“Glenn, I’m not ready to come back.”
“I’m not going to talk to you about coming back early. I just have an idea you might actually like.”
Interesting. This I want to hear. “I’ll see you at one.”
The Terrace restaurant at the Sunset Tower has the best view of Los Angeles, and unlike some other area roof restaurants, it’s never too blazingly hot to enjoy your meal.
I’m just about to go for my standard uniform of black T-shirt and black pants when I realize I refuse to look as though I’m in mourning. There’s nothing wrong with my health, and there’s nothing wrong with my career.
An hour before lunch, I shower and dress. Feeling feisty, I select a rather wild Dolce & Gabbana print dress. It’s a modern twist on the sixties, and I take a leather belt and cinch it at my waist the way Shannon showed me. I pair it with a twig bracelet and chunky bead necklace, and with strappy leather high heels I look confident and casually sexy. Definitely sexy. Sexy’s good. I give my reflection an approving nod.
It’s not a long drive to the Sunset Tower, but there’s a ridiculous amount of traffic and I valet my car just minutes before one.
Glenn’s already upstairs waiting at our table, and he stands as I appear in the doorway and lifts a hand to acknowledge me. I smile and, conscious of nearly every head turning as I move toward the table, I slow my pace and make it a catwalk stroll. I’m not hiding. I’m not running away. Feel free to stare.
Our table’s near a potted palm tree, and we have the luxury of light shade.
“You look good,” Glenn says, surprised.
“I’ve had a couple weeks off.”
“Mike and B.J. had photos of you from last night. I have to say I loved what you wore. The red gown was perfect. Very powerful and yet feminine.”
“Thank you.” I don’t bother telling him it was difficult to put on and a nightmare to get out of.
“You’re still using Shannon?” He sees me nod. “Good. I’m going to send her a bonus. She dressed you just right. It’s exactly the image you want to be presenting right now. Beautiful, poised, sophisticated, and warm.”
I’m not sure where Glenn’s going with this, so I wait.
“Have you been following the news this morning?” he asks.
“I watched a little TV this morning, but other than that, the TV’s off and I’ve tried to stay offline.” As God only knows what might be being said over at Perez Hilton or TMZ.
Glenn studies me, his eyes narrowed, his expression contemplative. “There seems to be a bit of a backlash.”
“I’m not surprised. Trevor’s everybody’s golden boy— ”
“Against Trevor.”
My eyes widen.
“Something’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. Not sure if it was Trevor’s tirade, or the way you carried yourself, or the fact that you sat with members of the press, but certain members of the media are rallying around you.”
My throat grows tight. I take my napkin and make a show of spreading it across my lap.
“Regis and Kelly,” Glenn says.
“I did see them.”
“But they weren’t alone. Ellen DeGeneres. And Barbara Walters on The View.”
I look at Glenn, overcome.
“Not many women in this business have that kind of support, not from their peers.” He hesitates. “This is obviously very good, and I want to use it to our advantage.” He hesitates a moment, as if formulating what he’s about to say next. “I want you back. I want you where you belong, as host of America Tonight.”
Half a dozen emotions flood me. Exultation. Hope. Happiness. Doubt. Anger. Frustration. “What about Shelby?”
“The studio wants to keep her as co-anchor.”
I open my mouth in protest, but Glenn holds up a finger to buy himself time. “But maybe that’s good,” he continues. “Maybe we can use Shelby in the studio and you in the field. You’ve said you wanted to do more stories again, real stories. Maybe this is how we do it. Your plastic surgery pieces were wonderful. Our viewer feedback has been terrific. Perhaps we can have you do more features, in-depth profiles, and one-on-one interviews.”
I close my mouth and let him keep talking.
“Sweeps month is next month. I’d love to run some more of your stories throughout the month. I could provide you with a cameraman, but you’d be in charge of writing and editing and producing.”
This is getting interesting. “I like the sound of it.”
“Good. I hoped you would. Is there anything you’ve been working on?”
“Africa.”
He sighs. “Besides Africa.”
If he wants me back, if he wants my stories, then he’s going to have to meet me halfway. “I want to do the Africa stories, and I’ve got a great lead. Beverly Hills plastic surgeon Michael O’Sullivan is part of the Rx Smile mission to Zambia. He’s done these missions before, has promised to put me in touch with the organization’s PR director. Best of all, they’re leaving in less than two weeks. The timing would be perfect for February sweeps.”
“I have to be honest, I’m not excited about Africa stories. But if you can make us care, and you can get people to tune in, then I won’t tell you that you can’t do Africa.”
Victory. It’s all I can do to keep from grinning.
Glenn drums the table with his fingers. “The stories you choose are important. Think about each interview. Make sure every segment conveys your warmth and charm and wit.”
“Not easy to do when you’re talking about malaria or the millions of children left orphaned by AIDS and HIV,” I say.
“Then maybe you pick happier stories. Or pick an angle that can be happy. As you know, people in this country are struggling emotionally and financially. We’ve been in a protracted war. In the past several years Americans have experienced floods, fires, and storms. Families have lost crops, homes, loved ones. It’s not an easy time for people. When our viewers turn on the TV, they want to forget.”
And I, of all people, can understand that. “So how does this work?”
“Soon as you’ve got your plans made, our travel agency will handle flights and hotel arrangements. But we need your itinerary, and I need a rough outline of stories that I can expect to air when you return.”
My head spins. “So theoretically, I could be on a plane to Africa in a week.”
“Theoretically, yes.” He allows himself the smallest of smiles. “Oh, and by the way, I heard you’re no longer with Max. Who’s your new agent?”
“Don’t have one yet.”
“Even though your contract’s up for renewal soon?”
“Yeah, I know, but one thing at a time. And my first priority is this trip to Africa.”
Chapter Thirteen
I arrive home and discover a gorgeous floral arrangement in ravishing raspberry red and strawberry pink on my doorstep. The flowers are beyond beautiful.
Setting the vase on the hall table, I grit my teeth and then open the small white envelope to read the card.
Trevor’s an ass. I’ll beat him up if you want me to. Michael
P.S. This is Alice’s number at Rx Smile. She’s expecting a call from you.
I study the card for the longest time, smiling and smiling again.
Trevor is an ass, and I love the idea of Michael teaching him a thing or two. Even better, I’ve got Alice’s contact info for the Rx Smile office.
I move the flowers into the living room, where I can see them while I dial Alice’s number. She answers personally, and we spend the next half hour discussing my objectives as well as Rx Smile’s objectives. As I listen to her describe the mission— the first in Zambia— I can’t help but imagine all the possibilities.
We end the conversation with Alice promising to overnight me literature on the organization and a video from previous missions, and she’ll e-mail me travel details and information regarding the Zambia mission so I can get my flights booked and the necessary vaccines.
After we hang
up, I stretch gleefully and head for my laptop. I feel good. Better than I have in a long time.
I shoot an e-mail to Marta and Shey, letting them know my plans. And then I look up Michael’s business number, call his office, and leave a message:
“Let Dr. O’Sullivan know that Tiana will see him in Lusaka.”