Alexandra Waring (11 page)

“Hi!” Alexandra said, rushing past Langley to give Cassy a one-armed hug, carefully executed around her sling. “Hi,” she said again, backing away a step, holding Cassy’s elbow in her free hand. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she added, eyes sparkling. She took Cassy’s hand and turned to Langley and Will. “Doesn’t it seem like she’s always been working with us? Doesn’t she just
belong
here?”

They heard the screech of tires and everyone looked to see that Cassy’s cab had done a U-turn and was now coming back toward them. The guard leaped in front of Alexandra, spreading his arms out. “Watch it, watch it, Miss Waring!” he said, pushing her back.

But the driver was just excited. He stopped the cab, jumped out and over the roof of the cab yelled, “Hey, Alexandra!” He looked at Cassy. “Tell her I gave her a ride.” To the guard, “She knows me,” he said, pointing to Cassy. “I just wanted to say hi to Alexandra.”

Leave it to Alexandra to actually remember the driver after two years. She went over and signed an autograph for him while he told her about their previous encounter. After she handed him the autograph, she shook his hand and said, “So how’s your son’s knee? Didn’t you tell me that he was going to have to have surgery after football season was over?”

The cab driver’s face could have lit up Times Square. He gave the guard a triumphant look and announced, “My son’s knee is fine. The surgery was a complete success. He’s playin’ ball now for the University of Bridgeport.”

By this time someone else had joined them outside, a black man about forty-five whom Will introduced to Cassy as Hex Hamilton.

“My mother was a witch,” Hex explained in a deep, rolling West Indian accent. Judging from the way he was smiling, she had no idea whether or not he was serious. He turned to Langley. “Am I allowed to ask Cassy how many editing bays she thinks we need?” He turned back to Cassy. “Alexandra and I know we need at least six, but we are, as they say, suffering temporary technical difficulties with the management.”

Langley cleared his throat and stuck his hand into his pants pocket. “The management is suffering, period,” he told Cassy.

“She even
looks
like she runs the place,” Alexandra announced, walking back over. She gestured to Cassy with her free hand. “Look at that pose, Hex—I think we ought to work a shot of Cassy into the open montage for ‘News America Tonight.’ “

“Maybe she should anchor ‘News America Tonight,’ “Langley suggested under his breath.

The doors opened yet again and out came a very young woman, scarcely out of colllege, who actually looked a little like a washed-out version of Alexandra. “Oh, hi,” she said, “here you are.”

“This is Kate Benedict, my assistant,” Alexandra said. “Kate, this is Cassy Cochran.”

“Thank God,” Kate exclaimed, shaking Cassy’s hand in a very businesslike manner. “Can you sign Alexandra’s expense account stuff?”she asked, holding up papers in her other hand. Then she noticed Langley. “Oops,” she said, shrinking.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Langley said. “Charge it to WST.”

“That’s what he says about everything,” Kate told Cassy. “Alexandra won’t sign anything either. I really think you better work here.”

“And how,” Hex said.

“Seconded,” Will said. “All those in favor of Cassy—”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Cassy said, holding up her hands and backing away slightly. “This isn’t fair, you guys—”

The doors slid open again and familiar figure emerged this time. It was tall, lanky Kyle McFarland, the same Kyle McFarland who had been a news intern with Cassy at WST back in 1973, the same Kyle McFarland who had been producing a network morning show, the same Kyle McFarland she had urged Alexandra to try and get as senior producer for “DBS News America Tonight.” And here he was.

“Hi, Cass,” Kyle said, simply giving her a little wave and dropping his hand, as though they hadn’t missed a day of work together in fifteen years.

Cassy suddenly felt like crying. There was something about what was transpiring that was making her feel terribly happy.

“Come on,” Langley then said quietly, touching her arm. “I’ll take you up to Jackson’s. We won’t hound you anymore.”

“No, we won’t,” Alexandra promised.

Hex started to laugh and Kate shhhed him.

Langley led Cassy inside, the group trailing behind them, whispering and elbowing each other like unruly schoolchildren. “Ignore them,” was Langley’s advice as they walked through a reception area.

The receptionist looked up from whatever she was doing and smiled. “Hi, Mrs. Cochran,” she said.

Cassy did a double take and the group behind her started to laugh. She looked at Langley.

“This way,” Langley said, “we’ll just swing through the studio on the way.”

“Excuse me,” an electrician said, trying to get by them with a large coil of wire. His eyes skipped over Cassy and then came back again. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Cochran,” he said.

“Uh, hi,” Cassy said, turning to look at Langley.

“Don’t look at me,” he said, “I’m not that manipulative,” prompting the crew behind them to start laughing again. As Cassy looked back at Alexandra, he took her arm. “This way.”

They wound around the corridors and then walked through Studio B, tremendous Studio A, through the newsroom, through Engineering A, Engineering B, the satellite room, and then back into the corridors, walking past editing, audio, graphics, film, winding back around to end up at the elevators. And every single person they came in contact with—from the head of technology, Dr. Kessler, to the carpet layers—took one look at Cassy, smiled and said, “Hi, Mrs. Cochran.”

Langley and Cassy left Alexandra, Kate, Hex, Kyle and Will on Sub Level 2 and took the elevator up to the second floor of Darenbrook I. Langley pointed out his office as they passed by it and then they turned into the outer reception area of Jackson Darenbrook’s office. His three assistants—Ethel, a black woman of about fifty; Randy, a balding man of about thirty; and Claire, a redhead of about twenty-five—were on their feet in a minute, all hailing, “Hello, Mrs. Cochran!”

“Please go right on in,” Ethel said in a wonderful Southern drawl, showing them the door. “Mr. Darenbrook has so been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Here she is, Jack,” Langley announced, holding the door open for Cassy.

Jackson Darenbrook stood up behind his desk. He was a big man, nice-looking, Cassy thought. He reminded her a little of Michael, except where Michael’s hair was so dark Jackson’s was brown with a great deal of gray running through it, and where Michael was handsome, Jackson Darenbrook was only, well, pleasant-looking. He had wonderful blue eyes, though.

He was staring at her, his head cocked to the side. Then he looked down at his desk, back up at her, down at his desk again and picked up something that turned out to be—when he held it up for her to see—an 8
x
10 glossy of Cassy someone had blown up from her WST PR photo. “Which one of you has been retouched?” he asked her.

“Jack!” Langley said.

“Jaaack,” Jackson mimicked, coming around his desk. “That was a compliment, jerk head. I meant that Alexandra’s right.” He held his hand out to Cassy. “She said Mrs. Cochran was even more beautiful in real life than she is in that photograph.”

“Thank you,” she said, shaking his hand. His handshake was dry, firm, nice.

“Go away, Lang,” Jackson said, still looking at Cassy.

“Wait, Jack,” Langley said, “I want a word with you.”

Jackson gestured to his office. “Please make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a moment.” He stepped outside with Langley.

Cassy turned around. The office was enormous. One part of it was a work area, with a tremendous leather-topped oak desk, a couple of chairs, and over along one wall two computer terminals, a drafting table, and an elongated table with stacks of newspapers on it. Across the room was what looked almost like a den, with an oriental rug thrown over the wall-to-wall carpeting, easy chairs, a coffee table, magazine racks, a bar, and a large TV screen built into the wall. In the corner there was a huge oak wardrobe. There were also several trees here and back in the work area, accentuating how high the ceilings were.

And then, in front of the solid glass wall to Cassy’s right, there was a cluster of two small sofas and two chairs around a low, round glass table. Cassy headed to this area and sat down in one of the chairs, facing the glass wall. It felt as though she were sitting in the front row of a wonderful movie about the Hudson River and the magnificent skies of west Manhattan. Her next thought was how desperately she needed to get out of the city if she thought the view was so pretty that it looked fake to her.

Jackson Darenbrook came back in and closed the door. “Langley told me not to make a big deal about how beautiful you are,” he cheerfully reported, walking over. “I told him, ‘No problem. Alexandra says she’s very brainy and very controlling and so we’ll talk about her brains and controlling nature.’’’ He sat down heavily on one of the sofas and smoothed his tie.

After people’s descriptions of him, Cassy was surprised at how conservatively Jackson was dressed. Langley had described him as sort of an over-eager Little Leaguer; Michael had said he was kind of a whacked-out Tom Sawyer; and Alexandra had said that he was prone to swaggering, as if he had watched too many Errol Flynn swashbuckling movies as a boy. But this man in the gray pin-striped suit—to Cassy, at any rate—seemed more like a jovial banker.

He smiled at her. “I will be in such trouble with Alexandra and Lang if I mess this up.”

“I don’t think you will,” Cassy said. “But I’d play down the part about my controlling nature.” She laughed. “Though it’s quite true, I must admit.”

“Great,” Jackson said, slapping his thighs, “that’s what we need. So, let’s get right to it. Do you have any kids?”

“One, a son,” she said. “He’s eighteen.”

Oh,” Jackson said, “then he’s a little old for day care. Though,” he reconsidered, “my daughter, Lydia, she’s nineteen and definitely needs a baby-sitter. She just cracked up some lifeguard’s Corvette in Fort Lauderdale yesterday.” He sighed. “She’s supposed to be at school.” He waved his hand in the air as if to clear it. “Anyway, that’s always my first pitch, day care. It gives people a good idea where our head’s at in terms of employees—that we care about their overall well-being, and that we consider ourselves extended family here.”

“That’s very impressive,” Cassy said.

“Hmmm,” he agreed, dropping his eyes to the table. “My mother started the program during World War II. Anyway, I’ll, uh—” He raised his eyes again. “I’ll take you down later. It’s right below us, the day-care center. It’s a nice place to visit when things are grown-up and horrible around here, if you know what I mean.”

She laughed. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Um,” he said, “what else? We have a company restaurant. It’s more like a cafeteria, but you can go any time between eight and four and get a bite to eat, see employees from other parts of the company. The food’s real good, if I say so myself. Its right through there,” he said, pointing to a door on the far side of his office.

Cassy looked at him.

“I get restless,” he said, shrugging. “And I like to see the people who work for us.”

“That’s great,” she said.

“When you guys get on the air, we’re gonna do something about getting in there for something to eat late at night,” he continued. “Alexandra wanted a kitchen downstairs, but the fire marshals say we can’t do it. I’m getting you a couple refrigerators for your offices and the newsroom, though. What’s the matter?” he asked her.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, smiling. “I think it’s great how thoughtful you are.” Her actual thought was,
The chairman of Darenbrook Communications has nothing better to do than buy refrigerators?

“Look, let’s just get to it,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and clasp his hands. “We really, really, really want you to join us here at DBS. Alexandra’s crazy about you, that new guy—Kyle—he wants you and, more importantly, Langley wants you. So let me ask you, has Langley made an offer that you could see fit to accept?”

“Yes,” she said.

He cinched up one side of his mouth and sat back against the sofa to look at her. “Creeping crickets, you sure don’t say much, do you?”

She smiled. “Not while I’m trying to figure out what I’m really getting myself into.”

His eyes traveled down to her mouth briefly and then, eyes darting away, he sat forward again, rubbing his eyes for a moment. He dropped his hands and looked at her. “Are we going to be able to talk to each other—honestly, I mean?”

“If you’re honest with me, I’ll certainly do my best to be honest with you,” she said.

His eyebrows went up. “Whatever happened to that good old-fashioned ‘yes’ you were using a while back?”

“Okay—yes,” she said.

He laughed. “Okay,” he said, clapping his hands together, “let’s see if it works. So tell me, Mrs. Cochran, what’s the scoop on Alexandra and
Strenn?
Do you think they’ll get married or what?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding,” he said, waving her away as if she herself was nonsense. “Forget the ‘yes’—let’s go back to where, if I’m honest, then you’ll be—”

“Then why don’t you ask Alexandra?” she asked him.

“We gave her a contract clause that says she can marry a DBS employee if she wants,” Jackson said, ignoring Cassy’s question. “We don’t allow it in the same company division, normally. I let her have it so we could get her—but she’s not really gonna marry that guy, is she? I mean, he’s an all-right guy and everything—but, like my daddy says, a stick in the mud is a fine thing if you’re on a raft, but if you’re not on a raft who needs one?”

Cassy looked at him. “Are we still being honest?”

“Please, ma’am,” he said, raising one knee up to hold in hands, “I’d appreciate it.”

Cassy paused and then said, “I think Alexandra will marry him and I think Alexandra could not find a better husband. I completely approve of it. In fact, over and above her personal well-being, I think it’s much better for Alexandra’s image if she’s married—certainly as opposed to her living with him. A nine o’clock newscast has some very conservative viewers to attract.”