Talk To Me

CHAPTER TWO

K ARA WONDERED when the prickles at her hairline would drip tears of sweat for all of America—and Travis—to see. The spotlight was incredibly hot... both literally and figuratively.

“So tell us, Kara, what do you think about Terrence’s claim that Tiffany always puts him down?” Vanessa tipped her microphone.

Esther Taylor would expect a ladylike answer. But Kara figured Gram owed her. “Well, I don’t know what Tiffany ‘always’ does. But what she did at Sonic was act in a mature, caring and responsible way that had nothing to do with anyone but the waitress. I think Terrence needs to grow up,” Kara said bluntly.

A smattering of applause broke out from some of the women in the audience, along with a few grumbles from the men.

Vanessa perked up at the scent of a lively debate. “Them thar’s fightin’ words, Kara. Can you define the phrase grow up?”

Where to start, that was the harder question. “Let’s backtrack to Bill and Dorothy,” Kara began. “He said she doesn’t respect his feelings, yet he doesn’t supply her with any clues as to what they are. So she prods and probes and shares her own feelings in hopes he’ll cough up some of his. Which of course, he doesn’t.

“After all, that would be the mature thing to do. Instead, he expects her to read his mind, then pouts like a three-year-old when she isn’t psychic.”

The spontaneous applause and grumbles were louder than before.

Vanessa held up a quieting hand. “Danny?” She searched the auditorium and located the stage manager. “I want to stay with Kara a minute. Can you work that side of the room for the male point of view?”

He nodded and moved toward the back row.

Vanessa’s gaze returned to Kara. “And Terrence ? How was his behavior immature?”

Blocking out the camera and her grandmother’s distressed gaze, Kara concentrated on the gleam of encouragement in Vanessa’s eyes.

“First of all, he seems to think the world revolves around him. As if everyone at Sonic was more interested in what he was doing than in eating their fries. I mean, get real. That’s so arrogant, so typically male.

“And so what if everyone did hear Tiffany correct him about the time?” Kara continued, picking up steam. “I’ve got a news flash for him. His watch was fast and he was wrong. But did he apologize to the waitress? No-o, that would’ve been the mature thing to do.

“Instead, he got mad at Tiffany and accused her of embarrassing him in public. Because, bottom line, most men don’t care if they’re actually right or not. The only important thing to them is that other people think they are!”

A thunderous wave of applause and feminine cheers buoyed Kara’s ego. This was starting to get fun. She glanced at the monitor just as a teen in full rapper gear rose from his seat and lowered his mouth to Danny’s microphone.

“A woman shouldn’t dis her man, you know what I’m sayin’, Mama? An’ if she does—” he hitched one shoulder and looked away, then gazed deliberately back into the camera “—he should dump her ass! Wha’ dya think of that?”

Kara waited for the rumble of male approval to fade, then said, “I think you missed your nap this afternoon.”

The audience erupted into laughter, a balanced mix of high and deep tones. Gram reached up and squeezed Kara’s hand briefly, whether in approval or caution wasn’t clear.

Still smiling, Vanessa shook her head. “I should put you up against that fish guy—what’s his name?”

Uh-oh.

“Travis!” Gram trilled.

Great, Kara thought Now she talks.

“Oh, yeah, Travis. Danny, head over his way would you? I’m dying to know what he has to say. You men in the audience want to let him speak for you?” Vanessa cocked her head and cupped an ear. “What’s that?”

The men roared yes.

Kara watched the monitor sickly as the camera zoomed in on Travis, who was being prodded and shoved into standing by the man sitting next to him. Good grief, was that grinning replica of her ex-husband really Jake?

“Hi, Travis.” Vanessa directed a beauty-queen wave across the auditorium. “I want you to meet Kara. Kara, say hello to Travis.”

Kara opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“You’ll have to do better than that, girl,” Vanessa teased amid the chuckles. “The women here are counting on you. So Travis, do you agree with Kara that Terrence should’ve apologized to the waitress instead of getting mad at Tiffany?”

“No. Kara always—I mean, from what I’ve seen, she appears to lose the big picture in favor of petty details. The issue here isn’t whether Terrence was right or wrong about the food being late. The issue is respect and loyalty.”

That old song and dance?

“I’ve got a question for Kara,” Travis continued. “Let’s pretend the shoe was on the other foot and Terrence had told Tiffany in a real loud voice that...oh, that her hair needed washing, for example. And everybody at Sonic heard. Are you telling me that Tiffany wouldn’t get mad at him?”

“That’s different and you know it. You’re talking about an intimate comment on a person’s appearance, whereas I’m referring to a correct or incorrect fact. The waitress was either late, or she wasn’t. Nothing personal involved.”

“See now, Kara, you weren’t listening to me.”

Ladies do not scream obscenities or foam at the mouth.

“The larger issue isn’t about time or dirty hair,” he continued in the condescending tone that had always set her teeth on edge. “It’s about having enough respect for the other person that you either lower your voice so the whole city can’t hear you, or postpone the conversation until you’re alone.”

She sniffed. “As I said, what complete strangers think is more important to a man than what his significant other thinks.”

“That’s so irrational, so typically female,” he mimicked, twisting her earlier words to his advantage.

“Oh, really?” Disconcerting, talking to a television monitor. Especially when his image kept dissolving into hers.

Kara turned toward the tall, spotlighted figure near the back of the auditorium. She didn’t need to see his features to sense his every blink. “Then tell me why a man won’t stop and ask for directions?”

A beat of silence. “Excuse me?”

“If men don’t care more about what a complete stranger thinks than what their significant others think, why will they keep driving in circles when we’re tired and hungry and ready to get there, instead of stopping to ask a stranger for directions?”

Every woman in the audience chuckled at that one, but Kara barely heard.

All her senses were tuned into the signals crackling above the sea of heads. A confusing, exhilarating, frightening exchange she hadn’t experienced in nine years.

He shifted his stance, and the connection broke. “We don’t stop and ask complete strangers because they may not know the right directions.”

Kara blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“No. They could give us completely wrong directions and we’d be worse off than before.”

“My, God, you are serious. If people don’t know the directions, Travis, they’ll tell you they don’t know.”

“Not if they’re embarrassed to admit they don’t know.”

“Oh, well, you’re talking about male strangers. A woman would never consciously hurt someone just to save face, like Terrance was willing to hurt that waitress because he was embarrassed to admit he was wrong. Thanks for clearing that up.”

“Hey, that’s not what I—”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa,” Vanessa interrupted, laughing into the camera. “Time out. I created a couple of monsters here. We have to take a commercial break, but don’t go away folks. We’ll be right back with our next couple and more fascinating debate.”

The remote-camera spotlight cut off.

Kara groped blindly for her seat, hit cotton candy hair and stumbled to the left. She sat with a sigh of relief.

“Boy, you and Travis are something else!” Vanessa exulted to Kara. “I’d love to keep the discussion going, but I’ve gotta move on to other opinions. Maybe I’ll get back to you guys later.”

She leaned down and spoke for Kara’s ears alone. “You kicked butt. Fish man didn’t stand a chance.”

Remembering the currents leaping between her and Travis, Kara smiled weakly, glad an auditorium had separated them. Proximity to her ex-husband had always scrambled her brains. Whatever quirk of fate had delivered them to the same auditorium today, Kara didn’t plan on reading too much into it.

If she didn’t bump into him for another nine years, that would be far too soon for her.

Ross HADLEY SLUMPED in his auditorium chair, oblivious to the third couple whining on stage.

The flawlessly produced road show, which he’d attended in hopes of picking up pointers, couldn’t compete with the tingly sensation in his abdomen. The one signaling something out of the ordinary. The gut-deep feeling he’d rarely experienced but had learned not to ignore.

The last time he’d tingled was three years ago, when Sally had dragged him to “Cooking for Couples” classes on the advice of their counselor. His sharing an activity that was important to her hadn’t salvaged their marriage, but it had boosted his reputation at KLUV-TV, Houston. The better result for all concerned.

The instructor that fateful night had been a pretentious British ass named Henry Frey. He clearly hadn’t wanted to teach seventeen amateur gourmets any more than one workaholic fast-food junkie had wanted to learn.

Ten minutes into class, Ross had awakened and smelled the Earl Grey tea.

He recognized good broadcast entertainment when he saw it, and Henry had been a natural talent. His monologue on American culture, as cynical as Americans themselves, had been delivered in a snooty British accent that made his sarcasm seem terribly witty. And his flamboyant style of mixing ingredients and kneading dough added visual interest to the stand-up comedy routine.

As associate producer of Meet Houston at the time, Ross had known the pastry chef would make an excellent guest. But...there’d been that odd tingle in his gut.

So he’d pitched and sold station management on launching The Bantering Baker—hiring Ross as the show’s full-fledged producer, of course. Then he’d worked sixteen-hour shifts to achieve networkprogram quality on a cheesy local-show budget. Ratings had slowly climbed, his career moving right on track...until he’d been derailed.

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.”

“Five eleven, dark hair, brown eyes. A regular Italian stallion. Think Rocky, before he got too skinny.”

Wisdom fought with Kara’s image of Gram’s crushed expression should her beloved husband’s family business go bankrupt. “I don’t know, Vinnie. I can’t see her flying all the way to New Jersey, even if you paid her air fare.”

“For a date with the Mystery Woman, I’d fly to Houston in a heartbeat, maybe try and drum up a little more business while I’m there. My kid’s with me through the weekend, but the next two weeks are clear. How ’bout giving her a call, Kara?”

The sound of her name snapped Kara into lucidity. She had no business meddling with the Mystery Woman’s privacy. “I’m sorry, Vinnie. I won’t compromise my working relationship with her or you. Besides, her schedule is just so hectic—”

“I’ll print your catalogs at cost,” he interrupted. “Zero markup. You’ll save three, maybe four grand.”

Kara blinked.

“C’mon, doll. What d’ya say?”

CHAPTER THREE

GREED WAVED a victory banner Kara couldn’t ignore. “I say a girl’s gotta eat sometime, right? I’m sure she can squeeze in a dinner date during the next month. Let me call her and get back to you soon.”

“Great! Oh, man, a date with the Mystery Woman,” he crowed. “Wait’ll the guys in the shop hear about this. They drooled so much over the last catalog the ink took twice as long to dry.”

Oh God.

“What’s her name, by the way?”

Kara pressed cool knuckles against a heated cheek. “The modeling agency is very strict about guarding its clients. If she agrees to meet you, I’ll let her tell you herself.”

“Well...I guess that’s fair.”

Thank goodness.

“A hot babe like that must worry about stalkers and stuff.”

Oh God.

“You call me as soon as you talk to her, okay, Kara?”

“I’ll do that, Vinnie. Bye now.”

“See ya, doll.”

Carefully replacing the receiver, Kara assumed a casual expression and cleared her throat. “That was Vinnie.”

Lisa Williams leveled the lovely brown gaze that made small boys fight to crawl onto her lap and men scramble to pull out her chair. Ebony-haired, porcelain-skinned and five foot three in her highest Bruno Magli heels, she drew protective males with her petite femininity faster than Jane could yodel up Tarzan.

Kara, standing five foot nine inches sans heels, had always felt like an Amazon in comparison—especially in grade school, when she’d also towered above the boys. Small as her best friend was, when it came to Lisa and the opposite sex, Kara knew exactly who wore the loincloth.

She’d be lucky to stave off the impending lecture. “Just hold your comments until I can explain, Lisa.”

“Tell me you didn’t promise that man a date with the Mystery Woman and I’ll be quiet.”

“Okay. I didn’t promise that man a date wi—”

“Damn it, Kara, would you mind explaining why we’ve been more secretive than 007 all these months if you don’t mind blowing your cover? Are you crazy?”

Sighing, Kara glanced at the unpaid vendor invoices stacked in order of squeakiest wheel. “Not yet. But I’m getting there.”

Lisa’s indignant glare became a worried frown. “You look exhausted. Something’s happened you’re not telling me. I sensed it even before Vinnie’s call. Big trouble?”

Six feet four of it, crowding her dreams last night with hurtful memories and erotic images.

Kara resisted the urge to mention her bizarre reunion with Travis. Lisa had argued too long and fiercely nine years ago on his behalf. Better to let sleeping no-good insensitive dogs lie.

“Gram phoned a little earlier,” Kara said instead. “Carol picked up from out by the register. By the time she turned the call over to me, she had Gram in a tizzy. I got a sound scolding on my failure to uphold the Taylor tradition of providing excellent customer service and employee working conditions.”

“And in English that would mean...?”

“I had to let Jennifer go yesterday.”

The part-time saleswoman had covered for Carol during her lunch hour, doctor’s appointments and a slew of increasingly creative emergencies.