by ROCFanKat

Disclaimers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter notes: Language alert late in the chapter. Couldn't be helped; it's an LBJ story.

•••

The rain started again at dawn, and all the forecasts said we were in for a stretch of it this time. Typical weather for Meridian this time of year, though; we would see next to no sun from now until spring. Most people were already in a bad mood for the duration.

But not Cassie, and certainly not me. True, we'd been up half the night, working. We'd routed the troops--and Vanessa--out of bed for an early-morning meeting in my office, where Jenner would never think to look and Kurt would know not to try. We'd called in every IOU we had with the local TV stations to get air-check tapes of the newscasts. We'd even drafted a press release for Jenner. And of course we'd argued about every detail of what I wanted to do, down to the commas.

But then we'd taken my MG out to get pastry and coffee for the meeting, and for the first time in living memory, she hadn't complained about how small the car was, or how old my tape collection was, or even about my taste in '80s music. I'd had a Blondie tape in the deck and ejected it, out of habit, but she'd put it back in. Then she'd directed me to pull into the park for just a minute. Somehow, we'd wound up parked under a tree for more than just a minute--long enough for the MG to get plastered with wet leaves, anyhow--and I was never going to hear a certain part of "Call Me" the same way again.

I hoped this was just a phase, because I might not live through another two weeks of it.

"You two don't have to look so cheerful," Heather complained, rummaging through the pastry box. "It's raining again."

"And you're in big trouble," Troy added. "Well, you are, anyway, Dev."

Cassie shrugged. "She is trouble. Sue me--I like it."

Knowing the danger of saying anything in return, I let that one fly by without comment.

"You must," Heather said. "Hey, Dev, did I tell you my mother saw you on TV last night? She wanted to know if you're always like that. I said no--you're usually worse."

Laughter, friendly but entirely at my expense. I assumed an injured expression and limped over to look out the window.

"Don't tease her," Cassie warned Heather. "She was in a good mood an hour ago. I'd like to keep it that way."

"What happened an hour ago?"

In the window glass, I saw Cassie beckon her close for confidential speech.

"No! In Bryant Park?"

"It's a little car," Cassie told her, as though that explained it.

Heather's reflection shook its head. "Still. Wow. I would never have thought Dev had it in her."

"Well," Cassie said, an evil note creeping into her voice, "it got out. And I can tell you exactly where it went."

I was seriously considering whether to jump out the window when the door opened and Vanessa walked in, putting an instant stop to the hilarity.

"Sorry I'm late. Did I miss anything?"

"No," I said, relieved. "We were just getting ready to run the newscasts. Coffee?"

She declined and started to move past to the vacant chair. Then she rocked back on one heel, frowning slightly.

"Problem?" I asked her.

"Bite mark. At least it matches your sweater."

Instinctively, I reached up. Damn.

"Sorry, sweetie," Cassie said, over the laughter.

"What would you call that color?" Heather asked the room at large. "The sweater, I mean. Maroon? Plum? Bruise?"

"If you want to see something in bruise," I growled, "keep talking."

Heather made a moué. Mentally, I reduced her year-end raise by 1 percent.

"So much for that good mood," Troy said. "Maybe we ought to run those tapes now--I want to live through the day. Can we start with Dick Farmer?"

That worked for me. Cassie and I had always loved Dick Farmer--a mediocre reporter at best, but a man with a priceless name. We'd often speculated on what the schoolyard bullies had called him. Conveniently enough, the Channel 5 tape was at the top of the stack, so I pushed it into the machine.

"This is Dick Farmer," the man said soberly, "reporting from..."

Troy, Heather, and Chip lost it, honking and snorting with laughter; Cassie clearly wanted to, but refused to meet my eye. Sighing, I tossed the remote to Troy, who promptly rewound the tape.

As the tape--and the honking and snorting--started again, Vanessa reached up and pulled my sweater sleeve. I bent down obligingly. "Is that his real name?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Why doesn't he go by 'Richard'?"

I considered. "Because it's not funny."

"Do you think it's funny?"

Uncomfortable, I straightened up. "Depends on my age at any given moment."

Vanessa didn't respond, but she gave me a look that I hoped Cassie didn't see. If I hadn't known better, I would've thought it was a come-on. Just to be safe, I decided to go stand by my beloved.

"What was all that about?" she asked.

"Dick Farmer."

She scowled at Vanessa and then made a point of leaning back against my shoulder. "That's enough, Troy. Play it through."

He obeyed, but only after he rewound the tape one more time. Then we watched the report in relative silence. Like Farmer, it was short, dull, humorless, and missed the whole point. There'd been a press conference at the Family Foundation; an audience member had taken offense to a video; the foundation regretted the incident.

"Borrrrrring," Heather said. "Do Channel 10 next. That was kind of fun."

Too bad that we'd missed that one last night, then. Chip found the tape, and Cassie got a bit more comfortable.

Channel 10 was the Fox affiliate, so of course its version was kind of fun. The anchors introduced the report by saying that children should leave the Channel 10 viewing area. Then we got a taste of the foundation's video--the section with the actual ads--this time accompanied by "Bad to the Bone." That lasted about 10 seconds, after which the report cut to my interruption of Howard Abner at the podium. Wincing, I wondered whether I looked that sinister in real life.

"Thank God she's on our side," Troy said, laughing.

I decided not to have heard that. The report had already cut away again anyway, to an interview with Abner in his office, shot slightly from below so that he looked as large and self-satisfied as Mount Rushmore. "...and morality are not popular," he was saying, "but we're not in this to win any popularity contests. We're in it to fight for decency..."

"...and justice, and the American way," Chip droned.

Heather shushed him. The reporter was back on now, saying something about reaction from ad agencies. A second later, Jenner's face was all over the screen. I relaxed slightly; he shot even more sinister than I did.

"...not responsible for the private actions of our employees," Jenner said.

"Is that an apology?" the reporter asked, off-camera.

Jenner's eyes nearly crossed. Movement just behind him got my attention, and I suddenly realized what it was: Jack, holding him up physically and working him like Lamb Chop. By Jenner's expression, he was listening intently to something.

"No," he finally answered. "That employee is not responsible either. She was in a car accident a few months ago and hit her head."

Closing my eyes, I hit it again then, on purpose, on the wall, as the three slackers in the room burst into whistles and applause. Cassie made me stop, and held her hand on the back of my head to keep me from doing it again.

"We'll be following this story for any future developments," the reporter promised. "Now back to you, Jim, in the studio."

Jim, in the studio, thanked him for his good work, and so did Marilyn, who was also in the studio but inexplicably not mentioned in the "back to," after which the station broke for a commercial--interestingly enough, one of mine.

"You've gotta love Fox," Chip said. "Now can we play the good one?"

No one had to ask which one he meant. Heather sailed the tape across the office to him; he made a nifty one-handed catch and stuck it in the machine.

"So, Dev," Troy said, too casually, "is Lisa Hartwell a good kisser?"

Cassie gave me a very narrow look--she still wasn't entirely convinced--but reached back to lace her fingers with mine before she turned an even narrower look on him. "She didn't kiss her. You'll see."

"I did see. It looked to me like..."

"Play the tape, Troy," I ordered.

He did, leaning forward avidly as the story started. Vanessa, on the other hand, looked bored, but fashionably bored.

We watched in silence as the main story played out. All too soon, the camera was in Jenner's office, and he, Jack, and Kurt were telling their versions of the truth, in which the agency was the victim of a run-amok employee with a head injury. Kurt helpfully added that I'd always had a temper anyway, and come to think of it, I'd tried to strangle him just a few weeks ago. Of course, he said, that might have had something to do with the fact that I hadn't actually had sex for many, many years, up until Halloween night, and if Ms. Hartwell were interested, he could arrange an interview with the woman who'd finally turned the trick, so to speak. Her name was...

That was when I'd broken in. Uncomfortable, I watched myself storm into the office, black raincoat, bad mood, and all. As she had last night when she'd first seen that part, Cassie leaned back and whispered in my ear: "My hero."

"Heroine," I corrected. "And cut that out."

Unrepentant, she tightened her hold on my hand. As I had last night, I wondered what had gotten into her.

Heather cleared her throat elaborately. "If you two don't mind, we're trying to watch television here."

We both scowled at her, but kept quiet for the interview.

Her: Is it true, Ms. Kerry, that you threatened a holy war against the family?

Me: No.

Her: But it is true that you called Mr. Abner "Jethro" and promised him a war?

Me: That was strictly personal.

Her: But you did kiss a woman on television, didn't you?

Me: I can't wait to hear the point of that question.

Her: Mr. Abner called you [consulting her notes] "a godless deviant."

Me: Compared with what passes for normal in this town, "deviant" is a raise. Now, what does this have to do with anything? If you're asking about the Rumours ad, that scene was work footage. It got on the air by mistake.

Her: Mr. Abner said you were trying to recruit young girls with it.

[Brief silence]

Me [moving slowly forward]: Kissing a woman on television could do that? Astonishing.

Her: Mr. Abner also said...I'm sorry, Ms. Kerry, you'll need to move back a little. The camera angle...

Me [still advancing]: You said the camera was off, Ms. Hartwell.

Her [flustered]: It was. I mean, it's supposed to be. I mean...

Me: Well, you'll be glad it's still on, Ms. Hartwell. This next part might jump-start your ratings.

Her: What next part?

It was strange--I'd leaned down and over slightly, so that the camera couldn't actually see, but in the split-second before it looked like I kissed her, it looked as though she'd moved to meet me. The tape cut away at the critical point, of course, but I wondered whether if we replayed it...

There was no need to wonder, of course, because Troy was already rewinding. He ran it back several times, in slow motion and frame by frame. By the third time, Cassie was getting very impatient.

"You're not going to see it, Troy, because it isn't there. It's just subtext."

"I don't care if it's spinach," he told her. "I love it."

Cassie sighed. "I don't understand this. What is it with men? Women don't fantasize about seeing two of you together."

Privately, I didn't understand what was up with the Three Stooges, mud wrestling, and "Baywatch," either. Well, all right, make that the Stooges and mud wrestling, but I still knew that there was no real excuse for "Baywatch."

"Boys will be boys. We can't help it."

"Do you even try?" Cassie shot back.

Troy looked genuinely surprised. "What for?"

Heather, Cassie and I instantly lasered him. Vanessa still looked bored.

"Oh, c'mon," he protested. "I'm just kidding. Ask Chip."

"I wish you'd leave me out of these things from now on," Chip said wearily. "I took marketing in college, not anthropology. Can't we just see the rest of the tape before Kurt gets here?"

Another point for Chip. While Troy reluctantly started the tape again, I leaned slightly forward to have private words with Cassie. It was just a compliment on her flawless taste in protégès, but she gave me a little nuzzle for it--a PDA, which she knew was off-limits, but which I was willing to overlook just this once. Straightening back up, I noticed that Vanessa was watching, with interest. In fact, her eyes were traveling over Cassie's curves in a way that I didn't appreciate. So I put both arms around Cassie and pulled her close, making it look as proprietary as possible. Touch and die, I told Vanessa silently.

She smirked and turned back toward the TV screen--but not before she ran a glance up and down me for good measure. Did Jenner know about this side of her? Was that what he saw in her? What was up with men? Not all men, surely, but almost all the ones I knew.

"You're thinking again," Cassie murmured.

"Sorry, sweetheart," I said.

On TV, Lisa Hartwell was live (at the time) in the Channel 12 newsroom, looking nervous. She was saying something about being sorry for the shock value of the footage, but news was news, and viewers could draw their own conclusions. Once again, I smiled wolfishly, noticing the big gestures she kept making with her left hand. She hadn't had that engagement ring before, and she obviously hadn't taken the time to borrow one that fit.

There was a quick cut back to the anchor desk, where Jim and Marilyn were wearing their most serious Serious News faces. "Lisa," Jim said somberly, "you were very brave to allow us to see that film. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Jim. It was a personally difficult decision, but I think the story isn't complete without it."

After that, the tape ran out, and everyone except Cassie turned to look at me.

"There's so much wrong with that," I said, "that I don't even know where to start. But I hope you all noticed one thing..."

"The fake engagement ring?" Heather asked. "Or the 'personally difficult decision'?"

"No. Notice where she was when she did the last segment. If it had been a real story, she'd have been sitting at the anchor desk with her dear friends Jim and Marilyn. But they had her on a live feed from the newsroom."

"I'm not following this," Chip said.

"Channel 12 wants it both ways," I explained. "They want the shock value, but they also want some distance from it. Lisa Hartwell doesn't know it yet, but she's on trial too."

Chip groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Dev, I'm sorry, but I'm still..."

"All right, try it this way. The pot called the kettle black, but the pot was going to kiss the kettle back anyway, which is why the pot got stuck in the newsroom, waving an engagement ring around. It wasn't really a kiss. But it was on TV, in front of God and everybody, so it must be true. This is going to be very, very embarrassing for the pot."

"What about the kettle?" Troy asked, grinning.

"The kettle gets to have some fun now."

"Not too much," Cassie snapped, squirming out of my grasp.

Amused, I let her go and then leaned back against the wall, surveying the room. "There's an old story about LBJ. Back when he was just another Texas politician, he was in a tough race, so he told his staff to start a rumor about his opponent. One of them said, 'Nobody's going to believe he's a pig-fucker, Lyndon.' But LBJ said, 'I don't care if they believe it. I just want to make the pig-fucking son of a bitch deny it.'"

Laughter, even from Vanessa, after the squirrel made a few extra circuits on the wheel that ran her brain.

"I'm done denying things," I told them. "It's time to make someone else do it."

"How?" Vanessa asked.

"That's your job. You're in charge of the diversity campaign, aren't you? What did Jack call it--'Rainbows for Peace'?"

Vanessa thought about it. "I'll have to talk to Mr. Jenner. But we can do this, I guess. If you tell me what you want, Devlin, I think I can help you. What should I tell him?"

"I'm glad you asked," I said, reaching over to grab a paper off my desk. "I have a little press release here. Just a draft, but see what he thinks."

She took it, read it two or three times, and nodded. Then she gestured at Cassie. "What about her?"

Cassie glowered at her, but moved a little closer to me anyway.

"What about her?"

"You're going to drag her through this if you fight them," Vanessa said. "People are going to talk. People aren't stupid."

An extraordinary statement, considering the source. She couldn't possibly be as dumb as she seemed sometimes, and I didn't know whether that would help or hurt in the long run. But until I found out for sure, I was sticking with Plan A. "I want them to talk. Like Jenner says, talk's good for business. But don't worry about Cassie--I'm not dragging her anywhere. When this is over, I'm resigning, and she stays..."

"Stop it, Devvy," Cassie said. "Where you go, I go."

An even more extraordinary statement. We were obviously going to have to argue about everything all over again. Not now, though. "Maybe you should go see if Jenner's here," I told Vanessa. "Take Kurt with you, if he's in."

She got up, clutching the paper. "I will. I'll tell you what happens."

"Good. Take notes, if you think of it."

She said she would, and we all watched her leave. No one said a word until the click of her heels faded on the other side of the door. Then Troy let out a long breath. "I don't trust her. She'll rat us out if she finds out what we're up to....What are we up to, anyway?"

I tried to look innocent. "We're not up to anything. We're just advertising diversity. You believe in diversity, don't you?"

In the split-second before he got control of his face, I saw what I thought I'd see: a closet door slamming shut. So Kurt had been right about that, too.

"Sure I do," Troy said, a little too loudly. "What do you want us to do?"

"Nothing you won't enjoy doing. But you can always tell people later that I made you do it."

"I thought the devil was the one who made people do things."

Heather laughed. "Satan, Dev--same difference."

"Same difference," I agreed. "Here's the plan."

•••

(c) 1999, ROCFanKat

Continued - Part 14