Parental Advisory Rating: N, L

Break out those V-Chips, everyone!

Credits:

Created, Produced, Directed and Written:

Fanatic and TNovan

"So? Come on, Kels, what do think of the place?" I raise my eyebrows in expectation, biting the inside of my lip, waiting for her answer.

"It's," she pauses, knowing she's torturing me no end, "beautiful, Harper. Let's do it. Let's buy it."

Yes! I do a mental happy dance. I fell in love with this place from the moment we walked in. It's a beautiful three bedroom, three and half bath apartment located on Fifth Avenue, at the corner of Eightieth. The neighborhood is Central Park across the street, the Metropolitan Museum of Art three blocks to the right, and the rest of Museum Mile to the left. I love the Met. It's my second favorite museum, after the Louvre. Just as New York is my second favorite city, after Paris. New Orleans as supreme, ultimate city in the world goes without saying. It's home.

The apartment building is what New Yorkers call "Pre-War", indicating it was built before World War Two. This translates into good construction and design. Our wonderful real estate agent brought us to this duplex on the sixteenth and seventeenth floors and we haven't left since. I love the terrace that overlooks the Park especially.

Oh yeah, I could live here. "You're sure?" I give her anther chance to bow out gracefully, before we can't turn back.

She wraps her arms around my waist, running her hands up and down my back, and lays her head on my shoulder. "Absolutely sure. We will make a beautiful home here."

Home. Who would have thought I'd be making a home with anyone but Trouble?

I found out the other day that Lucien had to give my other brothers new watches. Apparently, he bet against me and Kelsey lasting past Christmas. Glad to have proven him wrong. Bastard. And glad Gerrard, Jean and Robie believed in me a bit more.

To get Lucien in further hot water, I told Mama what he did. She's still not speaking to him.

Holding her a bit tighter, I kiss her blonde hair. Kels is right. We will be very happy here. I personally like the working fireplace in the family room. I have fond memories of an evening in front of a fireplace with Kels.

Don't go there, Harper. She'll let you know when she's ready for that again. God, I hope it's soon.

Okay, I can't continue to stand here, hold her and think sexual thoughts. Otherwise, our little real estate agent will see us christening one of the rooms of our new house. "Let's go tell her she just made a helluva commission, babe." I take Kels by the hand and lead her into the kitchen where Cindy has made herself inconspicuous. I like that about her. She gave us a brief tour, answered our questions, and then left us alone. I'd recommend her to all my friends. If I had any in New York.

I miss Bear, especially. Will I find a new Rio to hang out in? Will Kels even let me hang out at a bar? Or are these four walls be all I'm going to see here in New York?

"So, what do you think?" Cindy asks as we enter the kitchen. She closes her personal planner and slips it back into her purse.

"We'd like to make an offer on the apartment."

She smiles, mentally calculating her commission. "Great! I knew you'd love this place! And, with your pre-approval, we should be able to go to contract in the next day or two."

Before we came up here, Kels and I went to the bank where my father has our family accounts and were pre-approved for a mortgage up to four million dollars. That little piece of paper has made our house-hunting expedition quite easy. "I gave you my brother's business card, right? Everything should be sent to him for review."

"Let me get started on it, right now." Cindy is excited, pulling out her cell phone and punching in the number of the owner of the apartment.

While she is occupied, Kelsey kisses the base of my throat, earning my full attention. "Welcome home, Harper."

* * *

I am so glad that I no longer want to cry with every step. I still limp a bit, and need my cane to get around, but I can finally dress in a professional manner. I even have hose on today. Never before have I enjoyed putting on a pair of nylons more than I did this morning. I didn’t even mind trying to do it with the cast on my hand.

I drove Harper insane this morning while I got ready. I don't think she's ever had to wait so long for me before. I had to do my hair and makeup myself. That was a royal pain in the ass. I had to do it one handed, and with the wrong hand, to boot. But it has to be perfect. Today we're signing our contracts.

If you’re an on-air personality, events like these are geared to the media. Whenever new talent is signed, the brass makes a big deal out of it. So some of the print media will be there - the Times, Post and Newsday, for sure - and so will ET, E! and Access Hollywood. Harper's had to put up with me being nervous, anxious, and slightly bitchy about it. But, she's being grumpily sweet about the whole thing.

Harper has it easy. New producers are announced in the Radio Television News Directors Association magazine, and may get a one line acknowledgment in the larger papers' TV columns. Her contract signing will be done quietly in an office without flashing lights or nosy questions. I am not so lucky.

Foster, our agent, came to get us at The Stanhope and then the limousine brought us all over to the network. We are riding up the elevator to the thirtieth floor, the decision-makers' floor, for the official signing.

Harper steps off the elevator first, holding the door open for me. She's dressed in a black Armani pantsuit, a black turtleneck and a new long, black, wool coat. The only hint of color on her body is the maroon scarf I bought her. It really looks good.

She really looks good. Damn good. Good enough to… Oh, Kels, don’t go there.

Of course, the black outfit is her own personal strategy to make sure she doesn’t attract any attention at the press conference, even in the background. She knows how hard it is to shoot someone wearing black. If she’s a poor visual, they won’t get her in the frame and awaken some papparazzi’s suspicions about our relationship. Sneaky, she is.

When she's sure I'm clear of the elevator door, she pulls off her gloves and stuffs them in her pocket. "Ready?" She gives me a huge grin. While she knows I hate this event, she really is excited about our new opportunity.

I nod, pausing in our walk long enough to remove my gloves as well, before reclaiming my cane. "Absolutely."

Foster pipes up. "Me too."

Harper rolls her eyes at Foster. "Of course you are."

I gently tap Harper with my cane, teasing her. "Play nice with the agent, dear."

As we approach the receptionist's desk, Kevin Daly, the head of network news, walks over to us, hand outstretched. "Kelsey! Harper! It's a pleasure to have you both here finally!" He shakes my left hand awkwardly, mindful of my cast. After greeting Harper, he smiles at Foster. "We put together a good deal, Foster, always enjoy working with you."

"I was glad to see it work out as well, Kev."

He turns his attention back to us. "We have everyone inside the conference room. We'll do Kelsey's contract signing, answer a couple questions, and then show you around the place. Later, we have style sitting planned for Kelsey and a production staff meeting for Harper after the tour. Today only Kendra and Bruce are here in New York. Larry and Sam are both out on assignment."

"Sounds great," Harper replies.

"But, first, let's get you taken care of, Harper," Kevin says as he leads us into a large corner office, where her contract is laid out on the desk. About 45 seconds of signing and passing papers back and forth and her contract is executed. I wish I were as lucky.

There’s something about starting a new job that always make you feel like you're transferring to a new school. That's one thing I guess I can thank my mother for: I'm never quite as nervous as most people.

Of course, that doesn't stop my stomach from doing the rumba when Kevin ushers me into the conference room. Lucky Harper slips into the back of the room and stands in the shadows, leaning against the wall. The large mahogany conference room table is surrounded by men in suits and men with camera equipment. The suits rise from the table when we enter. I recognize the one at the head of the table, it's John Lawson Roth III, the president of the network. John Lawson Roth II owns the network.

I join him, sitting down, as he makes a production of presenting the contract. Foster leans over and glances at it quickly, confirming the contents, and she pats my back in reassurance.

Lights turn on, cameras and microphones are trained on us, and the press conference begins.

John makes the most of his executive presence and deep voice. "Good morning. CBS is excited to be gaining one of the brightest talents in the news industry today with the signing of Kelsey Diane Stanton with Exposure, the lead weekly news magazine of this or any other network. Kelsey is the recipient of two Emmys for her live reporting, and she has been nominated for Peabody award for her live reporting during the Omaha siege. She has long been someone you can trust to tell you the truth and we are delighted to have her join our team. Joining us as Kelsey's senior producer is Harper Kingsley. Harper has forged a career based on her fearless pursuit of a story. She has been nominated for a Peabody as the producer of the Omaha story, as well as the New Year's Eve anthrax crisis which faced our fair city. We are delighted to have this formidable duo join our team. We wish them a long and successful career with us."

There is polite applause in the room.

John hands me a gold plated fountain pen and I sign my name on the contract.

It’s a damn good thing I have so many witnesses to my signature, because that sure doesn’t look like it. I did the best I could considering the cast.

Signed, sealed and delivered, I'm theirs.

I pose for several still photographs and then begin taking questions. "What are the basic terms of the contract?"

Kevin replies on behalf of the network. "Standard terms and conditions. Compensation for Ms. Stanton is $2.5 million a year, with renewable options."

Foster grins like a Cheshire cat. She did really well on our behalf and that means all her other clients can expect the same on the ever upward-spiraling pay scale.

"When will Kelsey begin appearing on 'Exposure'?"

Kevin continues to handle the questions. "We expect Kelsey to begin appearing on the show starting on March 30 broadcast. However, she and Harper will be with us in production prior to that."

"How are you feeling, Kelsey?"

Guess he can't answer that one. "Much better, thank you. Ready to get back to work." I keep my reply brief. I don't want that to become the focus of this session.

"Ms. Stanton, how will your recent experience as the victim of a serial killer impact on your ability to report effectively and without bias?"

Oh shit, that one had to be expected. I just wish I didn't even have to address this. Taking a deep breath, I reply, "Crimes of any type exact terrible prices from the victims. I have always been known for my ability to see the victim’s perspective. But, I am also a professional, able to present both sides, so that we can see how we as a society can better deal with these kinds of issues. I believe my personal experience will simply allow me greater insight into situations like these. I will be a better reporter because of it."

That response was straight from the PR dweeb who prepped me for this little goat rope.

"Ms. Stanton, we understand that you knew your assailant and that you were the one who killed him. Would you tell us what happened?"

This is not an entertainment reporter. That question was asked by Mark Hellman, the top crime reporter from the LA Times. How the hell did he get in here?

I start to panic.

I scan the room. Yes. There. Found my favorite pair of blue eyes. Complete with one arched eyebrow.

"Mark, it's good to see you again. I'm flattered that you've come all the way from LA to see me begin my new job. But, you must know that the case is still open in the courts and that I am not in a position to say anything about it. Nor is it germane to the work I will be doing for CBS as part of the "Exposure" team."

I am worried my voice is going to crack as I answer him so I am shocked to hear myself speaking clearly and coolly.

The rest of the questions are typical. A few are about the differences between local and national news, although for us, that's a moot point. We've been doing the same kind of stories for KNBC as we will be doing for Exposure. A few more are to my new boss about how he would use my skills. He evaded those neatly. The closing question is an easy one.

"How do you like New York so far?" someone else asks.

I answer that one with a wry smile. "I will always be eternally grateful to be out of LA."

There is a round of laughter and, mercifully, the press conference is over.

Harper slips out the back door while the reporters mill around and collect their stuff. I do the meet and greet routine, shaking hands and saying a word or two politely to some of the big name reporters, then make my exit with the suits.

Harper got off easy.

* * *

We do the standard nickel and dime tour of the studio. Seen one, seen 'em all. Fortunately, Kevin doesn't draw it out, he's got better things to do with his time. He just walks us around, points out the bathrooms, shows us where our offices are, and now it's time for our meetings. Heading toward the conference room, I go through the front offices of Exposure, past all the head shots of the Talent.

Ugh, I gotta stop doing that! Talent is not a nice word, Talent is not a nice word. You are living with one of the Talent.

The first photo is of Lawrence Booth, a good-looking man in his late forties. His hair is dark and graying only a little bit at the temples. He's the senior correspondent of the show and the anchor of each broadcast. At one time, it was rumored he'd be the next network anchor, but something happened to derail that career track. I think I'll do a little poking around and find out what happened. I'd hate for anything similar to impede Kels' career.

Next on the wall is Bruce Bartlett, the 'face' on the show who's not much older than I am. He's an extremely good looking guy, designed to grab the demographic of females between birth and death. He supposedly appeals to everyone of the gender.

I don't get it, he doesn't do a damn thing for me.

I laugh at my own joke. It's nice to be sleeping with the woman who'll draw all the women old Bruce doesn't. She certainly reeled me in hook, line and sinker.

Following his picture is one of Kendra Hayes, a very attractive African American woman who joined the show from Atlanta. She made a name for herself reporting on the church burnings in the South in the late nineties, winning several awards in the process. She's touted as the next Oprah Winfrey. Wonder if she is in a book club?

The last photo is of Samuel Fuentes. I don't know much about him other than his youngest son is deaf. I've seen him in several public service announcements about his son's disability. He seems like a good guy. Of course, in this business, you never can tell.

The news industry is a place where they teach sharks how to bite.

Just no one better go after my ass. Or Kels'.

* * *

It’s a typical style sitting. Except that Exposure apparently does like to take care of the on air personalities and we have a relatively nice lunch buffet while we wait to be measured, poked, prodded and color matched. I’m betting Harper is getting cold coffee and stale doughnuts, if she’s lucky. I'll have to make up a little plate and put it in my fridge for her. She gets cranky when she's not well fed.

I hate these things. Besides, how damn hard can it be to figure out? We are the typical news rainbow, with a nice variety of skin pigmentation. We're all above average in looks and below average in weight. And, once you've been typed one time, it doesn't really ever change. I mean, a "fall" isn't suddenly going to become a "winter". I just want to take the make-up and wardrobe staffs, shake them all collectively, and say to them, ‘It’s not that difficult people!'

How to win friends and influence people on your first day on the job.

They’re taking a look at Bruce at the moment, holding up material swatches and color cards for hair and make up. He looks over and gives me a lecherous grin as they slip him into a suit jacket.

Oh boy, buddy, don’t go there. My senior producer will tie you in little knots for what you're even thinking. Actually, she’ll drag you up every flight of stairs in the Empire State Building and toss your ass off it.

I break eye contact, not wanting to encourage his suicidal tendencies, and pour myself a cup of tea. I wander over and take a seat next to Kendra Hayes. She smiles at me from behind her water bottle. She offers me her left hand without any awkwardness to make shaking easier for me. "Hi. Welcome aboard."

"Hi. Kelsey Sta…."

"Oh, we all know who you are." She takes a long swallow of water.

I lift my brow. I shouldn’t be surprised. Same shit, different network I glance at my wristwatch. The honeymoon lasted exactly one hour forty-seven minutes. A new record. "Is that good or bad?"

"I guess that depends on you. I’m not here to make assumptions, Kelsey, or judgments."

Yeah, right. So that wasn't an assumption or judgment?

"Let’s just say that some of the crew is less than delighted."

I snort a bit. "So what else is new? What seems to be the problem here? Am I still the fire-breathing bitch dragon from LA? Or is there a new one?"

"Nope, just the fire-breathing bitch dragon from LA stuff." She settles back in her chair and winks. "You know how it is. Men move forward and they're considered strategic, gutsy, career-minded. We move forward and we're ball busters or screwing the head of network news. You know how the game is played."

After ten years, I sure do. "I got ya. So they think I’m here to try and take over?"

She shrugs. "Well, there is some concern that you’re going to outdo everyone else."

"If I do, it’ll only be because I work my ass off." I smirk. "And because I am better than everyone."

Kendra laughs, a low, warm sound. I wonder if she sings. "I gotcha. I feel the same way. Let me be honest, Kelsey, I’m not into the politics and the mind games. Doesn't mean I don't know how to protect myself, though. Nor does it mean I don't care about my career. But, it would be nice to actually have a pleasant, professional relationship with another woman for once. I kind of hope we can be friends."

I meet her eyes steadily and nod slowly. "I think we’re gonna be just fine, Kendra."

"Good."

They release Bruce and call Kendra over. She caps her water bottle and sets it aside, moving with natural grace. I give her a supportive little smile as she takes a seat in the make-up chair.

Bruce takes the seat she just vacated and winks at me.

Oh shit. I mentally shake my head as he offers me his hand. Be nice, Kels, he’s an idiot.

* * *

So, technically, it’s my first day on the job. Sign the contract and plunge into the deep end. It feels good to be back at work. Comfortable. And, believe it or not, a helluva lot less stress.

The past few weeks have been way out of my range of experience. The controlled chaos of a news room, the contention of a story meeting are much more my style. I know what I’m doing here.

The story meeting goes pretty much as I expect. We toss ideas around to see what we can come up with. The Executive Producer will come in later to add his comments. It's a power thing. Make us wait. And make us do the work.

There's quite an interesting assortment of people in the room.

First are the segment producers, who are an entirely mixed bag. I’ll worry about learning all their names later, when I have to interact with them more frequently. There are six of them.

Two are young and intense types, fresh out of Mizlou or Washington. They probably spent a couple of years at local stations in one of the top ten markets. They are ambitious and they want awards. I'll have to show them the Peabody after I win it this year. I doubt if they have lives outside of the news room.

I smirk. I wouldn't know a thing about that.

Another is a slightly squat, slightly rumpled looking, middle-aged woman. She's probably at the peak of her career; this is as high as she's ever going to go. But, most likely, she's a sound workman, nothing earthshaking, but reliable as hell.

We have Joe Cool personified sitting at the end of the table. His ebony colored skin looks polished to a shine, just like his shoes. I bet the girls fall all over him.

The fifth is a slender Hispanic man. He looks very controlled. His shirt and pants are crisply pressed, his tie tight around his throat, his hair immaculately combed. I wonder what he's like when he can't get his way?

Finally, rounding out their bunch, is an older, nondescript white guy. He's as interesting to look at as a bowl of corn flakes. I gotta remember never to have lunch with that guy. Unless I'm suffering from insomnia.

Now as for the other Senior Producers, I certainly know all their names. They are my peers on the show. Like me, and the correspondents, we all report into the Executive Producer. Each of us have several people on our staff, a production assistant and a researcher full-time, and segment and line producers as needed for our stories. While the Talent makes a lot more money than we do, we are the power behind the series. We don't let them forget that either.

Now all I have to do is figure out my colleagues' angles and I’m all set.

There's Jaclyn Daniels, Jack for short. No, I’m not kidding. That really is her name. And it fits. I hear she drinks like a fish. Well, except that fish drink water. I don't know when she's last had that particular drink. She's in her late thirties, but looks older. She’s got that nervous ‘I need a smoke’ twitch happening and I can smell the odor of cigarette smoke from five feet away. Fire marshals must cringe around her. It's also rumored that she’ll sleep with anyone, male or female, she thinks can further her career. She apparently slept her way onto this show. I shudder at the thought. I'm so very glad I wasn’t a rung on that ladder.

Sitting beside me is Joshua Levy, mid-thirties and slightly balding. No doubt from pulling his hair out. That’ll happen to you in this business. I don't know a lot about him personally. He's been in the New York markets exclusively in his career. But I've seen his work. And it's good.

Finally, there's Doug Welsh. He's the poster boy for WASP. Looks just like that guy who did the Irish Spring commercials in the seventies. Seems like a decent enough guy so far. At least, he hasn't been spewing profanity every few seconds like some of the guys do. I wonder if he knows where there’s a good bar? He looks like the kinda guy who would have a neighborhood bar he'd hang out at.

And now in blows my new boss, Richard Langston. He's in his late forties, maybe early fifties, short, medium brown hair with a sprinkle of gray, deep set, piercing, dark gray eyes, but enough energy in his 5'6" package to light up the entire island of Manhattan. He thrives on stress and he is in his element here. He puts down his coffee mug on the table and I note that it's filled with chocolate covered espresso beans.

Shit. Wonder if he's able to sleep at night.

He takes his seat and barks, "All right, the Sunday rundown first. Where are we?"

He goes around the table, nodding and making notes. He occasionally dictates instructions or suggestions at the segment producers, curses once when a story he has planned for the kicker is clearly not panning out. We have a short discussion and identify a piece that has been sitting on the shelf as a viable alternative.

Then he gets to the interesting part: future story possibilities.

He runs around the table again. The Hispanic guy turns out to be the consumer reporter. He has a piece on the impact of rising oil prices on daily life. It gets immediate approval and absolutely no excitement.

The two eager beavers each have crime/sting style stories. One is on Medicare fraud. The other is on high priced hookers. The Medicare fraud story gets approved, the hookers turned down.

"We've had enough Hollywood madam stories, thank you," Langston says acidly. "Try for something original."

The middle-aged woman has a line on a personal interview with Tipper Gore. This is necessary during an election year, and possibly interesting because of Tipper's commitment to mental health. It's approved.

The stories ideas continue to hit the table, some get approved, some rejected. After he checks in with his established staff, he surprises me by asking what I am working on.

Put the new kid on the spot, I guess. The looks on the faces of the other Senior Producers tell me immediately that I have a problem. They all figure me for a hanger-on to the new Talent.

Screw you and the horses you rode in on.

"You know, we've been following cults now for a while. And two of our cult stories are up for awards. I'd like to take a look at some of the new age cults, Wiccans, pagans, American Zen, and see what is happening. Why are we turning away from traditional religions and beliefs?"

"Sounds interesting. Ok - follow it," he grunts. He shuffles a few pieces of paper in front of him, deciding what to address first. "Now, let me fill you in on what I have. First, you will all be pleased to know that, this year, we will use one of the new kids in the Washington Bureau to cover the National Spelling Bee."

This announcement is greeted with a round of applause and relieved laughter. Nobody wanted that dull as ditch water story, it's worse than being assigned to do obits.

"Next, the Superfund Act comes up for renewal next year. I want to look at a series on waste management in America and other countries. This year is a green year. So I'll put several of you on this one, each looking at various aspects of this problem.

"There's an interesting case working its way through the courts right now, a man accused of brutally raping and killing several woman. He was convicted on the basis of DNA evidence alone, despite the fact he had several witnesses say he was somewhere else entirely when each of the murders took place. Based on the DNA, the jury gave him the death sentence. He maintains he's innocent. I want to monitor the progress of his appeal, looking at justice issues and how the courts are adapting to new evidence techniques. His attorney is that Barry Scheck guy, from the OJ case, among others. This might be something up your alley, Kingsley." He lifts his head to look me squarely in the eyes.

What’s that ad? Never let ‘em see you sweat.

I knew he'd test Kels and me. The money and risk were too great not to. Our award nominations themselves are enough to put us on the hard stuff first, if for no other reason than to confirm CBS has spent its money well. But this one is way too close to home.

Oh well, if either Little Roo or I fold under the strain of this one, it’s his head on the chopping block, not ours.

"Consider it done." I nod, making a note on my legal pad. God, I’m glad we’re going home to New Orleans for Mardi Gras in a week. That’ll give me time to figure out how to break this news to Kels.

Langston turns back to the middle-aged woman. "In addition to the Tipper interview, I want interviews with all of the other potential first ladies. See to it. We will stay politically balanced on this program.

He continues, "We're looking at the 30th anniversary of the trial of the Chicago 7. How about something on the changes in political involvement and protest in America , Generation X style?"

The nondescript guy nods. "I was in Chicago in '68, and at the trial. I'll take it."

"Go for it. Oh, and about the holidays, start thinking now. I want something different for Memorial Day, not just the usual taps and flags. And maybe a look at new labor types instead of the usual union piece for Labor Day. Let's do something interesting in history for the 4th - maybe what immigrants feel about Thanksgiving - and something quirky for Halloween. Maybe that'll fit in with your cult thing, Kingsley. Think about it, troops. Now, lets go get this week's show together." He closes his portfolio with a snap, stands and strides out of the room.

I know I’m gonna like this man. He spoke in staccato dashes, but, by God, he knew his stuff.

* * *

We're left alone after our meetings and allowed some time to settle into our offices. "Here you go, Miss Stanton." Harper gives my nameplate a little polish with her sleeve before pushing the door to my office open.

I must say, it's beautiful. I didn't really appreciate how nice it was when Kevin pointed it out earlier this morning. It's decorated in cherry wood and reproduction antiques, and it's huge. I walk over to my desk and take a seat in the high back leather chair.

Harper is leaning on the doorway with a silly grin on her face. "You approve?"

"Oh yeah."

Harper wanders over to an open door at the side of my office. She pokes her head in. "There's a full bathroom here with a dressing area. There's also a small fridge and a coffee pot."

"I don't drink coffee." I remind her.

"Yeah, but I do, chér." She wiggles her eyebrows at me. "And since we'll be working closely together …"

"Uh huh," I murmur. I begin poking through the desk drawers and come across a brightly wrapped box with a large, red ribbon tied around it. "Oh, shit!" I push back from the desk as if burned.

In a way, I was.

Harper kneels at my side in an instant. "What is it?" She takes my hands, and inspects them, thinking I've been injured.

I pull one free and point at the desk drawer, my finger shaking. I'm going to be sick. God, I thought I left this all behind. I thought he was dead. Not again. I can't handle this again.

She looks in the drawer and sees the gift. Harper turns to me, a profoundly sad expression on her face. "Ah, damn, Kels, I'm so sorry."

I throw my arms around her neck and hold her close, weeping on her shoulder. "I can't do this again," I sob. "Not again. I can't see anyone else hurt because of me."

"No, cher, it's okay." She rubs my back. "I'm an idiot and I'm so sorry. I asked Foster to put a gift in your office for me. I didn't think she'd put it in a drawer. I wasn't thinking. I only wanted to make this place a little homier for you."

"It's from you?" I manage between sobs.

"Uh huh, it is. I'm sorry, baby."

She kisses below my ear, still holding me tight. I calm down, realizing this was only a mistake. After a few deep breaths, I give Harper's shoulders a little squeeze and lean back in my chair, wiping at my eyes. "Do I look okay?" I ask, after a moment.

"Beautiful. I'm so sorry, Kels."

I wave my hand. "It's okay. I just wasn't expecting that."

"I should have been more explicit with Foster. I only wanted to surprise you."

She has such a pained expression on her face, I can't keep myself from stroking her cheek. "Don't worry about it, Harper. I'm fine. And you're very sweet. Can you hand me the box?"

"Sure," she agrees, reaching into the drawer.

Finally composed, I unwrap the box to find two picture frames. The first one holds a picture of Erik and me, the same one I had in my office in Los Angeles. She put it in a new wooden frame that matches my new office décor. I get up and place it on the bookcase to my left, trailing my fingers over the glass for a moment, remembering my friend. I turn to Harper and smile. "Thank you."

"There's one more." She gestures back to the box.

I remove another photo. Looking to Harper, she must see the confusion on my face.

"It was taken on Thanksgiving, in New Orleans."

I look at it and try to remember when it was taken that weekend. Harper is standing beside me with one arm draped over my shoulders and I'm holding her hand, our fingers intertwined. We're both laughing and obviously unaware anyone is taking our picture. It's a wonderful shot. I didn't even know it existed.

"Robie took it. He has a talent for this sort of thing. Most of the photos in the house, he took."

"God, Harper, it's beautiful." I place the picture on my desk next to the phone. It looks perfect there. And, best yet, I'll see it every time I sit down. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. You want to hear the punch line?"

"Punch line?" I am confused.

"Yeah, that picture was taken on Thanksgiving, before the Celebration in the Oaks."

"You mean before we…?" I wiggle my hand.

She laughs at my gesture. "Yes, before we … When Robie developed that roll of film on Friday morning, he and Rene decided we needed a well-placed kick in our butts."

I remember our getting not-so-subtly ditched by them when we got to the carriage. "I'm glad they decided to do it."

"So am I, chér, so am I." She caresses my cheek and gives me a little kiss.

We are interrupted by a knock on my door. I jump back a bit. God, I've got to stop doing that. Things are different here. If I want to kiss my partner in the privacy of my office, anyone barging in does so at their own damn risk. "Sorry," I whisper.

"It's okay. At least you didn't bite me." She winks, knowing I'm really trying. Harper then moves away, taking a seat on the couch.

"Come in," I call.

A young man enters my office, carrying a tray with three coffee mugs on it. Handing the first cup to Harper, he tilts his head back and forth a bit, grinning at her. "Coffee, black and strong, for you." He then hands me a cup. "Earl Grey, with just a touch of honey." He takes the third mug and tucks the tray under his arm. "Me? I'm a coffee man myself, cream and sugar. Just in case you're ever doing the refills."

Okay, you don't need gaydar with this guy. They could never build a closet big enough to contain him. "And you are?"

"Brian Dixon, your executive assistant, Miss Stanton." He sips his coffee, offering me his hand. "I hate the word secretary. Hope you don't mind."

I take his hand. "Well, you've already earned big points with me, Brian. So, no, I don't mind. Though I am curious as to how you knew my preference."

He glances meaningfully over at Harper. "A little birdie told me."

"And call me Kelsey," I add.

"Then you should call me Brian," he replies. I watch with great amusement as he turns to appraise Harper from head to toe.

"And what should I call you, stud?" he asks her.

I laugh out loud. I can't help it. I'm quick to cover my mouth when Harper gives me 'the look'. God, I'm gonna like working with this guy after Gail. He's gonna be fun.

"Harper will be just fine."

"Fair enough." He takes a seat on the edge of my desk. "Welcome to Exposure. If you need anything, just let me know. I know how to get everything and …" he leans in close to me and says in a mock whisper, "I know where all the bodies are buried." He glances back and forth between us; for a moment, it looks as if he's watching a tennis match. "How long have you two been together?"

Harper crosses her arms over her chest. "What makes you think we're 'together'?"

"Oh puuleease." He rolls his eyes and then focuses on me. "Just looking at you two screams couple. Plus, tall, dark and brooding over there is wearing some of your lipstick. And, stud," this he says to Harper, "it's really not your shade."

I laugh again as Harper angrily wipes off the offending makeup.

* * *

Harper excuses herself for a few minutes saying she needs to take care of some things and she doesn't want me limping around the studio. It gives me the privacy to doing something that's been on my mind for awhile.

"Brian, could you excuse me for a few? I have a personal call I need to make."

"Absolutely, boss. If you need anything, just whistle." He stops, puts his hands on his hips and strikes a pose. "And I know you know all about puckering up and blowing." He laughs hysterically at his own joke and walks out the door, closing it behind him.

I look at the photo on my desk as I dial the number. God love Robie for taking that picture.

As the phone rings, I glance at my watch. I nearly forgot about the time change. Hmm, she should be home though. I’m about to hang up when she picks up.

"Hello?"

"Susan. Kelsey."

It’s quiet for a moment. Then she clears her throat gently and speaks. "Hi ya, beautiful. How’s New York?"

"Cold as a well digger's ass. Now, I remember why I moved to Los Angeles in the first place." She laughs at the joke my Pa used whenever he and Ma would come rescue me during winter breaks at boarding school.

I hate this.

I continue, "I just wanted to call and uh, say uh well…"

"Yeah, yeah, Miss Big Network Newshow. I know. It’ been real and it’s been fun," she jokes.

"Hey," I interrupt softly. I am serious here. "It was real fun. Thank you."

"Well, we on agreed casual. I make a great pull over."

I’m not going to comment. I’m not going to think of her that way anymore. "Listen, I really like the fact that we parted as friends. I hope that we can always…."

"Oh yeah, absolutely!" she replies, a bit too brightly, but not insincere. "And the next time I’m in New York I’ll let you and Harper take me out for a really expensive dinner to prove it."

"Deal." I take a deep breath, tapping my cast very gently on the desk. "Could you make a professional recommendation for me?"

"I can try. I have several contacts and colleagues in the New York area. What do you need?"

* * *

Tabloid is headed for my office just as I am going out to find another cup of tea. Now that I have the information I need, I was going to have another cup of tea and give it some very serious thought.

Harper is carrying two black cases, grinning like a little kid.

"What?" I have to ask. She has that kind of grin.

"You ready to go?" she replies. "I’m all done for the day. How about you?"

"I’m all set. Just let me get my coat."

Returning to my office, I tuck my badly scrawled notes in my desk drawer and lock it. I don't know how thorough Brian is yet. Harper has set down the cases and picked up my coat from the couch where I had tossed it earlier. She helps me into my coat.

"Boy, don’t you look like the cat that swallowed the canary," I tease.

"We’ve got a good thing going here, Little Roo."

"So it would seem, sweetheart." I gesture toward the bags. "What’s are those? You going somewhere?"

"Nope. Two brand new, top of the line laptops. Courtesy of Exposure."

"I’m impressed."

"You should be. I had to sell our first born to get them." She jokes as we gather up our stuff and head for the elevator.

I take a deep breath as we wait and release it slowly.

"Tired, sweetheart?" she whispers, moving closer to me so I can discreetly lean against her.

"Yeah, a little. My knee is bothering me some. It's not fond of this cold weather."

"Why don't we head back to the hotel and we can set you up with a sauna to take some of the ache out?"

"You know that's just one of the many reasons I love you, Tabloid. You're always so full of good ideas."

She smiles at the praise, her blue eyes have simply been twinkling ever since we got to New York. That, in itself, is reason enough to make this move.

* * *

Back in our suite at The Stanhope, Kels is resting in the bedroom while I order up dinner. I think she's forgotten that today is Valentine's Day. But I didn't. First off, Mama would never let me hear the end of it if I did. Second, it's nice to have a Valentine.

She's my first.

Imagine that. I actually still had a first left in my life.

I order up a romantic dinner, lots of finger foods, champagne, dessert. The restaurant here is Four Star, so I don't feel deprived on our first Valentine's together. Also, I know Kels is tired from the day. I don't want to be dragging her around town unnecessarily. There will be plenty of time to explore later.

Waiting for the food to arrive, I glance at her lying on the bed. She's wearing only a blue, silk robe. God, I want to go over there and just…

Don't go there, Harper, you will only frustrate yourself more. She'll let you know when she's ready for that.

But, damn, it's been a long six weeks.

Let's see, when was the last time I didn't have sex for a six week period?

Hmm …

Well …

I'm still thinking.

Okay, never. Once I discovered the joy of sex, pun intended, I never looked back.

My gaze lingers on Kels. She looks so beautiful. Ah, what the hell. We can cuddle at least. She doesn't seem to mind that. I tighten my own robe, just to strengthen my resolve to be good, and I wander over to the bed. Lying down next to her, I take her hand, give it a little kiss, and tuck it under my cheek.

"Hi, there," she whispers, sleepily. Her eyes flutter open and she turns her head to meet my gaze.

"Hi. Feel better?"

"Much. Thanks for being so good to me." She turns partially toward me, careful of her knee, and runs her fingers through my hair. Her hand drops down to caress my cheek for a moment.

"That's easy to do, sweetheart." I capture her hand and kiss her palm.

"No, it's not." She is now fully awake. "Hell, Harper, I'm not blind. I know I haven't been the easiest person to live with these past few weeks. You've been wonderful, so kind, so loving." She pauses, her hand travels under my robe and her nails graze against my chest. "So patient."

Okay, Kels, that is not helping. Well, I mean, it is helping. God, it helps a lot. If you mean to help. If not, damn, I'm gonna go sit on a couple ice buckets in a moment. And pray not to die.

She moves closer to me, kissing my neck. "I love you, Harper." The kiss turns into a little nibble. She's either hungry or horny. I'm hoping the latter.

Easy, Harper, let her lead. Don't be upset if this doesn't go anywhere. This is a major step for her. She tugs on the belt of my robe. God, I feel like a teenager getting laid for the first time. Hey, maybe there is something to being with an older woman.

She gently rolls over on top of me. We both are very careful with her knee, letting it rest gently against the mattress, between my legs. The majority of her weight is supported by my body. Which is just fine, she feels good covering me. "I'm going to make love to you, Tabloid."

"Okay." I sound like an idiot but I don't know what else to say. Although, 'thank you' does spring to mind, as well. She can do damn whatever she wants to me right now. I am at her mercy.

Please let her be merciful. My whole body is going to explode at any second.

She gives my collarbone a little nip. "You like that idea, huh?"

I nod enthusiastically. The sound of her voice and the feel of her hands on my body are driving me insane. And I am terrified to do anything lest I scare her off.

"Good." She ducks her head and kisses me long and slow.

Oh, God, that's nice. She tastes sweet, like the honey she puts in her tea. Wonder if I can get room service to send some more up.

Oh, sweet Jesus, room service!

As delicately as I can, I end our kiss. She looks at me, confusion and hurt written all over her face, afraid I've rejected her. "It's okay," I whisper. I thrash around for the phone. I pick up the receiver, bounce it off my head, curse, grab it again, and push "0". In five words or less, I tell them to bring our order up in an hour. We're busy.

Kelsey laughs at me and hangs up the phone, leaning across my body to do so. All of my self-control is used to keep me from devouring her. She slides back into place and begins sliding my robe open, exposing me to her attentions. My nipples stand up and say hi.

She greets them back, ripping a moan out of me even I have never heard before. She makes sure both feel welcome and attended to before moving back up to kiss me again. I feel the softness of her robe rubbing against my heated skin.

I gently fold one arm around her, holding her loosely. I don't want her to feel trapped, but I can't stand to not touch her. I run my hand in long strokes up and down her body, guiding her against me, molding us together.

I'm rather grateful that her right hand, the one in the cast, is pinned against me. I don't think I would survive if I got conked by her right now.

Her left hand begins a torturous exploration of my body, sliding between our bodies. She enters easily where I need her most. I sigh and tighten my hold on her ever so slightly. My other hand is not quite as kind to the sheet I am clutching onto for dear life.

I am in absolute heaven, she's giving me everything I desire. Her breath is warm on my skin and I can make out a few endearments she is whispering. Our bodies have established a gentle rhythm together. This is not about heat, but about reconnecting. God, I missed this. Missed her.

My mind is swirling from the pleasure. My body is aching from the tension. It's a wonderful combination. I may live here forever.

Or not, as Kels releases me, her mouth swallowing my cry as her tongue mimics her hand. My body arches into hers and then collapses back on the bed when the rush is over. Oh, that was intense. Abstinence does make the heart grow fonder. But, I think we're fond enough now.

I try to get my breathing under control as she snuggles against me, her hand now calming my skin rather than inflaming it. "You'll find it works better if you inhale and then exhale. Exhaling only leads to hyperventilation," she teases, kissing the hollow of my throat.

I release the mangled sheet and tilt her jaw. I lean in and kiss her lips, nipping the bottom one gently. "Thanks," I reply.

"You're welcome."

"I've missed this with you."

"I know," she looks away. "I'm sorry, Harper."

"No, chér, don't be sorry. I didn't say that to hurt you. I said it because I wanted you to know this means something to me. It's means the world to me," I confess. I am heartened when her eyes return to mine. "God, I've been such a dog my entire life, you know that. I've never waited for anyone before, Kels. No one was ever worth the wait. But, you are."

She gives me a slight smile and I feel the tension in her body ease. "Why were you that way, Harper?" she asks quietly. "I mean, I can't reconcile it with the you I know from New Orleans. Or the family who raised you."

"Well, that's a million dollar question."

"Can I have an answer?"

I shrug. "I'll try. I like sex, no doubt about that. And I seem to have an aptitude for it." I rock my hips, trying to get her to smile again, to not be so serious.

It doesn't work. "That doesn't explain much, Harper. And it only raises the question of why you didn't pursue a career in Reno, rather than journalism."

"Yeah, I know. I guess part of it is I didn't have any real role models in that area. All the lesbians I knew growing up were a bit too domestic for my taste. You know the old joke … what do you get a lesbian on a second date?" I pause and Kels joins me for the punch line. "A U-Haul."

"Too intense?" she asks.

"Too fast, that's for sure." I blow out a breath. This is hard to talk about. "You've seen my family. Do you know there has never been a divorce on my Mama's side of the family? Not one. And we can trace our roots back to the 1600's. Now, mind you, there were a couple of spousal murders along the way … but no divorce. I didn't want to be the first."

Kelsey gives me a quizzical look. "How could you be the first when gays can't even get married?"

I snort. "They can in Mama's world. And, I mean, how do you know you've met the right person? I would listen to all these women talk about finding their soulmate and nonsense like that and I would think: smell what you're shoveling."

"You don't believe there's one right person in the world for everyone?"

Tread carefully here, Harper. Remember who you're talking to and what you just did. "I know I love you, Kels. I don't label it or inspect it. And, quite frankly, I don't know or care if it was destined to be. It just is." I pull her tight against me, trying to convey the depth of my feelings in the best way I know how. "You fit with me, Kels, fit with my family, my life. You're who I want."

"Yeah?" Her voice is shy, an unusual tone coming from her.

"Yeah. And I can't imagine being with another woman now. So, you're stuck with me. If you want."

Kelsey breaks into a dazzling smile. "I want."

"Good." I lean up and capture her lips with me. Enough damn talk. I'm not one for these sensitive chats. Not when there are more far more interesting sensitive things within my reach.

* * *

That was sweet. Harper has a romantic streak after all. I mean, I always knew she was physically demonstrative, but not verbally.

We fit.

I belong.

Jesus, if that isn't what I've been waiting to hear for thirty-two years.

The tears begin flowing and I can't help myself. Several fall on Harper's skin and she breaks off our kiss.

Her large hands brush over my cheeks, pushing back my hair and drying my tears. "Chér, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

I shake my head, but I can't seem to speak, my throat is constricted. I collapse down on Harper's soft, warm body and hold on while every emotion I have repressed for what feels like a lifetime comes flooding out.

It's only when I begin to calm down that I hear what she's whispering in my ear.

"L'odeur de son corps et du mien sont un

qu'elle la dévoile waxen des membres

et mes rebelles d'utérus ont perdu ses parents

mes cris perçants de chair hors de sa perte

pleurant son évadé

"Combien plus de jours

Frottant disant la succion du bout des lèvres

à la recherche d e la nourriture remet

griffé ou des yeux de caresse

fixés sur le mien

"Je suis gravé à l'eau-forte dans vous me suis

mélangé avec les courants

qui coulent dans la mer."

I unbury my face from her neck and kiss the corner of her mouth. "I love Colette's work. Thank you."

She chuckles and taps the end of my nose with her finger. "I knew you could speak French. You fraud." She mock frowns. "And I bet Mama knows, doesn't she?"

I blush, caught. "Harper, sweetheart, you never asked. Again."

"I didn't know we had a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy," she grumbles.

I know she's teasing, but I don't want her to ever be confused on this point. "We don't," I hasten to assure her. "Not on anything important, at least." I wipe at my eyes, removing the last traces of my tears. "Make love to me, Harper?"

Her reply is a small kiss. "Are you sure?"

All I can do is nod.

With infinite tenderness, Harper does exactly that.

* * *

Standing on the terrace of our new apartment, overlooking the Park, I find myself taking inventory of my life. It's the first time I've allowed myself to do this since the incident.

I nearly died. A lot of people did die. Including my best friend.

I am nearly thirty-three years old.

Granted, I have a great, new job.

A wonderful and beautiful, younger lover.

A fantastic new apartment. Even if the only furniture in it is a bed and a few pots and pans. The essentials, Harper says.

And I have to chuckle over that Range Rover Harper has her eye on. It's definitely her style. It has every gadget and gizmo known to man in or on it. Her 'stud' status with Brian will be assured the first time he sees her in it.

Still … it feels like something is missing. I know what it is now, too. It became clear down in New Orleans, in the kitchen. I just wasn't sure. I am now, though.

The question is: how do I bring it up?

Perhaps the better question is: am I asking too much?

As I lean against the ledge, I hear Harper join me on the terrace. Soon I feel her hands on my neck and shoulders, massaging gently. "You okay, Little Roo?"

I lean back against her tall frame. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Life in general."

"Good thoughts?" She nibbles my ear.

"I hope so."

"You hope so? You mean you don't know?" The nibbling stops.

I turn to face her, threading my fingers through the belt loops at the back of her jeans. "Well, I've been thinking about everything, you know? Everything that's happened. And it's kind of changed my perspective."

"I'm sure it has. The question is: is it a good change or a bad change?"

"That depends."

She tilts my head so we're looking directly into each other's eyes. I can see the stress growing around the corners of her eyes. Hold on, sweetheart. It'll be okay, I hope.

"Tell me, Kels. Tell me what you're thinking. Are you having second thoughts about the apartment? Or the job?" She hesitates, swallowing hard. "Or us?"

"Oh, good God, no!" I wrap myself around her as quickly and as tightly as I can. "No way! I love my life. I love you."

I feel her relax and realize it's now or never.

"Harper?"

"Yeah?" I can still hear a bit of nervousness in her voice.

"You said something on Monday when we were at the studio. It was a joke about trading our first born for the laptops."

"They're good laptops, Kels."

"I know," I chuckle. "Well, I was wondering, how many children do you want?"

"Little Roo, we've got a problem here. I have many skills, but not that one, I'm afraid."

Oh, that was bad. Not the answer I had hoped for.

I give her my best smile. "True." I feel myself tremble. I hope she didn't feel it.

"Kels?"

Shit, she felt it. "Yeah?"

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No." I'm trying to blow it off. Leave it alone, Tabloid.

"Yes, yes, I did." She makes me look at her again. "You were being serious and I made a joke."

"Harper, it was only a question. No big deal."

"Kelsey Diane Stanton, don't you lie to me. You're really bad at it." She takes my face in her hands. "Kels, do you want a baby?"

I nod, feeling the tears forming in my eyes. "Yeah, Harper, I do. I want to have a baby."

"Okay. Do you mind if I ask why? I'm not against it, but I want to understand."

"There's been so much death. I feel like I've been surrounded by death for months now, those women who looked like me, then Erik and then nearly myself." Oh, God, I start crying again. I cling onto her and soak another one of her shirts.

"It's all right, sweetheart. Everything is fine." She hugs me and rocks us back and forth gently in an effort to soothe my tears. She kisses the top of my head. "I can't imagine anyone who would be a better mother."

<fade out>

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