Let Me Whisper in Your Ear (10 page)

Laura lifted the Murphy bed up into the wall and wished for the thousandth time that she had more space. It seemed amazing to her, now, that Francheska and she had once shared this apartment.

If she got the new job, the first thing she was going to do was look for a bigger apartment. Hopefully, something would open up in the same building. She loved the Oliver Cromwell on West 72nd Street. Just a half block from Central Park and a pleasant walk to the Broadcast Center. The neighborhood was wonderful. Lots of good restaurants, interesting shops, multiple movie theaters and, of course, Lincoln Center. She'd made a New Year's resolution to take better advantage of the cultural opportunities that were just blocks from her front door.

Raising the shade at the picture window, Laura glanced at her “view,” the apartment across the alley. No one was stirring at the Pilsners'. She laughed to herself.

She really had no idea what the people who lived in that apartment were really named. But every night she watched the family gather for dinner, the father always drinking beer from a Pilsner glass. And so Laura had christened them.

She did not think that the Pilsners noticed that she watched them. In the beginning, she kept track of how many beers the father drank. Usually he stopped at two, and Laura was relieved for the little boy who sat at the table with his parents.

Fleetingly, Laura wondered if she would miss the Pilsners when she moved. No. The next view she had was going to be a more interesting one. Perhaps the expansive Manhattan skyline to the south, or at least the broad boulevard scene of 72nd Street to the north.

As she waited for the kettle to boil on the old stove in the closet-sized kitchen, Laura carefully lifted the hanging bag that was hooked to the top of the bathroom door frame. Pulling back the plastic, she inspected the midnight-blue velvet cocktail dress she would wear tonight to Gwyneth's party. It fit like skin and she was glad that she had been keeping up with her jogging even as the weather had gotten cold.

She had spent almost a week's salary on the dress. But it was worth it. She knew she would feel confident wearing it to the party, whose guests probably never worried about price tags.

Of course, with a dress like this, she needed shoes to do it justice, and she had spent almost an equal amount on the Manolo Blahnik silk crepe de chine high-heeled mules that she and Francheska found at a Madison Avenue boutique. She rationalized that the purchases were investments, though she doubted she'd have many occasions to wear them again. But one could hope.

The kettle whistled as Laura pulled the plastic down over the velvet dress. She walked over to the stove and poured the steaming water over a tea bag and considered the possibilities of the evening ahead. Joel Malcolm would be at the party and that would provide another opportunity to talk with him. Another chance to remind him that she wanted to work for him.

Naturally, she would not even bring up the fact that she wanted the job. They both knew it. But it would be beneficial for Joel to see that Gwyneth thought enough of Laura to invite her.

And you never know. Maybe she would meet someone tonight. Someone exciting. Francheska was always nagging Laura about her love life, or rather the lack of it. But things could change in an instant, couldn't they?

26

“G
REAT JOB
.” “I didn't know she was dead.”

“I thought he had died a long time ago!”

“Nice work, Laura.”

The Yearender aired and Laura basked in the reactions from her co-workers in the Bulletin Center. Praise was not dispensed freely at
KEY News,
although you were always quick to find out when you fouled up.

“You get better every year,” said Mike Schultz. “That was a first-rate piece of work, Laura. You got fifty people in there beautifully.”

“Thanks, Mike. Thanks a lot. From you, I consider that quite a compliment.”

“Come in to see me when you have a minute.”

“Sure. Just let me check that the script information is in the computer. I want to make sure that the stations know they have to pay music rights when they air this thing.”

Ten minutes later, Laura approached the open door of Mike Schultz's office. She overheard the tail end of his telephone conversation.

“Listen, honey, I don't want to go, either, but we have to. That's all there is to it. I'll meet you there at nine.”

Laura heard the phone receiver returned firmly to its cradle. She waited a moment and knocked tentatively on the side of the open door.

“Come on in and sit down, Laura.” Mike sighed. “if you can find a place. And close the door.”

Laura smiled as she glanced around the small office. Mike's desk was crowded with piles of papers and stacks of videotapes. The extra chair was covered with a bundle of newspapers. Laura lifted it and put it on the floor.

“I'm dying for a cigarette,” Mike grumbled as he rummaged through his desk. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Laura laughed. “But aren't you worried about the smoking police?”

“Screw 'em.” Mike lit the end of a Marlboro Light.

Laura waited expectantly.

“I got a call from Joel Malcolm yesterday.”

“And?”

“He was asking a lot of questions about you and your work.” Mike took another drag on his cigarette. “I, of course, told him the truth. Your work is terrific. And so is your attitude. A rare combination to come by around this place.”

“Thanks, Mike, I appreciate that.” Laura, feeling uncomfortable, shifted position in her chair. “I've been meaning to tell you, but it's been so busy around here, there hasn't been the right time. But, as you've probably figured out, I'm trying to get a job on
Hourglass.
”

Mike nodded. “That makes a lot of sense. It's a good career move for you, Laura. But I'm sure as hell going to miss you.”

“Well, I don't have the job yet.”

“I think it looks good,” Mike assured her. “Malcolm was very enthused about you, especially when I told him that you seemed to have an uncanny ability to predict whose obits to have ready. He got a big charge out of that.”

Laura smiled. “We both know, Mike, that comes from common sense, some research and a little bit of luck.”

“Some well-placed contacts don't hurt, either.”

“That, too,” Laura admitted.

Mike dropped his cigarette butt into an empty Coke can. “Well, when things get firmed up, let's talk again. I spent some time at
Hourglass
myself. I'll fill you in on how they get things done there.”

Laura detected a trace of bitterness in his voice.

27

T
O MAKE THE
guest list for Gwyneth Gilpatric's renowned New Year's Eve parties, the famous television news personality had to find you interesting. Having wealth and power helped, but those alone wouldn't open the door. Gwyneth had to think you were fascinating in some particular way. This meant that, at times, there was an unlikely mix at the penthouse on Central Park West.

Waiters in black pants, white shirts, red cummerbunds, and matching bow ties moved unobtrusively through the guests who milled around Gwyneth's expansive living room. Gleaming silver trays bore hors d'oeuvres of smoked salmon pillows, miniature crab cakes and grilled herbed-chicken satays. The champagne flowed freely and the wet bar in the library did a steady business.

Dressed in a floor-length, very full black velvet skirt and a ruby wrap top that sashed around her trim waist, Gwyneth greeted her guests at the door. Delia stood at her side, taking coats. When Laura arrived, Gwyneth gave her a big hug.

“I'm so glad you could come, Laura, darling. And who is this beauty you've brought with you?” Gwyneth inquired, extending her hand.

“This is my best friend, Francheska. Francheska Lamb.”

“Welcome, Francheska Lamb. Any friend of Laura's is welcome here. You girls go ahead in and mingle. There are lots of stimulating people here.”

Throughout the evening, Gwyneth would play the gracious hostess, making introductions and hoping that her guests would click and enjoy one another. If they didn't, that was regrettable, but not tragic. Gwyneth supplied the atmosphere for a fabulous party. She felt it was up to her guests to put their energy into having a good time.

When Gwyneth was confident that most of her guests had arrived, she swept across the foyer and into the living room to talk to Dr. Leonard Costello and his wife, Anne.

“Leonard, Leonard. It's so good to see you. And Anne, what a beautiful dress! You look terrific!” Gwyneth kissed the air beside the couple's cheeks.

“You're looking fabulous as always, Gwyneth,” replied Dr. Costello coolly, as his eyes scanned her face. She sensed that Costello, one of New York's leading plastic surgeons, was checking for any telltale signs of failure in his artistry. He would have a busy night if he kept that up, since he had worked on the faces of more than half of the women and men in the room.

As the Costellos left to take in the view of the Manhattan skyline, Gwyneth had a few moments to stand back and observe the party. Laura and Francheska were engrossed in conversation with Mike Schultz and his wife. It occurred to Gwyneth that when she had told Laura to bring a friend, she had hoped Laura would be on the arm of a handsome young man. Oh, well, the dark-haired beauty added to the glamour of the party.

Gwyneth made a mental note to get over there soon and breakup that little group. Laura could talk to Mike anytime. There were other people Gwyneth wanted her to be exposed to tonight.

Joel didn't look any too happy. What gall he had in even coming tonight, after their bitter fight yesterday.

She wouldn't put it past him to think that he could charm her into changing her mind and staying at
Hourglass!
And she'd also bet that he had probably had one of his notorious fights with Kitzi before he arrived. Joel had often told her that whenever he and Kitzi were required to show up as a couple at anything that had to do with Gwyneth, Kitzi would fly into a rage. That's probably why Kitzi hadn't come with him tonight—not the “headache” Joel claimed she had.

Gwyneth chuckled inwardly.

28

K
ITZI
M
ALCOLM FUMED
. What a hell of a way to spend New Year's Eve. Feigning a headache and alone.

Of course, she reassured herself that the old saying was true: it was better to be miserable in mink. And that she was.

Three minks hung in the foyer closet, and a sable and two beavers. She hardly ever wore them, though, always afraid that some animal activist would spray red paint on them as she came out of Saks Fifth Avenue. What was the use of having them anyway?

What was the use of having any of this stuff? The designer dresses, the Italian shoes, the Cartier watches and the Harry Winston jewelry. They really didn't make a tinker's damn bit of difference in the long run. Not when your personal life was in shreds.

She had sold out a long time ago, accepting Joel's peace offerings. Allowing him to mollify her with expensive gifts which they both knew did nothing to heal the emotional rift between them. Never really addressing the problems that they had.

The situation seemed to suit Joel just fine. He had his trophy wife safe at home in the duplex overlooking Central Park while he did just as he pleased. Kitzi presided over their social life, arranging dinner parties and chairing charity events that Joel hosted and got publicity for. He loved having his name out there as one of the players in the competitive New York City social scene. It helped
Hourglass,
he explained.

Everything was about the show. The people they socialized with, the vacations they took, the charities they supported. They spent very little time together. Joel was always too busy with
Hourglass.

Birthdays, anniversaries, any illness Kitzi had over the years were only paid attention to if
Hourglass
didn't need Joel. The broadcast schedule was a demanding one, she knew. Every week another hour of prime-time television had to be produced. And not just any old hour. It had to be strong enough to keep the broadcast at the top of the ratings heap. A heap that grew increasingly more competitive as all the networks continued to add magazine shows to their schedules.

When she complained about it, Joel grew angry. Did she want to be some little housewife somewhere in the boondocks? He insisted that she knew what she had signed on for when she married him.

But she had not counted on his philandering. Not as much philandering, anyway. No, she was not naive. She knew that many men strayed, especially in the circles she and Joel traveled in. Her friends said it went with the territory. Power was a great aphrodisiac.

Women, young and old, were turned on by Joel's power and prestige. Joel was well aware of it and enjoyed it. Kitzi had seen it. At
KEY News
functions, women reporters and producers who wanted to work on
Hourglass
flirted shamelessly with him, acting as though Kitzi weren't even there.

But Joel was past screwing around at the office. A sexual harassment lawsuit had seen to that. There were plenty of women outside of
KEY News
who were eager for flings.

But like all of Joel's rules, this one had an exception.

Gwyneth Gilpatric.

He could not get over his obsession with her, and Kitzi had often thought that Joel would leave her for his anchorwoman. But he hadn't. Not yet anyway.

Kitzi had confronted him about it, more than once. The fight tonight had been especially fierce.

“If you think I am going to spend New Year's Eve watching you fawn over that woman, you have another thing coming.”

“Kitzi, Kitzi. I always have to keep Gwyneth happy. It's always been for the good of the show.” Joel smirked.

“The show, my ass. I'm telling you, Joel, I've had it. With the show, with Gwyneth, with you.”