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  “Lee, Acme’s tech-op has already done a full cross-analysis between your various companies and those we found in the Wagner Klein database. Thus far, it’s pulled up nothing. I’ve asked Arnie to keep searching.” I sigh. “What is it that Reynolds thinks he has on you?”

  Lee flops down on the couch. “Damned if I know, Donna!”

  “It’s obvious the whole investigation was fast-tracked,” I point out.

  Lee rants, “Tim Gardiner is a weasel. He’ll do anything to make a name for himself.”

  I snort. “If you feel that way about him, why did you hire him as your attorney general?”

  “It was the party’s idea.”

  “Oh, I see. By that you mean Edmonton,” I reply.

  “Another one of my mistakes,” Lee admits.

  “Lee, if it’s any consolation, I believe you’re innocent,” I say softly. “And I believe what you said in the interview will resonate with the American people.”

  “That means a lot to me, Donna. You know that.” He leans back on the couch, shutting his eyes.

  For the first time, Lee looks as if the job is aging him.

  I glance down at the newspaper I tossed onto the coffee table when we walked in. Lee’s photo is above the fold. The paper was printed prior to the interview. Naturally the picture of him, behind his desk in the Oval Office, was taken previously.

  There is another photo below the fold, accompanying a story about New York’s Fashion Week. In it, Babette is shown sitting front row center at the tent show for a hot new couturier named Jered Friedland.

  Lolita Jamison sits next to her. Both are laughing conspiratorially. They hold identical purses: part of the designer’s swag. Also in their hands are beautiful patterned silk scarves: a pink one for Babette; turquoise for Lolita.

  The photo’s caption points out that the scarves “are exclusive one-of-a-kind gifts for each attendee, signed by Mr. Friedland.”

  Lee opens his eyes. He follows my gaze and frowns.

  Time to come clean. “I saw Babette this weekend in Hilldale.”

  “Then Janie got to see Trisha?”

  “Yes. They were ecstatic. It was fun watching them together.” I hesitate then add, “Babette intimated that she was moving back. She’d set up a look-see at Hilldale Elementary.”

  Lee doesn’t say a word, which tells me I’m the bearer of bad news.

  “She also said that she may be putting Lion’s Lair on the market.”

  Lee’s laugh is mirthless. “Donna, don’t you find it ironic that I have to hear this from you? And she doesn’t even like you!”

  “Gee, thanks for that,” I retort sarcastically. “Frankly, it wasn’t me she told. It was Mary, who was interviewing her for the school newspaper.”

  Now Lee is laughing even harder. “Seriously? She broke her ‘scoop’ with a teenage reporter?”

  “I guess it is funny, when you think about it,” I admit. “I’m sure she did it because she knew I was listening.”

  His face falls into despair. “At least it wasn’t the Washington Tribune.” He puts his head in his hands.

  “Oh, Lee! I’m so so sorry!”

  I pat his arm.

  He buries his head on my shoulder.

  We sit like that while the sun sets.

  The knock on the door was too soft.

  So was the key in the lock.

  Why else would Jack be standing here, staring down at me?

  At Lee and me.

  When I leap up, Lee’s head jerks back.

  Jack is even rougher with him: pulling him up by the collar of his shirt.

  But as Jack’s fist goes back, I grab it and hold on tight. “Jack, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Jack, breathing heavily, pauses. Lee’s glare dares him to follow through.

  Jack knows better. He drops his hand. “You’re not worth a lifetime prison term.”

  Lee smiles at Jack’s dilemma. Considering the week Lee has had, I’ll say he’s earned this small victory.

  I wonder how he’d feel if he knew of Babette’s proposition to my husband?

  Lee straightens his shirt before picking up his coat and walking out the door.

  Jack, still incensed, watches until Lee shuts it behind him. Then he turns back around to me.

  At which point, I back-hand him across the face.

  “You accuse Lee and me when you and Babette are—”

  Jack backs me up against the wall so quickly that I’m taken off-guard. His hand is against my mouth. As I struggle, he presses against me and whispers, “This place is bugged.”

  Oh…

  Hell.

  My eyes search the room. In time, I can pick out the obvious cameras.

  Jack points to his earbud and mumbles, “Thanks, Arnie.”

  Then he lets go of me so quickly that I drop to the floor.

  Stunned, I whisper, “What the…How did you know?”

  “Charlotte mentioned it when she offered me the company’s D.C. penthouse. She said to turn it off when I walk in. I flipped the switch. To play it safe, though, I’ve got Arnie to hack in and block the camera and audio signals. Otherwise, all your movements—including you and Sleeping Beauty snuggling on the couch—would have ended up in Harold’s homegrown porn collection. I’ll call Arnie back and tell him to scrub the last couple of hours.”

  “Harold is some son of a bitch!” Suddenly, I’m suspicious. “Wait a minute! Why did Charlotte offer you the condo?”

  Jack sinks beside me on the couch. “Because I’ve been transferred here too. She wants me covering international news from the D.C. Bureau. Makes sense, since the morning show blew up and they’re revamping it anyway.”

  “Oh.” Yes, I’m happy about that.

  I’m just not happy with him.

  “I guess she didn’t know Harold offered it to me,” I reason.

  “Hey, if we play our cards right, they’ll never find out that we’re sharing the place.” He puts his feet on the coffee table.

  I jerk the newspaper out from under them. Pointing to the photo with Babette on it, I hiss, “As far as I’m concerned, you can sleep on a bench in Franklin Park until you come clean about your little secret with Babette.”

  “Now that Ryan has approved my little scheme, I can,” he retorts.

  “What ‘little scheme’?”

  “To pull security cam footage from the lobby and elevator of Trident Union Bank in Netherlands Antilles. For that matter, on the streets and from the better hotels in and around the building.”

  “That’s a brilliant idea! How did you come up with it?”

  “Frankly, Babette gave me the idea.”

  “What? How? And considering how badly she wants to see Lee go down, why would she?”

  “Let me start with the ‘how.’ When Babette pulled me aside at our house, she filled me in on what I’d missed in Mary’s interview: that she’s divorcing Lee. But she knows he’ll fight her for custody of Janie and Harrison by trying to prove that she’s an unfit mother. And with the prenup she signed, she’ll probably run through all of her money trying to prove Lee wrong before she sees a dime of his.” Jack puts his feet back on the coffee table. “Now for the ‘what’ part: Babette claims that the biggest part of her request for a divorce is his philandering—with you.”

  I shake with rage. “How dare she accuse me of that!”

  “Then I guess you’re relieved it wasn’t her who walked in just now as opposed to me.”

  I raise a brow. “And found us ‘sleeping together’? Give me a break!”

  “I am, and it’s a very big one.” He leans in. “She asked if it upset me too, that my wife was quote-unquote, ‘the president’s booty call.’”

  This time my anger actually lifts me off the couch. “Why that bitch! Well, I hope you set her straight!”

  He yanks me back onto the couch. “Calm down. But yes, you bet I did! I told her, ‘Hell yeah, I’m heartbroken,’ and it disgusts me the way you fling yourself at hi
m whenever he comes into sight. How I want to punch him in the gut, but that if his goon squad has me put away, no one will be there to raise our poor kids while you go traipsing off into the sunset with Lover Boy.”

  “You didn’t say that! Did you?”

  “Nah. Donna, get real! We were only gone a few minutes, remember? Okay, maybe the part about how seeing him moon over you breaks my heart. Because that is the truth.”

  I sit back down. “I’m sorry it hurts you. But Jack, I swear: Lee and I are just good friends!”

  “I know that, Donna. But it would drive any guy crazy to see his wife so ‘friendly’ with another man who so desperately wants her,” he says softly. “Just as, I’m sure, it hurt you to see Babette kiss me.”

  He’s got a point.

  “I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” I whisper.

  Jack kisses me gently—

  But then he pulls back when I graze his cheek with my lips. “Ouch! Sorry! I’m still sore where you slapped me.”

  “I’m sorry for that too,” I admit.

  “You’ll be even sorrier when you hear the ‘who’ part.”

  “Don’t leave me in suspense!”

  “I was tipped off that she was being less than sincere when she then added, ‘In fact, I think he was also having an affair with his fund manager, Helen Drake.’”

  “Ha! As if!” I exclaim.

  “My thought exactly,” Jack declares coolly. “He’s so smitten with you that he never looks at other women.”

  I blush because I was thinking exactly that.

  “All of that brought me to the same conclusion you’ve already drawn: she’s doing her best to ruin Lee.”

  “Finally!” I yell. Looking skyward, I whisper, “Thank you, God!”

  Jack scowls. “You’re being overdramatic. To make a long story short, I agreed to play along. You know, do what I can to get the goods on all the whorish philandering going on.”

  Sarcastically, I ask, “And finding Lee and I curled up in the couch helps you prove it? Let me guess. You took a photo of us before you almost killed Lee.”

  “Even better, trust me.” He grins supremely. “It got me thinking. She’d made her point by smearing you, and I know that’s a bunch of hooey. So, why add the mysterious Helen Drake to the mix? Then it hit me: she wants to make sure Lee falls hard.”

  “Of course she would. She’s Quorum,” I reply. “Do you believe me now?”

  “Yes, Donna, I do. And now Acme has the proof to back up your claim. You see, after I got out of the shower, I called Ryan and asked that he get clearance to pull the Netherlands Antilles security cam footage. Arnie and I spent all day Sunday and Monday looking through it until we found Helen Drake.”

  My heart leaps in my chest. Will this woman be Lee’s salvation or his downfall?

  Jack opens the cell phone and scrolls to a video. It’s not the best picture. It’s too grainy and in black and white. Still, I can clearly see a woman walking through a lobby and into an elevator.

  I’d know that saunter anywhere. It’s Babette.

  “Wow,” I whisper.

  “Yeah. Wow. And the elevator tracking shows that she got off at the same floor as the bank.”

  “So, she’s controlling the account!” I sigh. “But we still have to figure out the account’s bank number, and what name it’s under.”

  “You should warn Lee,” Jack says.

  “I will.” As much as I hate being the bearer of bad news, the sooner he hears this, the sooner he can retaliate before she does even more harm.

  Suddenly, we hear the rattle of keys in the front door lock.

  Stealthily, Jack and I tiptoe to the door.

  From the peephole, I see Harold.

  A woman stands behind him. She wears a beautiful new scarf.

  A collector’s item.

  The woman is Lolita.

  “I’ll answer it,” I mouth to Jack. “I know just what to say.”

  He nods then ducks behind the door.

  I swing open the door before Harold can do it. He glances up, surprised. On the other hand, Lolita turns around quickly and walks down the hall so that I can’t see her face.

  “Mr. Hart! What…what are you doing here?” I frown.

  “Oh! Ms. Durant! I’d forgotten…”

  “What? That my new contract gives me use of this apartment for the next five years?” Smugly, I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t remember anything in the fine print that said I must share it with you and…” I glance down the hall. “Is that Mrs. Hart? Or are you presumptuous enough to think I’d consider some sort of ménage-a-trois?”

  Lolita is now running to the elevator.

  Harold scowls at me. “My mistake. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.” He makes it sound like a threat.

  Not if I see you first.

  I slam the door. “Sheesh! This is beginning to seem like an old Marx Brothers movie. I wonder who will walk in next?”

  Jack is laughing. “So that’s why Lolita quit! All Charlotte said was that she’d gotten a better offer.”

  “But…I thought you said she and Bev were fired!”

  “Ironically, Lolita turned in her notice before Charlotte called her. She said she’d decided to cash in and leave the country for, as she put it, ‘some desert island that can’t get a TV signal.’”

  “Ha! A better offer from that whore dog Harold? Well, I guess anything is possible!”

  “After the stunt he pulled with you, I’d say they deserve each other.”

  “And sometimes I feel as if I don’t deserve you. Like now.” I pull Jack in for a hug. “I’m sorry, Jack, for doubting your ability to see through Babette.”

  He chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll think of a way to make it up to me.”

  “I already have.”

  All sex with Jack is great, but make-up sex is the most fun of all.

  Even in a twin bed.

  14

  Network

  In television parlance, a network is a corporation that provides news and entertainment programming to stations that are either affiliated or owned and operated by it.

  “Network” is also the title of a classic satirical film. Released in 1976, it starred Peter Finch. The plot revolves around a newscaster named Howard Beale whose job was on the line for poor ratings. Because he feels he has nothing to lose, he quits reading the teleprompter and announces he will take his life during the next day’s broadcast.

  Needless to say, the ratings soar.

  Talk about prescient! Network news is still ratings-driven. Sadly, what drives it are still horrible tragedies.

  Seriously, there is nothing funny about that.

  Jack and I leave the penthouse separately, and through different entrances.

  We arrive at the Hart News Bureau separately, as well.

  When I walk to my cubicle, Polly stops me. “Harold Hart is here! He asked to see you the moment you got in.”

  This ought to be interesting. Nonchalantly, I say “Thank you, Polly. Please tell him I’ll be there in a moment, after I get off the telephone with the president.”

  It’s the best way to make Harold cool his heels. His father made it clear to me that I’m not to serve as Harold’s puppet. Randall also made it clear to the both of us that he’d prefer the truth from Lee rather than Harold’s slant on Lee’s presidency.

  Hearing this, Polly’s eyes widen. She nods fervently as she takes off down the hall again.

  To document the call, I put it through the Hart News Bureau switchboard. Upon hearing my name, Eve puts me on hold for a moment before patching me through.

  “Ms. Durant, how may I help you?” Lee’s words are formal, but his tone is anything but.

  “I hope you’ll agree to accommodating me with a second interview. This time it will run in print, so no camera crew needed.” This is my way of telling him that I’ll be coming alone.

  “Sure, okay. Can you be here in, say, an hour?”

  “Of course. And thank you, Mr
. President.”

  Now, to see what Harold wants. I made it clear that a threesome is out, so at least it won’t be that.

  When I enter, Harold comes out from behind his desk. He’s not smiling. “Well, well, if it isn’t the president’s sympathizer-in-chief!”

  I arch a brow. “Pardon?”

  He tosses down a cheat sheet.

  Just glancing at it, I recognize it because it’s a replica of the one I was to have used in the interview.

  I shrug. “I thought my questions were spot on.”

  “You don’t understand your function here, lady!” He picks up my producer’s identical copies of the prepared cards for the interview and waves it in my face. “You’re supposed to stick to the script!”

  “If you don’t like my process, fire me.”

  He reels back from the taunt. He knows he can’t break with his father’s wishes. His lips curl into a snarl. “You must give great head.”

  “If I do, you’ll never know it.” I turn to leave.

  The next thing I know he’s got me pinned to the wall.

  His hand goes between my legs. As it inches up my thigh, he whispers, “I guessed right, didn’t I? Chiffray liked what he saw. It’s why you’re going over there now.”

  When my knee hits his groin, he doubles over.

  I’m almost at the door when he gasps out, “Hey, if you want to, take him back to your place.”

  “I’m a journalist, not a porn star. By the way, sleeping in strange lands run by dictators has taught me one lesson: someone is always looking to own you. Usually via video surveillance. So, yes, Harold, I found your security cameras.” As his face falls, I snicker. “Shall I warn your father that his little boy may have been naughtier than he thought?”

  That shuts Harold up.

  He waits until I’ve shut the door before throwing a chair against it.

  Conversations stop. Heads raise from the cubicles.

  At least, I know our noisy exchange won’t make it into any Hart newspaper headline.