Jan Freed - Talk To Me

Sabotaged by rum balls, whiskey sour cake and Henry’s fondness for the key ingredients.

Glowering now, Ross acknowledged that the show’s ratings, and its star, had stumbled once too often in recent months. The Bantering Baker would be canceled.

Producer openings were scarce, the competition ruthless, past performance was everything, and his wouldn’t look too hot on a resumé. He’d failed to “handle” his on-air talent’s excesses. As a result, he could experience a major setback in his career.

Or, he could create another new show.

Ross straightened his spine, thankful he’d chosen to sit in the back row for the Vanessa Allen Show taping. The nosebleed section of the tiered auditorium provided a sweeping overview of the audience.

He easily located Travis Malloy, bold interpreter and defender of men. A guy whom bass feared, women wanted and the camera absolutely loved.

In addition to rugged good looks, he possessed a decent command of language and logic. The spotlight hadn’t intimidated him. Nor had Vanessa.

Very very good.

He wasn’t introverted or painfully shy. Neither had he come across as a loud belligerent oaf. He’d simply sounded confident he was right. The perfect attitude. At least, ideal for what Ross had in mind.

His gaze moved to the left and down, zeroing in on a bright blond head six rows back from the stage.

Kara Taylor. Unusual first name, but then, that hadn’t hurt Ricki Lake. Kara displayed Ricki’s same accessible charm, plus a beauty more striking than classical.

If the camera loved Travis, it worshiped Kara’s creamy skin, exotic cat’s eyes and unusual silvergold hair.

Ross had underestimated her brain at first. Vapid blondes were rampant in the entertainment industry. Yet he’d quickly seen that in a duel of wits, she was a master verbal fencer. An able champion of women’s confusing thought patterns.

The national spotlight hadn’t rattled her a bit. Even better, when she’d faced Travis across the auditorium, vibrant energy had snapped and crackled between them. A fascinating phenomenon to watch. The kind of visible chemistry that was the stuff of every television producer’s dreams.

As a concept crystallized in Ross’s mind, the tingle in his gut became burning excitement.

His success depended as much on sheer luck as on negotiating skill. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, and he had everything to lose by passively accepting his fate.

Okay. He would do it.

Finalize his game plan and speak to the principle players ASAP, a delicate task. They would ask many questions, introduce unknown obstacles. Not that Ross doubted the two strangers would eventually say yes.

After all, for a shot at fame and fortune, even mortal enemies would agree to join forces.

AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK the next day, phone snugged between ear and shoulder, Kara tuned out Vinnie’s New York accent and lined up five newly developed contact sheets. Not for the first time, she wished for an art table. One day, maybe. Right now the back office at Taylor Fine Foundations barely accommodated her battered desk and single guest chair.

Leaning closer, she moved her magnifying loupe over a row of tiny photographs. The lavender bra and matching silk tap pants shimmered sensuously. Using candlelight had been inspired. If Lisa weren’t independently wealthy and easily bored, she could earn a living as a photographer.

Without lifting her gaze, Kara gave a quick thumbs-up.

“Yesss!” her friend exulted.

Kara grinned and adjusted the loupe’s frame. They could crop in close but leave the draped blond curl teasing a scalloped lace cup—

“Kara?”

She jerked, recaptured the slipping phone and leaned back into imitation leather. “Yes, Vinnie?”

“Did you hear a word I said?”

“Of course I heard,” she bluffed.

“Well?”

Fortunately the businessman she’d only dealt with via phone, fax, e-mail and air express was unflaggingly single-minded. His cost-consciousness was one reason why Spinelli Printing offered the highest quality and best value for the dollar.

“Well,” Kara responded, “I know you ‘cut me a break’ on the first catalogs. That’s why I’m not bidding this job out to other printers. Take two thousand off the estimate you faxed, and I’ll continue to give you first chance at printing all future Mystery Woman catalogs.”

“Two thousand! You gotta be kiddin’, doll—”

“I’m nobody’s doll,” Kara corrected mildly, “But I’m quite serious about continuing to use Spinelli Printing. ‘Dance with the one who brung ya,’ that’s my motto. Work with me now on lowering your cost, and when the catalog goes national we’ll waltz into the big . time together.” She winked shamelessly at Lisa, who rolled her eyes.

“Nothing personal, babe, but I got alimony and child support up the wazoo. I’m not running a friggin’ charity, ya know.”

Kara stiffened.

“I got a business to keep afloat.”

So did she. And Taylor Fine Foundations was sinking faster than she could bail. Her grandmother would be appalled at what she was about to do. But she’d learned long ago that a “lady” in business became a “sucker” if she didn’t play her own version of hardball.

“Speaking of charity, Vinnie...I had nothing to gain in July by referring Township Square’s advertising department to Spinelli Printing. Don’t misunderstand. I didn’t expect a commission—although that wouldn’t have been inappropriate.” She paused delicately. “I was surprised not to get a thank-you note, given the value of your new account. My guess is your profits on the Labor Day Sale insert alone paid for at least six months of child support.”

From Vinnie’s startled silence, she’d guessed right.

“Ka-ra,” he finally said in a conciliatory tone. “I feel terrible. Didn’t you get the roses I told Susan to send you?”

Unbelievable. He was actually pinning his poor business etiquette on his overworked secretary. “No, I didn’t.”

“I gotta admit I was a little surprised when you never mentioned them. Now I understand. You’ll forgive Susan, won’t you?”

The weasel! “I never blamed her in the first place.”

“You’re terrific, babe. One in a million. And I really do appreciate your referral. Township Square’s a nice little account.”

Nice little account?

Meeting Lisa’s gaze, Kara ignored the sudden alarm in her friend’s alert brown eyes. “Gee, Vinnie, that’s odd. Susan said you told her Township Square was Spinelli Printing’s largest account. And we both know she never forgets a thing you tell her, don’t we? Not that I’m going to argue semantics with you, or I’d have to explain why calling me ‘babe’ and ‘doll’ is as politically incorrect, unenlightened and offensive as my calling you an obnoxious Yankee with the manners of a—” Kara broke off and glared “—what?”

Lisa ceased her frantic slashing motions.

“Pig?” Vinnie supplied in a suspicious tone.

Common sense returned in a rush of chagrin. Kara forced a weak laugh. “You always did have a good sense of humor, Vinnie. Some people flat don’t get my jokes. Look, all I’m asking is that you settle for a modest markup on these next catalogs. You won’t be sorry. Mystery Woman is a winner. You said so yourself.”

“I said the model you’re using is a winner.” A lascivious note had entered his voice. “Now, you get me a date with her and I’ll knock two grand off my estimate, no problem.”

Distaste warred with a stir of interest. “Are you serious?”

“You mean...you are? Sweet Mary, Jesus and Joseph! Can you really set me up with the Mystery Woman?”

Caution battled with her knowledge of the company’s dwindling bank account. “I didn’t say that. I don’t know how she feels about blind dates. I can’t even tell her what you look like.”