Training Days (34 page)

“Don’t do this to me again, please,” she prayed softly, dismayed to be switched through to Ally’s voice mail. She didn’t leave a message, instead hanging up and immediately redialing. Voice mail again. She hung up again.

Morgan stood motionless in her lounge-room, looking out to the glittering arch of the Sydney Harbor Bridge and wondering what the hell to do next.

Quickly she decided.

Her phone rang just as she was about to redial and leave Ally a message. The caller ID was one Morgan had entered in the minutes before she and Ally left her hotel room in Barcelona.
Ally-Home
. It seemed she was calling from her landline.

“I’m sorry.” Ally’s voice was choked with tears.

“It’s okay.” Morgan wished she could reach through the phone and pull Ally directly to her. Then she could kiss away her tears, the tears she knew she had caused by her efforts to protect. “I’m sorry, too. I should have known—”

“I broke my mobile.” Ally sobbed. “That’s the second in as many weeks.” There was a muffled sound as if she’d covered the mouthpiece while she blew her nose. In the next moment the sound clarity had returned. She sniffed and then sighed heavily. “God knows how I’m going to explain this one to Josh.”

So
that
had been the crash. Ally must have hurled it at something. “Somehow I think that’s going to be the least of your worries soon.” Morgan closed her eyes, vacillating one final time over her latest decision. She made up her mind once and for all. “Would you like me to come to you tonight, or do you want to come to me?”

Ally snuffled and then made a little noise that conveyed she was surprised but very happy with the change in plan. “I’ll come to you.”

“Are you sure?” Morgan asked, still hesitant. Just like the closet Ally had promised to live in—and was already wanting to evict herself from—Morgan was pretty sure she really had little understanding of just what she was letting herself in for. Maybe Ally could check into a hotel and she could arrive an hour or so after?

But no, Ally insisted she wanted to be there for Morgan and not skulking around like a thief—or worse, a mistress. And the paparazzi would probably follow Morgan to the hotel and then the papers would be full of her “secret late-night rendezvous.”

Morgan had to admit she was right. She gave her the codes to enter the building and access the elevator. She’d have preferred she enter via the underground garage instead of the main entry, but remote control access was the only means of opening the garage door. Obviously Ally didn’t yet have a remote control and since she no longer had a mobile she couldn’t call to advise when she was waiting outside. So the main entry it had to be.

“See you soon, my love.”

Morgan disconnected from the call as she ascended the stairs to the mezzanine level of her apartment and to her bedroom. For that long-awaited and much-needed shower.

“Coming!” Morgan called loudly about forty minutes later. She threw her hairbrush aside and dashed down the stairs. Her hair was still a little shower-damp, but apart from that she was ready to receive visitors. Ready to receive Ally. She opened the door and there she was. Morgan took a second to drink in the sight of her then threw herself into her arms. “Oh, Ally! My God, I’ve missed you.”

“Ditto.” Ally clung onto her tightly. “I’m so glad you changed your mind . . . and I’m so sorry for what I said to you earlier. I was wrong. I was thinking only of me and what I needed when I—” She looked up to Morgan with tears pooled in her eyes. “When I should have been thinking of you . . . how you felt.”

“It’s okay.” Morgan ran her hand down Ally’s cheek and bent to kiss her softly on the lips. “You’re here now and I’m very, very happy about that.” She held her at arm’s length, worriedly searching her face. “Did you get ambushed at the entrance?”

Ally pulled a tissue from the cuff of her shirt sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Not ambushed. I got approached by two reporters wanting to know if I lived in the building . . . if I didn’t, who was I going to visit . . . was it you? That sort of crap.” Ally smiled, although not quite confidently. “I did what you did at the airport—head down and don’t say a word. Although I doubt I looked half as good doing it as you did.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Come off it!” She kissed Ally on the nose. “Congratulations. You’ve just survived your first brush with the press.”

“Such good fun it was too.” Ally grimaced. “Anyway, that’s more than enough about me.” She pressed her index finger to Morgan’s breastbone. “I want to hear about you. How did it go?”

Morgan tugged at the sleeve of her shirt. “Come in and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Ally dabbed at her eyes again and smiled. “I thought you were never going to ask.”

Morgan stood aside for her to enter and then watched Ally look all around her, at the bits of the apartment that could be seen from the entrance—essentially just the passage leading to the kitchen and living areas, and the staircase.

“Wow!”

“I’m guessing that’s a great compliment coming from an architect.” Morgan laughed. “I’m also guessing that architect’s mind of yours won’t be able to concentrate on a word I say until you’ve taken the tour?”

Ally shrugged noncommittally. But her eyes lit up at the suggestion.

“Come on then.” Morgan tugged at her shirt sleeve again and herded her in the direction of the stairs. “We’ll start with the best bit.”

“The bedroom?” Ally blinked innocently.

“Exactly.” Morgan laughed again, already feeling the stresses of the last forty-eight hours melting away. This woman did wonders for her spirit. She wagged her finger at her. “But be good.”

Ally blinked again. “Aren’t I always?”

An hour and a half later—a good portion of which had been spent admiring the architecture of the bedroom from various positions on Morgan’s bed—Morgan handed Ally her second vodka and cranberry juice. They’d moved downstairs and were settled on Morgan’s oh-so-very-comfortable couch. They had made a nice little arrangement of the oversized cushions near the divan end so they could sit close together with their legs stretched out in front of them. They were both donned in T-shirts and tracksuit pants that Morgan pulled from her wardrobe. They were too large for Ally’s petite frame and she looked so cute, so vulnerable, that Morgan felt her heart tug as she sat down again.

“Thanks.” Ally took a sip of her refreshed drink then placed it to the side, on the coffee table. “Now please,
please
don’t keep me in suspense any longer. You were saying that the bitch from hell—”

“Sophie,” Morgan offered, thinking “vulnerable” was maybe not the best description of Ally.

“Yes, her. You were saying she was looking smug about the advertising.”

“Exactly.” Morgan also took a sip of her drink and set it aside. “Although I really have no idea why, because since this happened only one advertiser has requested their ads be pulled from our timeslot. Sophie was adamant it was due to the controversy surrounding the show and warned of more to come. Then Carlo jumped in and reminded everyone, because we’re prime time, advertising costs are at their peak. Many companies run ads for a while in the expensive slots to gain the initial reach, then they drop to either lower frequency or less expensive slots.”

“But that would all be booked in advance, wouldn’t it? If this advertiser suddenly pulled, it’s probably because they
are
worried about the controversy.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Morgan nodded. “And Sophie did point that out. But then Carlo asked how much longer the ads were to run in that timeslot.”

“And?”

Morgan grinned. “Just two more weeks. After that the campaign was scheduled to go to a slot at half the price—and that particular booking still stands, so it’s not like the advertiser has got their back up too badly with the network. Honestly, Ally, if you could have seen Sophie’s face! And then, to top that off, in the very next minute Maxwell received a call announcing that the phones were currently jammed with viewers up in arms because I was conspicuous in my absence from my usual presenter role of the at-air episode of the show. Carlo, who had already said he thought the decision to keep my scheduled on-location segment but replace me with Troy for all the leadins was a big mistake, went on an ‘I told you so’ rampage. Apparently, he’d already advised them that to be seen to be reacting to what was still essentially tabloid rumor was a big mistake. But to be seen to be reacting in a half-assed manner—which is essentially what they did by keeping my segment but not my leadins—was nothing short of a public relations disaster.”

“It does sound like a pretty stupid thing to do.” Ally nodded, her expression wry. “Did they think that if everyone saw just a

little of the lesbian they’d be less likely to be offended?”

Morgan laughed. “Something like that.”

“I wish I’d thought to ring the network and add my voice to the protest,” Ally mused. “All I did was swear at my television and throw a cushion at it.”

Morgan kissed her on the cheek. “You’re making a habit out of throwing things tonight.”

“Yeah, well.” Ally reached for her drink. She dipped her finger into it and pushed one of the ice cubes around and around the glass. “I got frustrated.” Her dipped finger was removed and held to Morgan’s mouth, an invitation for her to suck. “Anyway, keep going.” After a few seconds she pulled her finger from Morgan’s mouth. “I meant with the story, silly.”

Morgan laughed again. How she adored this woman. “Well, as I said, the phone lines were jammed. But of course not all the calls received today were so great . . .” She explained the polarized views that had been expressed and how difficult they had been to see and hear.

Ally agreed, telling of her similar reaction that evening when reading some of the comments posted on the Internet. “It’s so sad to think there are still people out there with such archaic views.” She met Morgan’s gaze directly. “But surely that small percentage isn’t going to be enough to convince the network you’re a liability, especially in the face of such obvious support for you?”

“I don’t know yet,” Morgan admitted. “As Carlo said, there’s a whole heap of reasons why they shouldn’t. For one, they’ve got a couple of shows that already have either gay or lesbian characters in them, so dumping me—even though I’m a ‘real’ lesbian as opposed to someone just acting like one—would look rather hypocritical. And like I told you earlier, they can’t just ‘get rid of me’ because of this. And Michael, in his inimitable way, made it very clear that if they suddenly find a loophole in my contract it will be glaringly obvious that that’s the real reason behind my dismissal. They’d find themselves slapped with a discrimination suit so fast, their collective network heads would be spinning. So if they want me out, they’ll have to pay me out.”

“And how would you feel about that?” Ally asked quietly.

Morgan hesitated. “It’s nice to think I’m protected in that regard. But it’s a bit akin to someone getting a dishonorable discharge from the military when they’ve done nothing wrong. Moving on from that would be difficult.”

Ally gave her a comforting squeeze on the arm and a gentle cranberry-flavored kiss on the lips. “I don’t think it’s going to be something you’ll have to consider, honey. From what you’ve said, the wind is blowing in your favor.”

Morgan smiled into Ally’s eyes. “It must be. I met you.”

“Ooh, what a smooth talker!” Ally kissed her again, more firmly this time. “So, what’s the final outcome?”

“Well, believe it or not, they’ve decided to ‘suck it and see.’”

Ally’s eyes widened. “
Suck it and see
?”

“Mm-hmm.” Morgan nodded, her smile quickly turning into a grin. She was sure she’d had the same wide-eyed expression as Ally did now when Maxwell announced it may be best if, for the moment—while they continued to gauge viewer reaction and monitor advertising revenues—she return to the screen in her full capacity. “‘We’ve never dealt with a situation like this before so I guess we should just suck it and see.’” Morgan did her best to imitate Maxwell’s heavy, gruff tone. But as usual her acting skills let her down. “A somewhat ‘interesting’ turn of phrase, don’t you think?”

“Very.” Ally giggled. “So you’re still on TV. Congratulations.”

“For the moment.” Morgan, while very, very pleased with the initial outcome, refused to get too confident. She couldn’t help but think to her somewhat “active” past and feel it coming rushing up to greet her. “Like I said before, if there’s one thing certain in TV, it’s that nothing’s ever certain.”

Ally scooted around on her bottom until she sat at the foot of the divan, opposite Morgan. Morgan closed her eyes to the warmth of Ally’s hands as they cupped her face. “Look at me,” Ally whispered. When Morgan complied she found her eyes filled with concern. “What’s wrong, honey? I thought you’d be happier at the outcome than this.”

“I
am
happy.” Morgan bit on her lower lip. Half of her wanted to tell Ally everything. The other half was fearful of what would happen if she did. Ally had fast become such an important presence in her life, she didn’t want to do or say anything to jeopardize that presence. She studied Ally’s face while she weighed up the pros and cons of telling versus not telling. Under normal circumstances there would be no need to dredge up her past and lay it bare. But these weren’t normal circumstances. It may be true that up until Marie she had been discreet, so the chances of that aspect of her private life being opened up for public scrutiny were slim. But not nonexistent. Better she tell Ally before she received a blown-up, half-true or maybe even completely inaccurate version via the media. Morgan took hold of Ally’s hands, holding them gently in her own. “Ally, there are some things about me I want you to know . . .”