Training Days (30 page)

“Don’t you want to come and say hi?”

Ally shook her head, looking down to the ground.

“You’ve time for a quick hello,” Morgan encouraged. “You said yourself you had a good hour before you had to leave for the airport. Mark will be disappointed if he finds out you were twenty feet away and didn’t stop to talk to him.”

“I know. It’s not that.” Ally shuffled her feet. When she looked up and met Morgan’s gaze her expression was uncertain. “It’s just . . .” She hesitated and scratched her head. “Won’t they all think it a bit strange me being here at this time of the morning?”

A light switch turned on in Morgan’s mind. Ally already knew she was out to all the crew. So she knew that they’d all know—or at least assume—the reason behind her early-morning presence. “Oh, honey. Don’t worry. They like you and they certainly won’t judge you.”

“Even Kitty?”

“Kitty’s different.” Morgan tugged at the waist of Ally’s shirt, encouraging her to cross the street, for the first time maligning her producer to someone other than Nick and Mark. “She disapproves of everyone and everything. None of us pays any attention to what she thinks, so neither should you.”

In another five minutes Morgan was feeling the first sharp pangs of abandonment. She stood by the open door of the four-wheel drive, watching Ally walk down the street. Mark, who was puffing madly before getting into the nonsmoking vehicle, sidled up to her.

“How’s it going?” he asked casually.

Morgan sighed. “I miss her already.”

“It’s not for long. Five days and we’ll be back home.”

“I know.” Morgan sighed again. She turned to Mark when Ally rounded the corner and disappeared from view. “She’s the one, Mark. She’s it.”

Mark took a deep, thoughtful drag on his cigarette before replying. “So does that mean from now on you won’t be abandoning me every chance you get to go chasing after some tail?” When Morgan nodded in agreement he grinned. “I
knew
I liked that woman!” He threw his cigarette to the curb and stamped it out. “The drinks are on me tonight, Mogs.”

By the end of the day Morgan was exhausted. “Not for me, thanks.” She waved away Mark’s offer of another drink. She set aside her empty glass and stood up from the too-soft club chair in the hotel bar. She stretched and yawned. “I’m sorry, but I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

“But it’s only just gone nine,” Mark protested.

“I need an early night,” Morgan insisted. “I had a late one yesterday.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Morgan Silverstone.”

“I know,” Morgan agreed, happy to see that Mark accompanied his insult with a crooked grin. He wasn’t
too
pissed off at her. “But I can’t help it. I’m in love, remember.”

Back in her room, Morgan made her preparations for the night. She also packed her suitcase. In the morning they were flying to Porto in Portugal. They’d fly out of Lisbon on Friday night, returning to Spain, this time for a quick visit to Seville, a city renowned for flamenco and bullfighting. Luckily they were there to film the former and not the latter. From there they were homeward bound, scheduled to arrive in Sydney midafternoon on Monday. Morgan smiled a little to herself, wondering what Ally would think when she saw her Monday appointments. She hadn’t told her she’d set up an official meeting at her offices, deciding to leave her to find that out for herself.

Morgan slipped between the covers, resting one elbow on her pillow as she navigated for the umpteenth time to the single SMS Ally had sent her today. It had been sent from Milan, before she embarked on the second leg of her journey. “Boarding 4 Singapore. Am guessing ur bobbing around in ur kayak right now. Miss u. I love u. A.” Morgan had indeed been bobbing in her kayak when the message arrived. Upside down, actually. She’d lost concentration, lost her paddling rhythm and lost her balance. Totally soaked, and with Mark and Nick laughing at her uproariously, she’d returned to shore to find the message waiting. It was too late to ring—Ally’s plane would have left by then—so sent her a return SMS that she’d receive when she arrived in Singapore. “Am wet. Fell in the drink cos was thinking of you. Miss u. I love u. Speak soon. M.”

Morgan read Ally’s SMS once more before turning her phone off. Long ago she’d learned that no one, herself included, could keep up with what time zone she was in. To avoid friends or colleagues unwittingly calling her at all hours of her night she turned her phone off altogether, opting instead to set the teeny digital alarm clock that she carried with her. Tonight she set it to ring at two thirty a.m. By her calculations, at that time Ally should be one hour into her three-hour Singapore stopover. She wouldn’t be expecting Morgan to call, assuming she’d be fast asleep. It would be a nice little surprise.

Morgan fell asleep smiling at the thought of spending the rest of her days giving Ally nice little surprises.

She had been deeply asleep and dreaming when a loud jangling woke her. Groggily she reached for her teeny alarm. “Wha . . . ?” The noise didn’t stop when she pressed the “off” button. It took her a good few seconds to realize it wasn’t her alarm at all. It was the room phone. “Hello?” she said sleepily, groping in the dark for the light switch. She blinked rapidly at the sudden glare and rubbed her eyes. They felt grainy with fatigue.

“Morgan. It’s Kitty.”

Morgan groaned. She picked up her teeny alarm and squinted at it. “It’s midnight. What do you want?”

“I need to see you in my room, right now.”

“It’s midnight,” Morgan repeated.

“Right
now
,” Kitty insisted, her voice gaining her infamous “don’t argue with me” tone.

Morgan argued anyway. “Can’t it wait until morning? I’m dead tired.”

“No, it can’t.
Now
, Morgan.” And she hung up.

Morgan threw herself into her pillow and stared at the ceiling, cursing Kitty and wondering what she was having a conniption over at this time of night. Ally, maybe? She’d thrown Morgan a tight-lipped glare this morning when she and Ally arrived together outside the hotel. But surprisingly, she hadn’t said a word about it all day, maybe still clinging onto the belief that Ally was straight and partnered with a respectable
male
architect. But now . . . maybe she’d put the pieces together and was champing at the bit to remind Morgan how stupid she was to be playing with Australian fire. If that was the case, then she’d just have to tell her that Ally was different, that she was no one-night fling. That she was “the one.” She’d tell Kitty that she and Ally had already agreed on a discreet relationship. And that her days of casual dalliances were over. That fact alone should make Kitty happy. God knew, the thought made her happy enough.

Morgan threw the covers back and pulled on the jeans and T-shirt she’d laid out for the next morning.

“Okay, Kitty.” She folded her arms when face-to-face with her producer. “I’m here. What’s so important it couldn’t wait?”

Kitty grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside. “You’re in deep shit, Morgan Silverstone.”

Morgan had heard Kitty talk about deep shit on more than one occasion. She heard it when she and the rest of the crew were being lectured on making it to the airport on time; she heard it when she and Mark were about to hit the town and they were being warned to behave themselves; and she heard it when Kitty was present to witness Morgan in the process of chatting up—or being chatted up by—a potential bed companion. In all cases, however, Kitty said, “You
will be
in deep shit,” and talked of some future catastrophe that may occur as a result of her behavior. This was the first time Kitty had said, “You
are
in deep shit.”

The distinction stopped Morgan in her tracks. Obviously Ally wasn’t her immediate concern. If she was, then she’d be getting the future-shit lecture. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“I’m talking about that French floozy of yours.”

“Marie?”

Kitty nodded somberly. “You remember that phone call you made to her on the train?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she recorded it.”

“What?” Stunned, Morgan sat down heavily on Kitty’s bed. The conversation had been recorded?
Jesus
. She thought back to what had been said and realized that Marie now had a hold of the “undeniable proof” of her lesbianism that she had originally claimed. “And so she’s back in contact wanting money again?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Kitty took a step to the little table upon which her laptop sat. She pressed a key to reactivate the screen. “She didn’t bother keeping us in the loop this time.” She motioned Morgan over. “Look . . .”

Kitty remained quiet long enough for Morgan to sit in front of the computer screen and absorb the contents. She resumed talking as Morgan refocused on the headline of the scanned article:
She Used Me and Then She Threw Me Away.
Apparently Joseph, the executive producer of their show, had called Kitty nearly a half-hour previous, after repeatedly trying to get through to Morgan on her mobile phone. On arriving at work he’d been handed the just-released weekly edition of a nationwide tabloid by a representative from one of the network executives, whose message was an urgent “please explain.”

He’d quickly scanned the article and whisked it off in an e-mail to Kitty. And they’d been in almost constant phone contact since. Morgan balked at what might have been said between the pair, but for the moment she was more intent on reading the article for the second time.

Star of leading travel show spends a night of passion with young backpacker and then sends her packing
, announced the subheading.

“I was just sitting in the train minding my own business . . .” began a quote from Marie as she described the circumstances of their meeting. The way it was written made it sound as if Morgan had targeted Marie for her amorous intentions and the “barely legal” traveler had little choice in the matter, being “persuaded” to join Morgan in her compartment.

“Jesus Christ!” Morgan exclaimed as time and again the words she used in her phone conversation with Marie were either twisted or taken out of context. To read the article one would think she was a sexual predator, using her influence and position to satisfy her “secret lesbian tendencies.” She’d been quoted as threatening Marie with her “powerful contacts” if she dared to tell anyone of their interlude and of trying to “buy” Marie’s silence by paying for her Sydney accommodations. The writer of the article was seemingly incredulous that Morgan, who “fetches one of the highest salaries in Australian television history,” offered Marie nothing more than hostel accommodation. Of course no mention was made that she’d actually been put in a very comfortable four-star hotel right on the doorstep of Circular Quay. The article concluded by telling how Morgan refused to see Marie again, despite her attempts.

“I feel totally used,” Marie was quoted as saying. “And I’m only going public with this because I don’t want other young women to fall into the same trap that I did.”

Accompanying the article was a photo of Marie, looking all innocent and downcast, hands in her pockets, her backpack beside her on the ground. Next to that was a file photo of Morgan, taken at this year’s Logies awards. She wasn’t looking into the camera but rather smiling at the other woman in the picture—one of the starlets in a popular long-running series. Morgan had her arm draped around the starlet’s shoulder, and the starlet, who Morgan remembered as almost at the stage of being falling-down drunk, had a distinct “what’s happening?” expression. In the context of this article, the image screamed “lecherous lesbian.”

What didn’t appear in the article was any reference to Morgan’s side of the story. There was just a single sentence in the very last paragraph that read, “Morgan and her agent were unavailable for comment.”

“Bastards,” Morgan muttered under her breath. If the reporter who wrote the story had actually tried to contact either herself or her agent, then he or she hadn’t tried very hard. Fair enough, she was deliberately difficult to get hold of, especially while on location, but it didn’t take a super sleuth to seek out and find her agent. And if Michael
had
been contacted and questioned then he would have definitely told her about it.

She didn’t want to look at the article anymore, but she couldn’t help it. Like most all of her counterparts, she’d suffered at the hands of the media, having exaggerations and untruths printed at her expense. And, like most of her counterparts, she’d grinned and borne the publicity, acknowledging, for good or for ill, that the media machine was an unavoidable aspect of her job. But never before had she been targeted like this. With each word she read and reread came an increasing knowledge that she could be witnessing her career going down the toilet.

Kitty’s voice intruded on her thoughts. “I don’t know what the little tramp got paid for this, but I hope she thinks it’s worth it.”

Morgan turned to look at her producer. “Go on, Kitty,” she said flatly. “Say it.”

Kitty folded her arms and peered at Morgan over the rim of her spectacles. “Say what?”

“I told you so.”

Kitty’s continued gaze was steady, but Morgan was almost sure she saw her eyes soften for just a moment. Then they hardened again and Kitty said brusquely, “What’s the point? What’s done is done. Now we just have to do what we can to salvage the situation.” Her mobile was sitting next to her laptop. She reached around Morgan to pick it up then started pacing across the floor. “Joseph’s got his P.A. arranging your flights back to Sydney so she should be calling me soon. But in the meantime we should—”