Easy on the Eyes

“Good. Your story really upset me.”

“It was tough, but things are so much better now. I’m a human resources manager for a Fortune 500 company based here in Los Angeles— ”

“Hoping it’s a better salary.”

She smiles. “Twice the salary I had before, plus two weeks’ vacation, great health benefits, and perks like travel and free gym membership.”

“Did you go back to school, take new course work?”

“No.”

“So how did this happen? What changed?”

Helene looks me in the eye. “My face. I had a chin implant and this part”— she puts her finger to the bridge of her nose— “shaved down. The doctor suggested braces to help with my overbite, but I didn’t do that. I didn’t think it necessary.”

“You’re happy with your decisions?”

“Thrilled,” she says quietly. “People now see me the way I’ve always seen myself. This person”— and she gestures from the top of her head all the way down— “was here the whole time, but most people couldn’t see past my profile, or lack of.”

“Any regrets?”

Her expression grows wistful. “I just wish I’d done it sooner.”

Harper’s standing by the cameras with her clipboard as I detach the mike after the interview. “That’s brilliant,” she says, walking with me toward the decorated show stage where we’re scheduled to tape tonight’s show, including the new lead Harper’s been working on.

“Thank you.” I slip off the chestnut blazer I wore for the interview, revealing a slim sheath dress.

“Do you ever think you don’t belong here, that maybe this isn’t the best format for you?”

The glow I’d felt at her compliment quickly fades. I shoot her a sharp glance. “I like what I do.”

“Yes, but you’re really good one-on-one in interviews, as good as Meredith or Katie— ”

“Harper, this is my job. And if memory serves, we have a show to do.” My voice is clear and steady. My tone is professionally crisp.

But Harper isn’t fazed. “Glenn’s mentioned a special you want to do. Field stories. Investigative pieces.”

“They’d actually be human interest,” I correct, wondering why Glenn mentioned my idea to her. “When did this conversation takes place?”

Harper stands to the side as the teleprompter is rolled forward and different lights come on. I take my place in one of the tall director chairs as everyone does a sound and light check.

“I brought the subject up.” She steps over black cables as the robotic cameras move. “I told him I thought HBC was underutilizing you. That’s when he mentioned your show idea.”

“Did he seem open to my idea?”

“Noncommittal. But I’d like to hear more about it sometime. I think it’s a great idea. I hope you’re able to make it happen.” She glances at her clipboard and then exclaims, “Speaking of making it happen, tonight’s new lead is pretty big. Not sure if you’re going to be comfortable covering it.”

“Why not?”

“Mark’s been on the phone for the past hour checking sources, but apparently Kiki’s pregnant— ”

“Kiki? Trevor’s Kiki?” My voice cracks and I can’t hide my shock.

He had been lying…

He was sleeping with her…

That explains why he didn’t call. But it also feels so much worse.

Harper’s scrutinizing my face, reading my reaction. “We have a new opening for tonight’s show. It’s the big story. Can you handle it, or do we need to call in another anchor? Shelby’s around, I believe….”

Her voice drifts away, and I know what she’s asking. Am I tough enough, strong enough, to report dirt, particularly dirt on my former boyfriend? Am I the kind of anchor who would cover a story like this?

My conscience screams. Keith would scream. He’d be disgusted by the very idea, and I’m against this messy, sleazy form of journalism. But this is also my show, and I won’t have everyone running to Shelby every time my scruples are smashed. “I’ll do it,” I say, smashing my doubts and misgivings.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s the new copy, then. We tape in five.”

That’s all the time we have as someone from wardrobe comes running out with a chunky gold necklace to add visual interest to my hunter green sheath dress.

David smoothes my hair, flattening the flyaways before spritzing with spray while I skim the text that will be on the teleprompter. Vanessa powders my nose and applies a peachy pink gold lip gloss, and then I’m back on the stage, standing on my spot.

Harper’s on the side with Libby and Mark. The floor director is counting down time. The three robotics zoom in. I’m given the signal, and smiling, I look straight into the camera. “You heard it here first! An exclusive— breaking news! Kiki and Trevor’s love child.”

By the time we’ve taped tonight’s show, and tomorrow’s tease as well as the tease for the hiatus show, I’m drained, and just plain nauseated. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, although I did have a grilled chicken salad in the break room fridge waiting for me. It was too hectic with the interviews and back-to-back shows, never mind the news that Trevor and Kiki are having a baby together.

A baby.

I shudder and shove the image of a pregnant Kiki out of mind as I really don’t want to think about him, them, or the baby anymore.

At home I wash my face, eat a bowl of cereal, and climb into bed telling myself that tomorrow can’t be as hectic, or mind-numbingly awful, as today.

But tomorrow begins worse.

Somehow in the rush of interviews and taping and anchoring I’d forgotten that today was the announcement of this year’s Golden Globe nominations, and when my phone rings at five-twenty a.m. and it’s still dark outside, I’m certain something terrible has happened.

But it’s only Max waking me up with the news that Trevor has just been nominated for his first Golden Globe.

I prop myself up in bed, shove a heavy fistful of hair from my eyes. “You woke me up to tell me Trevor’s up for an award?”

“A Golden Globe. And you’ve ruined it.”

I’m really not in the mood for this now. “What are you talking about?”

“His nomination. Everyone should be focused on his performance and the Globe nomination, but instead the only thing people are talking about is Kiki’s pregnancy.”

“It’s true, then?”

“Jesus Christ, Tiana!”

I don’t know why, but I smile. Max sounds so outraged, so upset that his golden boy’s golden moment has been tarnished. But I don’t feel bad for Trevor. Trevor’s a shit, and he shit on me. “Well, if that’s all, I’m going back to bed.”

“That’s not all. You owe him— ”

“Owe him?” I interrupt, outraged. I sit all the way up in bed, knees bent, heart thumping. “Did you really just say that, Max?”

As if realizing he’s pushed me too far, he backpedals just a little. “Maybe an interview will suffice.”

I laugh out loud. I am so sick of being kicked around. “I’m not interviewing him. I’m not interested in him or concerned with furthering his career.”

“Not even if it furthers your career?”

Max has me there, and he pushes his point. “Every time your name is linked with Trevor’s, your show ratings go up. You know it, and doll, whether you’ll admit it or not, you need him— ”

I hang up. My phone rings immediately. I’m about to turn it off when I see it’s Harper calling. Harper rarely calls me when I’m at home, which makes me think she’s just heard about Trevor’s nomination.

“Morning, Harper.”

“Trevor Campbell’s up for his first Golden Globe, for best supporting actor.”

“I’ve already heard.” I throw back the covers and slide into my robe. “Why are you up so early?”

“I always wake up early to hear the list of nominees,” she says primly. “How did you hear?”

“My agent. Max reps both of us.”

“Did he expect you to celebrate with him?”

I smile, relax a little, liking Harper more and more. “He thought I’d want to interview him. Apparently it’d be good for show ratings.”