Эбби Луби - Nuclear Romance

“Do you have a card, Dan?”

“Sure do.”

He was cocky as he whisked one from the cardholder on his desk, smiling smugly over at Bob. He never liked the little twerp.

“Here’s my card, too,” said Chrissy. “Nice meeting you, Dan.”

“I need to see you, Diana.”

“Sure thing, darlin’, Everything okay?”

“No. Folks seem to know about us.”

“What folks?”

“Look, I’ll tell you when I see you. I have to cover a game tonight. Can I drop by right before it starts?”

When she got home she didn’t see Lou’s car in the driveway, but a light was on in the living room. She opened the front door and saw Lou sitting on the couch balancing his laptop on his knees, clacking away.

“Hey, Sweetie. Where’s your car? I wasn’t sure you were here.”

“Car’s down the block. Parking in front of your house may not be a good idea.”

He stood up, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and guided her to the couch.

“So guess what?” He smiled as if he were telling a joke. “We’re being spied on.”

“Spied on? You’re kidding, right?”

“Afraid not.”

“Why would anyone spy on us?”

“Because I’m a high profile reporter who’s sleeping with an anti-nuke activist. It’s all very suspicious. You, dear lady, have the ear of a newsman and can influence my stories. And, if that were the case, my byline and stories are mud, my credibility is zilch.”

“But your reporting is always very balanced. You make sure of that.”

“It’s who the writer is and what we bring to the story. The reporter’s personal life, his or her back story, always interests readers, sometimes more than what they write. The fact that we’ve been a couple for a while… well… for some, that’s a saucy little piece of gossip.”

She squinted at him.

“And just who knows about us and how did they find out?”

He told her about Bob Stalinsky’s outburst at the meeting.

“It wasn’t pretty. He lost his cool, blurted it out. Said he had proof that you and I were shacking up. It was all rather pitiful.”

“Will the paper… will Owen stand by you?”

“Maybe. ALLPower is a heavy advertiser, and I’m just one reporter who has pissed them off. And I’m dispensable.”

“But we’ve been so careful, haven’t we?”

“We haven’t been that careful, Baby, but it’s not that bad. To tell you the truth, I like that we are clandestine—it’s a bit of a turn on. You’re the forbidden fruit.”

His eyes twinkled and he tapped her nose with his finger. She tried to smile, but couldn’t.

“There’s something else,” he said, taking her hands in his.

“Remember the night we drove to the Bearded Iris and I was driving fast? A car was following us. I thought I lost him. But I guess not.”

She withdrew her hands and glared at him.

“Someone knows we went to the sex house? Oh God.”

She was stunned. She got up and moved away from him to the dining table where stubs of melted candles from their last dinner stood like crumbling statues. She slumped down in a chair.

He came over and stood behind her, leaned down and softly kissed the top of her head. She whirled around.

“Why didn’t you say something? We could’ve turned back! What if the school finds out?”

Diana racked her brain, trying to remember if anyone at school saw Lou when he visited her. She couldn’t think of anyone except for Jen. Oh, wait. The front-door sign-in desk. He signed in.

“Easy, Babe,” he said, sitting down, watching her process it all. “I don’t care if we’re found out—it’s worth it. I truly care about you, you know that, right? And that night? I realized something about myself. About us. You and I are special. All I want is to be with you, and… not share you with anyone.”

Lou told himself to just shut up.

Diana pursed her lips. She was still rummaging around at the school, the field day her colleagues would have at the expense of her private life. And Jane—Diana had been the brunt of her anger before, and it wasn’t pleasant. Had the sex adventure gotten out of hand? Even if it was just that one time?

“Diana. Are you hearing me?”

She shook her head yes, then no.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me we were being followed. I just can’t believe it!”

“It’s just that we were so caught up in our wild adventure. I didn’t want to turn back and risk disappointing you. Honestly? I thought I lost the guy by the time we got off the freeway.”

“We never should have gone. What was I thinking?”

He looked at his watch and stood up slowly.

“Look, I’m sorry about all of this, and we can talk about it later. But right now I have to go be a sportswriter. Don’t suppose you want to come along,” he teased, “now that we’ve come out.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m just trying to lighten up a bit, Honey.”

“Lighten up? This is serious, and you want to laugh it away?”

It was late afternoon when Chrissy left the plant and headed home. The story of the underground plumes, or lakes, raced through her head.

This could be big. Maybe too big for a small local paper like the Register.

She took out her notes and booted up her computer. She jotted some numbers down on a piece of paper, Googled the words “Central Park Reservoir” and checked how much water the popular reservoir actually held. The volume was comparable. She made one more phone call to Dan Lipsey to double-check her facts.

An hour later she had crafted a story about the underground lakes. When she read through it, she felt nervous.

A pile of newspapers lay on the floor, most of them from New York City. She had been checking them out, considering her next opportunist move as a journalist. She had really become a professional, shouldn’t she move on? Could she pitch this to the New York Times ? Hmm. Probably not.

She flipped though one of the major tabloids, a daily paper called the Metro Record and paused at a full page ad by ALLPower. Didn’t she take a writer’s workshop with one of the editors who worked at the Metro Record ? She looked through some files and found a roster of speakers. Soon she found the name she was looking for.

Why not? She asked herself. What do I have to lose? Go for it, Girl.

The editor’s phone number and e-mail was on the list. She was surprised to actually get him on the phone.

“Greg Thurston, Metro Record .”

“Hi Greg. It’s Chrissy Dolan. We met briefly at the media conference last year. I have a story for you about the nuke plant up here. Are you interested?”

“We’re about to put the paper to bed, but sure, I’ll take a look at it. Is it about the ALLPower plant?”

“Yes. Can I shoot this over to you now?”

“Okay. But we don’t usually run stories about the plant; the big accident was a one-time thing. It’s really not New York City–centric.”

“I think you might be interested in this one.”

“Okay. I’ll take a look at it. No promises.”

The phone clicked off abruptly. She looked at her screen and hit Send. About twenty minutes later, her phone rang.

“Greg here at the Metro Record . Is this really true? Poisonous lakes the size of the Central Park Reservoir under the nuke plant?”

“Yes. That’s what the plant people are telling me.”

“Wow. But did they make the comparison to the Central Park Reservoir? Or is that your own take?”

Of course it was my own take. I’m a professional reporter, aren’t I?