Season Of Passion Part 15

"I can't imagine feeling that way, between worrying about whether I'm going to pa.s.s out or throw up."

"You won't. You'll love it. You'll never want to get off."

"Bulls.h.i.+t."

"Say that, and I'll get you off myself!"

"Is it live?" She looked horrified but he shook his head.

"Nope. So all you have to do is look pretty and have fun. Is there anything you particularly want to talk about?" He looked serious now and she liked him better than ever.

She thought about it for a minute, and then shook her head.

"Think about it, Kate. Any particular aspect of the book that means a great deal to you? Something that would make it more real, bring it closer to our viewers? Something that will make them want to run out and buy it? Maybe something that happened to you while you wrote it? In fact, why did you write it?"

"Because I wanted to tell that story. I guess it was just something I cared about, so I wanted to write about it for other people. But that's not very remarkable. The decay of a marriage and a love affair is hardly hot stuff."

"Bleep that!" Weinberg rolled his eyes. "Whatever you do, love, don't talk them out of buying the book!"

"Seriously, Kate." Nick was watching her again as he talked. The eyes, the eyes, there was something in her eyes. What the h.e.l.l was it? Fear? No, something else. Something deeper. He wanted desperately to know what it was, to reach out to her. The feelings were wildly inappropriate at this lunch, and she was looking away from him now, down at her hands, as though she sensed that he saw too much. "All right then, why did you write about football?"

She didn't look up. "I thought it would provide background. And that men might relate to the book too. Good commercial value. He didn't know why, but he didn't believe her, and when she looked up at him, he knew he didn't. Almost as if something had clicked.

"You put some beautiful insights into that, Kate. I almost got more excited about that than about the rest. You know the game. Not just football, the sport, but the game. I loved that."

"Did you play in college?" She felt as though they were alone now. Stu Weinberg knew he was forgotten, but he didn't mind.

Nick was nodding in answer to Kate's question. "All through college, and one year of pro. I tore up both knees in my first season, and had to call it quits."

"You're lucky. It's a s.h.i.+tful sport."

"Do you really think that? That's not what I heard in the book."

"I don't know. It's a crazy savage way to kill people."

"How do you know all that, Kate?"

Her answer, was quick and very smooth, and delivered with a Hollywood smile. "Careful research for the book."

"That must have been fun." He was smiling too, but still searching, still watching. She wanted to hide from him again, but she couldn't. And the b.i.t.c.h of it was that she wished she didn't have to hide. But she couldn't afford to get to know this man. He knew football. He was dangerous. She couldn't afford him even as a friend. "Would you talk about the research on the show?"

She shook her head and then shrugged. "It wouldn't be very interesting. Some games, some listening, some interviews, some reading. That really isn't the main point of the book."

"Maybe you're right." He wasn't going to push. "Well then, what about you? Married?" He looked at the thin gold band still on her left hand, and remembered what Weinberg had said about her being a widow. But he didn't want it to look as though he knew too much. As far as he could tell, he didn't know enough.

"No. Widowed. But for G.o.d's sake, don't say that on the show. It'll sound so melodramatic."

"Good point. Kids?"

Her face lit up at the question and she nodded, but hesitantly. "Yes. One. But I don't really want to talk about him either."

"Why not?" Nick looked surprised. "h.e.l.l, if I had a kid I'd talk about nothing but." Maybe there was a b.i.t.c.hy side to her after all, but he didn't think so.

"I take it you don't have kids."

"Brilliant deduction, madam." He toasted her with the last of his b.l.o.o.d.y mary. "I am totally pure and untouched. No kids, no wife, no nothing."

"Never?" She was surprised. What was a man like that doing wandering around on the loose? Gay? He couldn't be. Maybe he had a heavy starlet habit. That seemed the only answer. "I guess that makes sense around here," she said. "There's so much to choose from." She looked around the terrace with a mischievous grin and he threw back his head and laughed.

"Ya got me."

Weinberg smiled at them both, and then sat back with pleasure. She was doing just fine. He didn't need to say a word.

"So why won't you talk about your kid? Boy or girl, by the way?"

"A boy. He's six. And terrific. A real little cowboy." She looked as though she were sharing her best secret and Nick smiled again as he watched her, and then her face grew serious. "I just don't want to expose him to what I do. He leads a nice, simple life in the country. I want to keep it that way. Just in case ... in case ..."

"In case Mom becomes a celebrity, huh?" Nick looked amused. "What does he think of all this?"

"Not much. He was barely speaking to me when I left. He's ... he's not used to my being away. I ... he was p.i.s.sed." She looked up with a broad smile.

"You'll have to take him back something he wants."

"Yeah. Me."

"And you spoil him rotten, don't you?"

"No. A friend of mine does that." A friend. So that was it. There was somebody. Dammit. But nothing showed in his face.

"So, let's see, where does that leave poor Jasper tonight? You won't talk about football or your research, and you won't talk about your kid. How about a dog?" He was grinning at her and Stu rolled his eyes and got back into the conversation.

"You shouldn't have said that. You just blew it."

"She has a dog?"

"I have a Bert." Kate looked prim as she said it. "Bert is not a dog, he's a person. He's black and white with long ears. And a fabulous face."

"What does that make him? A c.o.c.ker spaniel?"

"Of course not!" She looked offended. "A ba.s.set hound."

"Great. I'll be sure to tell Jasper. Okay, lady, be serious, what'll you talk about? Marriage? How about marriage? Any views on marriage?"

"I love it. It's very nice." So why didn't she marry the "friend" who spoiled her kid? Or was she still carrying the torch for her dead husband? He hadn't figured that one out yet. But he would.

"Living together? Any feelings about that?"

"That's nice too." She grinned and finished her iced tea.

"Politics?"

"I'm not political. And, Mr. Waterman"-she looked up mischievously again-"I must tell you that I am very boring. I write. I love my kid."

"And your dog. Don't forget your dog."

"And my dog. And that's about it."

"What about your teaching?" Stu stepped into it again with a serious look, on his face. "Don't you teach r.e.t.a.r.ded kids or something?" He had gotten Tillie on the phone a few times when she was visiting Tom.

"I promised the school I wouldn't mention it." That was a lie she was still good at, and Nick Waterman sat back with a smile.

"I've got it! Weather! You can talk to Jasper about the weather!" He was teasing but Kate looked suddenly crestfallen.

"Is it really that bad? Jesus. I'm sorry."

But instantly his hand covered hers and his face softened from laughter to something that almost looked like love. It startled her, it happened so quickly. "I'm only teasing you. It's going to be just fine. We never know what's going to come up. Subjects may come up that you never knew you cared about. You may end up carrying the whole show. But no matter what, you're bright enough and pretty enough and amusing enough to carry the ball for as long as you have it. Just relax. And I'll be out there waving at you, and grinning, and making terrible faces to keep you amused."

"I'll never make it." She practically groaned as she thought of it.

"You'd better, sweetheart. Or I'll kick your a.s.s." It was Weinberg again and they all laughed. But she had to admit that she felt better now. At least she knew she had a friend on the show. Nick Waterman was already a friend.

"What are you doing this afternoon?" Nick was looking at his watch as he asked. It was already ten after three, and he had things to do back at the studio.

"I thought I'd take a swim and relax for a while. I have to be there at a quarter to seven?"

"Better make it six-fifteen or six-thirty. We tape at seven. You can check your makeup, chat with the other guests in the Red Room, and just kind of settle in. Oh, and before I forget, you can't wear white. It'll glare on us."

"I can't?" She looked horrified. "What about off-white?"

He shook his head.

"Oh my G.o.d."

"That's all you brought?" He said it the way a husband would looking over his wife's shoulder as she dressed, and she felt awkward at the intimacy.

"I was going to wear a cream-colored suit with a peach-colored blouse."

"Sounds gorgeous. I'll have to take you to dinner sometime just to see it. But not on the show, Kate. I'm sorry." He looked sorry, too, and she looked sick. She should have listened to Licia, and gotten a bunch of things from the store, but she had been so sure about the suit. And the only other thing she had to wear was that half-naked, navy-blue, chiffon halter dress. And she didn't want to be that bare on national television. Christ, they'd think she was a hooker. "Do you have anything else? You can always go shopping, you know."

"I guess I'd better. I brought something else, but it's too naked." Weinberg perked up his ears, and Waterman glanced at him. They had both been afraid she'd wear something too serious.

"Whatcha got?" Waterman asked.

"A navy-blue halter dress. But I'll look like a tart." Weinberg whooped and Waterman grinned.

"Believe me, Kate, you wouldn't know how to look like a tart."

"Is that a compliment?" She had a feeling it wasn't but Nick looked around with an air of acute boredom at the overdecorated women at the surrounding tables.

"In this town, Kate, that's a compliment. Is the dress s.e.xy?"

"Sort of. It's more just dressy."

"Glamorous?" She nodded again, almost apologetically, and he beamed.

"Wear it."

"You mean it?"

"I mean it." The two men exchanged a smile, and Nick Waterman signed the check.

CHAPTER 17.

Kate took a last look in the mirror as she got ready to leave the bungalow. She had been planning to order a cab, so she wouldn't get lost driving herself around L.A. But Nick's secretary had called an hour before to tell her he was sending a car for her. At six. And the desk had just called to tell her it was there. She had already phoned Felicia twice, in a panic. Talked to Tygue. Gone for a swim, washed her hair, done her nails, and changed earrings and shoes three times. She was finally set. She still felt like a tart in that dress. But a very high-priced one.

The dress bared her narrow, elegant shoulders and showed off her long, delicate neck. It had a high-necked halter, and there was very little fabric at her back, but no one would see that on the air-she'd have her back against the chair. The dress nipped in carefully at the waist and then flowed gracefully away again. She had decided finally on the navy silk sandals Licia had suggested she wear with it, pearl earrings, and her hair swept up in a carefully done knot. It was the same hairdo her mother had been wearing, years ago, the last time she'd seen her, but Kate didn't remember that anymore. The hairdo just looked right to her. And other than the pearl earrings, the only jewelry she wore was her wedding band. She looked striking and understated and the mirror told her that everything worked. She hoped Nick thought so too, and then she blushed again at the thought. Not Nick as a man, just Nick as the producer of the show. But there was an overlap in her mind between Nick's functions as mentor, advisor, friend, man. It was a confusing rush of feelings for a man she'd known only since noon. But she was anxious to see him and know that she looked all right for the show. And if she didn't, she was up s.h.i.+t creek. She hadn't gone shopping that afternoon. She had decided to take a chance on the one suitable dress she had. If they hated it for the show, she was stuck. But Felicia said they'd love it. And she was usually right.

Kate wrapped a midnight-blue shawl of web-thin crochet around her shoulders, picked up her bag, and opened the door. This is it: She couldn't get the words out of her head. This Is It. She wouldn't let herself listen to that feeling as she walked quickly to the main lobby and then down the breezeway under the awning until she stood next to the doorman at the curb.

"Miss Harper?" How the h.e.l.l did he know? There were armies of people pa.s.sing by. It was amazing. She noticed a floor-length chinchilla coat on a very old, very ugly woman, followed by three middle-aged f.a.gs, and she forced her attention back to the doorman.

"Yes. I'm Miss Harper."

"The car is waiting." He signaled to a limousine parked to one side, and an endlessly long chocolate-brown Mercedes sped to her feet. For me? Talk about Cinderella! She wanted to laugh but she didn't dare.

"Thank you." The driver held open the door for her, having leapt out almost before the doorman could reach it, and the two uniformed men stood there as she slipped inside. Once again, she had the wild urge to poke somebody, to collapse, giggling, in the back seat. But there was no one to giggle with. She was suddenly dying to see Nick and say something to him. And then she realized that she couldn't. To him this was everyday. To her, it was once in a lifetime.

The car sped through unknown neighborhoods, past mansions and palm trees, and into uncharted areas of freeway she knew she would have been lost on forever, and then they reached a long, unpretentious, sand-colored building. The studio. The car stopped, the driver opened her door, and she stepped out. It was difficult not to make An Exit. Difficult not to look imperious just for the h.e.l.l of it. But she reminded herself that Cinderella had lost the gla.s.s slipper and almost broken her a.s.s on the stairs.

"Thank you." She smiled at the driver, and was pleased that the voice still sounded like Kate's, not "Miss Harper's." But she was getting to like the "Miss Harper" stuff. It was a riot. Kaitlin Harper. The Author.

Two security guards stood just inside the door, and asked for her identification when she got inside. But before she could give it to them, a young woman with sheaves of blond hair appeared and smiled at the guards.

"I'll take you up now, Miss Harper." The two guards smiled now too, one of them looking appreciatively at the blond girl's a.s.s. She was wearing the standard pair of jeans, with Gucci shoes, and a little see-through white top. Kate felt like her mother. The girl was probably only twenty-two, but she had an air about her that Kate hadn't had for years, if ever. Maybe, way back when, a thousand years ago ... it was hard to remember.

"Everything's all set in the Red Room." The girl continued to chat amiably as they took an elevator to the second floor. They could have walked just as easily, but Kate sensed immediately that would not have been the thing to do. This was a town where everything one did reflected one's status.

They emerged into an anonymous corridor, and Kate tried to glance at the photographs mounted on the walls. They were faces she had seen in major movies, in newspapers, in news reports on television, even some faces from the backs of book jackets. She wondered if one day they'd have her face up there too, and for one mad heavenly moment she wanted her face up there. Kaitlin Harper ... Ha! That's me! See! Me! I'm Kate! But the girl was already holding open a door. The inner sanctum. A ring of guards protected it outside and in, and the door opened only by key. A long white-carpeted hall now. White? How impractical. But obviously n.o.body gave a d.a.m.n. It was beautiful. More photographs. These were more personal, and in all of them there was Jasper Case. He was an attractive man in the photographs, silver-haired and very tall. He had a certain elegance about him. And she knew from watching the show that his English accent added to the distinguished image. And he got the best interviews on television, because he was never pretentious, never vicious, always warm, thorough, interested, and he somehow managed to draw the viewer into the conversation. The man sitting at home drinking Ovaltine and watching Jasper before he went to bed felt as if all Jasper's guests were sitting in his own living room and including him in the party.

Kate was still engrossed in the photographs when she heard another door open with one of the girl's magical keys, and she found herself looking into what appeared to be a guest room. It was done in dusty rose and looked very glamorous. There was a couch, several easy chairs, the now standard chaise longue, a vanity, a jungle of orchid plants, and other leafy wonders hanging from the ceiling. It was the kind of room Kate would have dreamed of as an office, instead of the grubby hole where she, and most writers, did their work.