Parental Advisory Rating: L & S

Break out those V-Chips, everyone!

Credits:

Director – TNovan

Executive Producer – XWPFanatic

Writers – TNovan, Tonya Muir and XWPFanatic

I take one last look in the mirror: steel gray skirt suit with a white silk blouse and two inch heels. Yup, this is my look. My professional look, that is. My private look is more likely to be baggy sweats and a T-shirt. I glance back at the clock by the bed. "Oh shit!"

Grabbing my purse from the bed, I start digging for my car keys as I head through the penthouse. I call for the elevator, continuing to look for my keys. "Okay, Kelsey, think… keys… keys…" I take a deep breath when I realize where the keys to my Mercedes are. "Erik! You little shit!" I climb up the stairs back to the bedrooms, glancing down at the 'do not disturb' sign on the knob to Erik's room. It is quite clear that he has company. "Hope your friend doesn't blush easily."

I throw the door to his room open. "Erik?" I call as I stroll inside, clicking on the bedside lamp. My roommate and 'live in lover' Erik Collins lays on his side, back to me, arm draped over some young man he brought home last night. I sit down on the edge on the bed and poke him in the shoulder. "Erik?" I do at least whisper. I don't really want to wake his guest.

He rolls over, opening a bleary eye in my direction. "Kels, my love." He grins as he wipes his eyes, taking a few moments to blink and focus. He’s handsome even just from slumber: tousled blonde hair framing an angular face and clear blue eyes. He’s smiling at me and even though I’m late and frustrated, I find I can’t muster the anger that had been coursing through me moments before. But I don’t let him off the hook completely.

"Cut the crap. Where are the keys to my Mercedes? I'm running late."

"My pants." He gestures to the back of the chair, glancing to his bedmate who still sleeps soundly. I can tell from the muscular tanned back and the shock of bleached blonde hair that Erik hasn’t strayed from his surfer boy tendencies yet, and it makes me smother a grin. He’ll grow up some day but for now he prefers to play the field. "Sorry. We got in late. I didn't want to wake you," he continues, oblivious to my silent thoughts.

I retrieve his pants, fishing out my keys, capturing them in my palm to muffle the jingle. "No problem. I'll see you later."

"Hey?"

"What?"

"I have a late lunch with Calvin Alexander to-day." He grins at me as he sings the 'today' in his sentence. "Would my lovely and beautiful girlfriend please join me?"

"What time?"

"Two."

I draw a deep breath, running through my own hectic schedule. "Can you meet me at the studio?"

"Yeah, no problem."

"Okay, if you can meet me there at one-thirty, I should be able to cut out and go with you. You know how Chambers loves it when we go out in public together. If he sees you picking me up, he should bend over backward to get me out of there."

"Great. See you then." As I start to pull the door shut, his voice carries to the hall. "By the way you need gas."

"You little shit," I mumble, heading back down and calling for the elevator again. I grab my purse and cell phone just as the doors open and the attendant steps out.

"Good morning, Ms. Stanton." He smiles, holding the door for me. He’s a retired bellhop. I didn’t know people actually retired from such positions, but he told me that with pride many times our first few weeks here. He’s dressed smartly in a dark green uniform with gold piping and I think he looks plain silly, but he’s pleasant enough and always polite. And better yet, if he suspects something about mine and Erik’s relationship, he keeps his mouth shut. Of course, I tip him well.

"Good morning, Carl. Can you do me a favor?" I step onto the elevator and turn to face the grinning attendant.

"Of course, Ms. Stanton."

"When Erik tries to leave this morning, get him stuck between floors." I grin as I pull my sunglasses from my purse and slip them on.

"I'll do my best, Ms. Stanton." He gives me a wink and presses the button that will take us to the parking garage.

Before I turn to leave, I press a twenty into his palm. "For at least five minutes." I return his wink and head for my red Mercedes convertible.

* * *

My assistant meets me at the entrance to the studio. Gail is a nice enough girl, but something about her annoys me. I’m going to have to figure it out one of these days, but right now I am running late and don't have time to think about anything. Especially since Gail is shoving a stack of folders in my hands. "You're..." she starts, pulling the door open for me. We hustle down the hallway to my office.

"Don't even say it," I say, holding up a warning hand. "I know I'm late. It's obvious I'm late." I rifle through the folders. "What's the most urgent thing here?"

"Well, the top story coming off the wire is about some young Hollywood type who barricaded himself in his house early this morning and took his underage girlfriend hostage..."

"I'm not talking dirty laundry, Gail. I'm talking about real news."

"They're trying to schedule an interview with the Commander of the Coast Guard for you in the wake of the Kennedy thing."

"Yeah, could be something good there, I guess." She pushes the door to my office open and I head straight for my desk. I retrieve the remote from another stack of papers and begin switching on televisions. Then taking a deep breath, I turn to my assistant. "Could you get me some tea, please?"

"Sure."

As she leaves, I sit back for just a moment. Glancing up at the screens, I find myself captured by the absolute bluest eyes I have ever seen.

The crawl at the bottom of the screen identifies the pair as belonging to Harper Kingsley, a camera woman for True TV. Too bad, she was attractive until I knew she was tabloid. Brains do count for something in the total package. Memo to self: tell Erik this insight.

I am still chuckling over that thought when Gail brings back my tea. I don't like the taste of coffee, never have, even though I love the aroma of it. Each day begins with a cup of Earl Gray tea with just a hint of cream to smooth it out. Maybe Gail wouldn’t annoy me so if she’d picked up on that small habit and was actually ready for me each morning. Maybe that’s too much to ask for. I shrug the thought off, watching the small brunette fuss with some files piled in my out basket.

As Gail turns to leave, she sees the blue eyed wonder on the screen, my attention also turns back to those impossible eyes. "That's the woman the wires are going crazy about. She talked Sagemore out of his gun. Handed him a penlight instead."

I frown. "A penlight?"

"He was so coked up he thought it was a microphone. She got it all on tape."

"Naturally. They always do." I rearrange the papers on my desk. I don't know why this subject is annoying me so much, but it is. So I change it. "Why has the production meeting been rescheduled?"

"Jessica had something come up on her story."

Oh, God Almighty. I roll my eyes, fearful they might get stuck as they're so far back. Jessica "Who Thinks She Walks On" Water is the bane of my existence here at the station. She used to be the only woman and only blonde on the six o’clock until I was hired two years ago. She's still pissed.

Gail finally leaves me in peace and I can sip at my tea and glance at all the screens. She was right: Harper Kingsley adorns each one of them at some point. A two-shot shows her to be the same height as Channel 7’s Bruce Adams. And I know from experience the clean-cut man towers above me. She has raven black hair that’s pulled away from her angular face and I just can’t get over the color of those eyes. Despite myself, I find I’m cranking up the volume on the set. She’s answering the questions in a husky dark voice. She shows no emotion or any real interest in the proceedings but she’s dutifully plugging True TV along the way and I sneer.

Sensationalist television makes my blood boil. The ‘cutting edge’ camera shots and pure lack of decorum are media and not news. I hate that the business is a reaction to the ratings and not the events of the world. I hate more that my own station is pushing that direction. Our competition has stepped up to the battle, wielding flashy sets and expensive, form-fitting suits of pastels. The ratings show that audiences like this hip look and we’re losing to the competition. Change is afoot and I can smell it like rotten meat on a campout in June. I wrinkle my nose with distaste as I finish my tea and turn my attention to the stacks of files Gail handed me. I turn down the volume again, finding the tall woman distracting.

* * *

For once in his life, Erik arrives on time and is standing in the middle of the newsroom when we file out of the production meeting. Jessica, of course, dominated the meeting and made subtle jabs at me throughout. She’s all for a more risqué production and she never hides that fact. In fact, she takes every opportunity she can to point out that my backwater, small town attitude won’t sell news in a city this size and I need to step up to big city flashiness. It always escapes her that I’ve been here two years, won the station both of its Emmys, and can out-anchor her with both hands tied behind my back and my hair dyed green. Of course that’s my personal opinion and personal opinions don’t get you far in the news world when you’re at my level.

So I’m trying to shrug off Jessica’s comments as I spot Erik. He’s dressed in khaki pants and a buttoned striped shirt with a tie. He looks comfortable but gorgeous, he always does, and I smile when I see him. I wonder often if things were different for each of us where we would be. Because if he were a woman, I would find him inescapable.

He reflects my smile easily, offering the support he knows I need and I secretly relish that he’s everything Jessica wants but cannot have. Better yet she thinks I have him.

Erik leans forward and kisses me tenderly, his soft lips brushing against mine. "How are ya, Kels?" he murmurs as he senses the tension about me.

"Been better, handsome. How are you?" I tug at his tie playfully, smile for him.

He shrugs, easily turning me and sliding an arm over my shoulders. "Had some trouble with the elevator this morning. I can’t believe that piece of shit lift doesn’t ever get you stuck. Seems to happen to me a couple of times a week."

I smile, pleased that my twenty bucks went to a good cause. "I leave earlier, love. Less traffic."

"Hmmm," he considers with a nod but there is a twinkle in his eyes that hints he knows something else is up. My previous bad mood vanishes with his presence.

As expected, Chambers is thrilled to see Erik in his newsroom and he immediately clears my schedule and shuffles me out the door. I have to be back by four for the six o’clock, but it gives me some time to get away from the pressure here. Chambers stands at the door to the office and waves to us, beaming with pride, as if he is somehow responsible for our apparently happy union. He loves it when the other stations show footage of Erik and I together: it’s great publicity for the station and Erik is just too hot right now to be ignored, even if he is dating a rival network’s anchor. How fortunate for Chambers, I grumble as we make our way to my Mercedes.

Erik squeezes my shoulders and releases me, freeing my hands of the keys before settling me into the passenger seat. On the short drive, we talk about Harper Kingsley. I am sick of hearing about her, her name having come up several times throughout the day and during our production meeting, so I tell Erik this and he laughs. He knows well my hatred for the tabloids. He points out how beautiful she is and I snort my laughter, remembering my memo to myself and telling him that brains have to be part of the overall package. Erik sides with her, lauding her quick thinking and obvious skill. I don’t know if he believes what he tells me or if he’s trying to goad me into an argument. In the end I don’t care because I refuse the bait, leaning back and letting the wind soothe my frayed nerves.

Calvin Alexander is beyond thrilled to see me walk in on Erik’s arm and my escort must feel me flinch because he chuckles dryly. Alexander is a nice enough guy if a touch too lecherous for my tastes. He hovers over me and on me like a bee to clover and it makes my skin crawl sometimes. For the millionth time I am grateful that the public sees a secure couple in Erik and me. Alexander’s advances would be even more unbearable if he actually thought I was available. His overtures now are those of a thwarted suitor who hopes to be there when the chosen falls.

Calvin gallantly leans forward and takes my hand in his, kissing the knuckles and tickling my pale skin with his bushy mustache. If only he knew facial hair makes me cringe. I smile for him, knowing this meeting is important to Erik. I wonder if I am prostituting myself by playing into Alexander’s hand and laughing at his jokes to buy Erik the opportunity at a big name production.

Not that Erik needs the help. His brazenly good looks and earnest acting abilities make him likeable in any market. He has a string of lesser known movies to his credit, some guest shots on television shows, but this is his chance at a summer blockbuster. An Alexander film will ensure him top billing for any script he wants and I intend to do my best to see that happens. He deserves it.

Erik smiles at me warmly, knowing my thoughts as I chuckle at yet another stupid joke from Calvin. My room mate and best friend lifts my hand and places it against his clean-shaven cheek as a gesture of his appreciation so I return his smile. Yes, if only things were different. But they aren’t and we each have no choice but to be what we are even though we hide behind a fake relationship.

* * *

Lunch is pleasant and Erik is thrilled when he excuses himself afterwards to visit the men’s room. This leaves me alone in Alexander’s company. As soon as Erik departs, the stocky man steps closer, crowding my space and making me wish I were elsewhere. But I smile and bat my eyelashes at him, using my emerald eyes to their best advantage. I am shameless, always have been.

"So, Kelsey, my dear," he drawls with a leer, placing an unwelcome hand on my shoulder. I resist shrugging it off. "How long have you and Erik been ... together?"

I smile before I answer, running nimble fingers through carefully coifed hair, fluffing my bangs. I think absently that they are in need of a trimming. I know that Calvin Alexander knows the answer to his question but I’ll humor him anyway. Our private lives are far from private given our professions. "We met three years ago," I say, grinning like someone hopelessly in love. I could have been an actress, too. Erik always reminds me of that when we play these games. "We moved in together about two years ago."

"Are there plans for the future?"

The retort that first comes to my tongue is to tell Alexander he doesn’t have a chance. Not only is he overbearing, too hairy, and too rotund for my tastes, he’s also a man. Not to mention, for all practical purposes, in the public eye, I am in a committed relationship. What this man is suggesting is nothing less than adultery. But I hold back all these thoughts and instead shrug my shoulders, his hand still heavy and meaty on the left one. "Neither of our parents had successful marriages. We aren’t eager to enter into that institution ourselves and ruin a good thing."

It’s a good response, one we thought of early on. It holds truth since both of our families are broken and estranged. Though I am cynical about relationships and commitments, there is a part of me deep down that still wants to find that special person. Part of me is certain I have a match out there who can love as much as I can and believe enough for both of us. I am grateful to Erik for having shown me the love and friendship to at least have hope for a better future.

Calvin is responding something about his own parents and his first failed marriage but I’m not listening. I look forward to Erik’s return and he’s there immediately, sensing my need as always. He gives me a gentle peck on the cheek, murmuring his apologies for abandoning me. I laugh and shove him gently.

"Little shit," I whisper back and his light eyes sparkle with gentle humor.

We say our farewells and thank Alexander for meeting us. The producer promises to call Erik’s agent and our lunch is a success as we head back to the Mercedes which will take me to the office.

* * *

The five o’clock newscast was a borderline disaster with the wrong tapes and a slow teleprompter. The live feeds were cutting in and out and the Director was slamming around, screaming at everyone. I wait now for the cue to begin the six o’clock, hoping that fate won’t fall on us as well. I fidget with my earpiece and glance to the teleprompter. Then I smooth the lapels of my grey silk coat.

I know my wishful thinking was just that when they cut to the first clip and though it’s the correct tape, the filming is amateurish at best. There is nothing exciting or intriguing about the scene it portrays and it’s obvious that either Jessica didn’t make her wishes clear to the cameraman or we need better cameramen. I swallow my groan even as I plaster a fake smile on my face for the cameras and we begin. I hate my job sometimes.

* * *

I am the best drink-nurser in all of LA, of that I have no doubt. Erik casts me a baleful glance as I sip from my White Russian: heavy on the cream and Kahlua, light on the vodka, thank you. It’s more ice water than drink at this point but it suits me just fine.

"Hey," Erik smiles, scooting closer to me. He’s working on a martini, which is normally what one would get at a martini bar, but I just can’t stand vermouth. Even on his breath it makes me cringe and I wrinkle my nose at him. The little shit blows into my face.

"What?" I growl.

"Kels, lighten up. It wasn’t that bad," he pleads gently. He’s referring to the newscast and I know it was that bad, and worse. Fortunately, the whole damn city is so captivated by Harper Kingsley that it’s likely no one noticed how off we were.

"Just like Boys on the Beach wasn’t so bad," I jab at him and regret it immediately. He deserves better than my foul mood and biting remarks. Boys on the Beach is the only thing Erik has ever done that he’s ashamed of. It was a silly summer flick with teenagers in Speedos, trying to start a beach volleyball league. All flesh, no brains, and Erik’s first real job in the business. We never talk about it and to do it now is a shameless attempt to make him feel as crappy as I do. I can do that to everyone else, and often do, but hurting Erik is off limits and I’ve stepped over my self-imposed line.

His light eyes reflect soft pain but he doesn’t flinch away or get angry with me.

I sigh. "I’m sorry. That was uncalled for."

"Yeah, it was. But I forgive you," he smiles. "Why don’t you relax? We’re here with friends," he motions around the bar at the group of people assembled here.

"Your friends," I remind him. None of these people mean anything to me but some are acquaintances of his. We’re all dressed in suits and ties and downing alcohol on a Monday night. It’s the hangout we frequent and the group is made up of news people and actors alike. We sit on these stools or in the nearby booths, sipping on martinis and talking about our days and our lives as if someone cares. The general atmosphere is one of subdued upper class. It’s where we fit best whether we want to or not. Any flirting that takes place here is high brow impressing and strictly across gender. I feel sick to my stomach in that way I did as a little kid when I didn’t quite belong. When I wanted to go home and sit alone in my room. In fact, I’d love to do that now.

"Our friends."

I raise an eyebrow that lets him know I don’t believe him. He knows the truth. Often he tries to hide it, thinking that there is a place for us in mainstream show business, but he’s wrong. Erik and I promised long ago that we could lie to the world but not ourselves and each other. My look tells him he’s going back on that promise.

Erik smiles and leans into me, I put my glass down and hug him tightly.

"Thanks," he whispers.

"For what?"

"Keeping me honest."

"You going bar hopping tonight?"

"Nah," he backs away and sips from his tall glass.

"How was pretty boy last night?" I grin lecherously.

Erik laughs, shakes his head. "I feel good, nah nah nah nah nah nah," he sings softly, rocking his hips a little bit and it makes me burst out with laughter. No matter what, he always makes me laugh.

My laughter catches attention from people around us. They probably don’t even know I can laugh, that somehow that capability had been surgically removed from me at a young age. I have all kinds of nicknames and I shrug each off with equal nonchalance. Only Erik knows what’s inside and I’m still unsure how he managed to get there.

I was raised in a household where affection was rarely given and more often withheld. I learned to be a successful woman in the business world you couldn’t have emotions or sympathy. And I was taught at an early age how to disregard others’ feelings and how to hide my own. I’ve been called a man-eater by some because before Erik, I had a new man every month. I’d string them along and toss them aside, anything for the image. Erik laughs at that now, thinking that nickname especially ironic. At least with him there’s no more pretending or doing things I don’t want to do.

I’m considering these thoughts when some out of work actor across the room yells for the bartender to turn up the volume on the overhead sets. I glance up and groan when Harper Kingsley is looking back at me.

Erik laughs and pokes me in the ribs. "She’s a dyke, ya know?"

"And you found this out, how?"

"Oh, she’s not subtle about it. She may as well have a rainbow flag tattooed on her forehead. They also say she’s a womanizer, new chick every night, leaves ‘em begging for more."

"Where do you hear this crap, Erik?" I shake my head and suck an ice cube into my mouth where I crunch it on over-sensitive molars. I know what ice-chewing is supposed to be a sign of and I glare at Erik, daring him to make a comment. He doesn’t.

"Around, you know. Mutual friends."

Erik toils in his hidden life much more than I do so I know he’s probably right. I look up into those blue eyes and watch mesmerized as she brushes a lock of black hair behind her ear. Her hand is large but well constructed, the fingers long and narrow. There are a lot of things fingers like that are good for, I admit, before Erik’s laughter brings me back.

"You want her."

"Please," I scoff. "She’s tabloid trash, films for money, not for news. Anything for ratings."

"You above that, Kels?" he teases.

I nod. "You know I am."

"You still want her. Admit it."

I glare at him. He thinks I want every woman I see. He thinks that since I don’t bed a woman every other day that my sexual need must be on overdrive. "I’ll admit she’s gorgeous. But that’s not everything and you know it."

He nods slowly, watching me. "Some day, Kels," he whispers. "Some day it’ll all work out. You’ll find the right person who sees your heart just like I do."

His sincerity chokes me for a moment. How does he do that? I’m tired of this place and the fake people and the expensive drinks. I’m tired of my pale life and my lonely bed and the career that I chose that binds me into a lifestyle I despise. I sigh. "Take me home?"

Erik sets his drink down and takes my hand. Even though he does his best to make me social, dragging me out nearly every night our schedules allow, all I have to do is tell him I’ve had enough. We’ve made our appearance tonight, both for the media and our peers, and I’m ready to call it a day.

"Gladly," Erik says, squeezing my fingers.

<fade out>

Coming next week on Exposure:

<cut to Kelsey>

To say I have friends at the station is less an understatement and more a blatant lie.

<cut to Harper>

And the best part is: he promised me Kelsey Stanton. Straight, my ass.

<cut to Kelsey>

Finally, at the end of the week, the hoopla over Harper Kingsley has died down and Erik has stopped badgering me about her. I haven’t told him that those blue eyes haunt my dreams and I don’t intend to.

<fade out>

Tune in next week to Must Read TV.

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