Journey (13 page)

“I love you too, Jack,” she said, slurring her words, and a moment later she was asleep, as he stood over her and looked at her. He turned off the light and walked back into the living room, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He drank it neat as he looked out at the Place Vendôme, and he seemed pleased with himself. The lesson had been delivered. She had learned.

Chapter 8

J
ACK TOOK
M
ADDY TO
T
AILLEVENT
, Tour d Argent, Chez Laurent, and Lucas Carton for dinner. They dined out elegantly every night, and had lunch on the Left Bank in little bistros. They shopped and went to antique shops and art galleries. And he bought her an emerald bracelet at Cartier. It was like a second honeymoon, and she was apologetic about getting drunk the first night. She still had very odd memories of it, some of them very sexy, and others tinged with an aura of something ominous and scary and sad. She drank very little after that. She didn't need to. With Jack showering her with attention and gifts, she was drunk on romance. He did everything he could to seduce her. And by the time they left for the South of France, she was completely under his spell again. He was a master at the game.

They stayed at the Hôtel du Cap in Cap dAntibes, and had a fabulous suite overlooking the ocean. They had a private cabana, where they spent their days, and it
was just secluded enough for him to make love to her, which he did repeatedly. He was more loving and more amorous than ever. And at times, Maddy felt as though her head were spinning. It was as though everything she had felt before, the anger, the outrage, the betrayal, had been some kind of a delusion, and this was the only reality she knew. They were there for five days, and she hated to leave at the end of it, and go to London. They had chartered a boat and gone to Saint-Tropez, shopped in Cannes, and had dinner in Juan les Pins and when they got back to the Hotel du Cap at night, he took her dancing. It was peaceful and happy and romantic. And he had never made love to her as often. She could hardly sit down by the time they got to London.

London was more businesslike, but he still made an effort to be with her. He took her shopping, and for dinner at Harry's Bar. They went dancing at Annabel's, and he bought her a small emerald band at Graff's to go with the bracelet he'd bought her in Paris.

“Why are you spoiling me like this?” she asked, laughing, as they walked out of Graff's onto New Bond Street.

“Because I love you, and you're my star anchor.” He beamed at her.

“Aha! Are these bribes instead of a raise?” She was in good spirits, and yet beneath it all, she was confused. He was so loving, and yet before the trip he had been so cruel.

“That must be it. I was sent here by the controller to seduce you,” he said, looking mock stern and she laughed at the answer. She wanted to love him, and wanted him to love her.

“You must want something, Jack,” she teased. And he did. He wanted her body day and night. She was beginning to feel like a sex machine, and once or twice, while they made love, he had reminded her that he “owned” her. She didn't like the term, but it seemed to turn him on to say it to her, so she didn't say anything to him. If it meant that much to him, she could let him say it, although now and then, she couldn't help wondering if he believed it. He didn't own her. They loved each other. And he was her husband. “I'm beginning to feel like Lady Chatterley” she said, laughing at him, when he peeled her clothes off again the moment they got back to their hotel room. “What kind of vitamins are you taking? Maybe you're taking too many.”

“There's no such thing as too much sex, Mad. It's good for us. I love making love to you when we're on vacation.” But he didn't do badly when they were at home either. He seemed to have an insatiable appetite for Maddy And most of the time, she liked it, except when he got too rough with her, or carried away, as he had in Paris.

But he did it again on their last night at Claridge's. They had been dancing at Annabel's, and the moment they got back to their suite and closed the door, he slammed her against the wall, pulled down her pants, and nearly raped her. She tried to make him wait, or go into the bedroom with her, but he shoved her against the wall and wouldn't stop, and then he dragged her into the bathroom and took her on the marble floor, while she begged him to stop. He was hurting her again, but he was so excited he didn't hear her. And afterward, he apologized, and lifted her gently into a tub of warm water.

“I don't know what you do to me, Mad. It's all your fault,” he said, as he rubbed her back, and a moment later, slipped into the water with her. She looked at him suspiciously, worried that he would want her again, but this time when he began caressing her, he took her ever so gently. Life with him was a constant merry-go-round of pleasure and pain, terror and passion, infinite gentleness coupled with just a hint of something terrifyingly brutal and cruel. It would have been hard to explain to anyone, and would have embarrassed her to do so. He made her do things sometimes that afterward made her feel awkward. But he assured her that there was nothing wrong with it, they were married and he loved her, and when he hurt her, he always told her that she drove him so insane, it was her fault. It was flattering, but nonetheless, at times, very painful. And she felt continually confused.

When they flew home at last, their two weeks seemed more like a month's vacation. She felt closer to him than she had in a long time, and they had done some fun things. For two weeks, he had turned his full attention on her. He hadn't left her side for a minute, he had spoiled her in every possible way, and made love to her so many times that she could no longer keep track of what they had done, or how often they'd done it.

The night they got back to the house in Georgetown, Maddy felt as though she'd been on a honeymoon with him, and Jack kissed her as he followed her into the hallway. He carried their bags upstairs, along with the suitcase she'd bought to accommodate the new things she'd bought in London and Paris. She listened to their messages on the machine, while Jack went downstairs
to get the mail, and Maddy was surprised to hear four messages from her co-anchor, Greg Morris. He sounded serious on the machine, and she glanced at her watch, but it was too late to call him back.

There was nothing interesting in the mail, and after a snack, they both showered and went to bed, and got up early the next morning.

They chatted on the way to work, and Maddy left Jack in the lobby, and went upstairs to her office. She was anxious to see Greg and tell him about the trip, and she was surprised when she didn't see him in his office. She went on to her own, and read all her messages and mail, and as usual, there was a stack of fan mail. At ten o'clock, when she still hadn't seen Greg, she got worried. She went out to her secretary and asked her if Greg was sick, and Debbie looked at her, and was obviously feeling awkward.

“I … uh … he … I guess no one told you,” she said finally.

“Told me what?” Maddy said with a look of panic. “Did something happen to him?” Maybe he had an accident, and no one had wanted to upset her while she was away.

“He left,” she said bluntly.

“For where?” Maddy didn't understand what she was saying.

“He doesn't work here anymore, Mrs. Hunter. I thought someone would have told you. Your new co-anchor starts on Monday. I think you're on alone. Greg left the day after you went on vacation.”

“He
what?”
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Did he have an argument with someone and walk off the set?”

“I don't know the details,” she lied, but she didn't want to be the one to tell her. And the words weren't out of her mouth before Maddy was flying down the hall to the producer's office.

“What in hell happened to Greg?” she asked, as the producer looked up at her. Rafe Thompson was a tall, tired-looking man who looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and at times he did.

“He's gone” was all he answered.

“I know that much. Where? And when? And why? I want answers to those questions,” she asked, as her eyes blazed.

“There was a change in format on the show. He didn't fit in. I think he's going to be doing sports on NBC now. I don't know the details.”

“Bullshit. That's what Debbie told me. Who does know the details?” But she already knew the answer to her question, and she went up to Jack's office without waiting another minute. She walked right into his office without being announced, and looked at him from across his desk. He had just put down the phone and his desk was covered with papers, the price to pay for a two-week vacation. “Did you fire Greg?” she asked without preamble, and he looked at her for a long moment.

“We made an executive decision,” he said calmly.

“What does that mean, and why didn't you tell me when we were in Europe?” She felt as though she'd been tricked.

“I didn't want to upset you, Mad. I thought you deserved a real vacation.”

“I had a right to know that you fired my co-anchor.” It explained the four messages on her machine the
night before, and the tone of Greg's voice. She realized now that he had sounded upset, and it was no wonder. “Why did you fire him? He's terrific. And so were his ratings.”

“We didn't think so,” Jack said smoothly. “He's not as good as you are, sweetheart. We needed someone stronger as a balance to you.”

“What do you mean ‘stronger’?” She didn't understand what he was saying, and she was upset about the decision and the way it had been handled.

“He's too soft, too effeminate, you run right over him, and you're a lot more professional than he is. I'm sorry. You need someone with a little more personality and a lot more experience.”

“So who did you hire?” she asked, looking worried. She was still upset about Greg, she had loved working with him, and he was her closest friend.

“Brad Newbury. I don't know if you remember him. He used to do news from the Middle East on CNN. He's terrific. I think you're going to love working with him,” Jack said firmly.

“Brad Newbury?” Maddy looked stunned. “He can't even make a war zone sound exciting. Whose idea was that?”

“It was a collective decision. He's a pro, and a seasoned reporter. We think he's the perfect counterpoint to you.” Maddy hated his style, and had never liked him. And the few times they'd met he'd been arrogant and condescending to her.

“He's dry and he's dull, and he has no appeal on the air,” she said, looking frantic. “For God's sake, he's going to put everyone to sleep. He even made the trouble in the Middle East sound boring.”

“He's a very skilled reporter.”

“And so is Greg. Our ratings had never been higher.”

“Your
ratings had never been higher, Mad. His were starting to slip. I didn't want to worry you, but he would have taken you down with him.”

“I just don't understand it,” she said, “and I don't know why you didn't tell me.”

“Because I didn't want to upset you. This is business, Maddy. Show business. We have to keep our eye on the ball here.” But she was still depressed about it when she got back to her office and called Greg.

“I can't believe this, Greg. No one told me. I thought you were sick or something when you didn't come in by ten o'clock. What the hell happened after I left? Did you piss someone off?”

“Not that I know of,” he said, still sounding devastated. He had loved working with her, and they both knew their show was a hit. But he understood more about it than she did. “The morning after you left, Tom Helmsley,” who was the executive producer of the show, “called me in and told me they were letting me go, firing me, to be exact. He said we had gotten too informal, too close, and we were beginning to remind senior management of Abbott and Costello.”

“Now where the hell did that come from? When was the last time we made a joke on the show?”

“Not lately, but I think the key word is
close
here. I think someone feels we were too personal, too close. Hell, Maddy, you're my best friend. I think someone in your life doesn't like that.” He didn't want to spell it out for her, but he might as well have.

“You mean Jack? Greg, that's crazy.” She couldn't believe that. That was no reason to fire him, and Jack
would never have jeopardized the ratings of the show for personal reasons. But Brad Newbury was certainly an odd choice. She wondered if Greg meant that Jack was jealous of him, but she didn't think so.

“It may sound crazy to you, Mad. But it's called isolation. Have you ever thought of that? How many friends do you have? How often does he let you see anyone? He had no choice with me, we work together. But he took care of that, didn't he? Think about it.”

“Why would he want to isolate me?” She sounded confused, and Greg wondered how much he should say to her. He had noticed it for a long time, but obviously she hadn't, and he assumed that she was in denial about it.

“He wants to isolate you, Mad, because he wants to control you. He runs your life, makes all your decisions for you, he never consults you about the show. He doesn't even tell you till the night before you leave for Europe. He treats you like a paper doll, for chrissake, and when he doesn't like what you do, he tells you that you came from poor white trash, and tells you you'd be back in a trailer park without him. How often has he told you that without him, you'd be nothing? Do you know what kind of bullshit that is? Without
you
, he'd have the lowest-rated news show on any network. If you ever left WBT, you'd be snapped up by any major network you wanted. Now what does all that sound like to you, Mad? A loving husband, or something much more familiar?” She had never let herself string it all together before, but listening to him, she was suddenly terrified. What if he did want to isolate her? And suddenly she remembered all the times he had said to her recently
that he “owned” her. It made her shudder to think about it.

“It sounds like abusive behavior, doesn't it?” she said barely audibly.