had lived, how she was raised, every humiliating detail about her life and her family. While they might admire her for the success she'd made of herself in spite of it, more than that, they would feel sorry for her, and she hated pity. She hated it! But she'd endured it before and survived; she could do it again. The world wouldn't come to an end; she wouldn't lose her job, her career. Whatever happened, she would make it. She was good at surviving. She'd had to be.

“Kelly?”

Her name was spoken a second time before she heard it and turned. Hugh stood inside her office, one hand still holding the door open. He was frowning at her. Kelly saw that, yet it didn't really register.