Norah sat in her small office with the door closed, a worm of panic working its way through her system. What if Ted didn’t show up? There were dozens of coworkers counting on this, not to mention millions of TV viewers. If it all blew up at the last minute, Norah would take the heat. She would have to—otherwise, everyone would blame Didi, and she simply couldn’t let that happen.
Aviva and the Litton publicist had arrived almost an hour ago, buzzing with the energy of anticipation about the event. Norah had met them at the elevator and led them to the green room, where they continued their lively chatter, unconcerned about Ted’s whereabouts. Aviva had assured her that Pete had gone to pick him up, and that they would arrive any minute.
At first, Norah was buoyed by her confidence. But after twenty minutes ticked by, she became anxious. At thirty minutes she was on edge. And now she was starting to hyperventilate.
Didi’s assistant, Marco, knocked lightly on Norah’s door and she looked up.
“Someone named Audrey Hudson arrived,” he said.
“Where is she?” Norah asked, realizing she should have left instructions to keep her away from Aviva.
“I took her to the green room.”
“Shit.”
“There a problem?”
“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”
She dismissed Marco, and felt so overheated by stress she was starting to sweat. She pulled her blouse from her body to let in some air, but it did little to help. She headed to the green room.
“Any word?” she said, poking her head in the doorway. To her surprise, the atmosphere seemed convivial. There was no discernible strain between Aviva and the friend who had pulled a gun on her. Either all was forgiven or simply repressed. Perhaps the publicist had suggested a detente and set a cheerful tone. They seemed to have a genius for that.
“I heard from Pete,” Aviva said. “They stopped to eat.”
That didn’t do much for Norah’s nerves—time was too tight for a side trip. “Don’t they know there’s a whole spread here?” she asked.
“Apparently Ted was queasy. Pete wanted to grab a pretzel on the street, but Ted insisted on popping into a Chinese restaurant.”
“For egg foo yong?” Norah said.
“How did you know?”
Norah shrugged. She wasn’t going to get into it. “They’d better get here soon or he won’t have time to get into makeup.”
Norah looked up and saw Simon Janey down the hall, chatting with Kent, the network CEO. Simon was wearing his dark blue pinstriped suit—the one he usually saved for heads of state. His tie was red with a subtle white pattern that made it look pink on camera. It worked on him, but then, everything did.
Simon walked toward her with his usual long, heavy strides. He could be brusque, especially just before airtime, but Norah knew that was focus and intensity, not rudeness.
“He’s on his way, Simon,” she said, anticipating his question.
“It’s getting late.”
She swallowed hard. Despite Aviva’s assurance, she wouldn’t be able to relax until he actually arrived. “We still have time.”
“Not much.”
Didi rounded the corner. “He’s here!” she called. “They’re on their way up.”
Relief. Norah’s eyes watered spontaneously as the reality of her accomplishment threatened to overwhelm her. She coughed to cover the lapse.
“I’ll greet,” she said, because meeting guests at the elevator was one of her usual duties.
“Wait up,” Didi said. “Simon, you need anything?”
He held up his question cards to show that he had it all under control, and Didi and Norah headed for the elevator banks. This was always the moment when the adrenaline started pumping and everything came into hyperfocus. But today it was heightened, like a crazy fever. The clock was ticking. The public was waiting. They would be going live very soon. This interview would save their jobs, and it would make history.
The twenty seconds it took for the elevator to arrive felt like precious time wasted. At last the soft ding heralded its arrival. But when the doors opened, Norah’s blood seemed to stop flowing. Ted was bent over and leaning on Pete, who supported him.
“Lord have mercy,” Didi said.
“Is he drunk?” Norah asked.
“He’s just feeling a little under the weather,” Pete said. “He’ll be fine. Let’s get him some water and a seat.”
They brought Ted into the makeup room and gave him a bottle of water with a straw.
“Can I get you anything else?” Didi asked.
Ted shook his head.
“Sometimes the pain clobbers him hard,” Pete explained. “But it passes. It’s probably a good thing that it’s happening now. He’ll be fine by airtime.”
“That’s less than fifteen minutes from now,” said Norah.
“It’s okay,” Pete said. “He’s coming around.”
“Is that true, sugar?” Didi asked Ted. “Are you coming ’round?”
Ted lifted his face. His eyes were bloodshot and pained. “Coming around,” he said, and sat up straighter.
Kerri, the makeup artist, tucked a tissue into his collar and began applying foundation to his pale skin. She gently pushed his head to the left so she could get his ear, and his eyes rose to meet Norah’s. She could tell he hadn’t known she was in the room until that second, and his expression changed in a way she couldn’t quite pinpoint. He looked sad but also something else. Was he contrite? Norah didn’t think the great and belligerent Ted Shriver could actually feel remorse, but it was hard to assign another emotion to that expression. She pictured the way his face had looked the moment he threw the pages out the window, and it was as if this were a different man entirely.
“Norah,” he said from a place deep in his throat, and it made her nervous. She simply could not tolerate any tenderness from him after what he had done.
“I’ll tell Simon we’re almost ready,” she said, fleeing the room.
A few minutes later she was in the engineer’s booth, watching Simon and Ted get miked, when Marco poked his head in.
“Someone wants to talk to you,” he said.
Norah stepped outside the booth to find Peter Salzberg waiting for her.
“What is it?” she said, and he stared at her eyes without saying a word. Ted was already in the studio, so she couldn’t imagine what this was about. Surely he wasn’t backing out now. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just . . . I have to ask you a personal question.”
Norah sensed that it was something she did not want to hear. “I don’t really have time,” she said, and started to walk away.
He grabbed her arm. “It’s important.”
She closed her eyes for a moment to gather strength and to convince herself that it was probably nothing. “Fine, what is it?”
“Did your mother know Ted?”
She fell back against the wall. “Who told you that?”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
Norah shook her head. She could not let her secret out. “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She was breathing so hard she could barely speak.
“Was your mother’s name April, by any chance?”
She didn’t know where he got his information from, but he had traveled down the wrong path and she wasn’t about to help him find the right one. “Sorry, no. You must have me confused with someone else,” she said, and walked off, but Pete called after her.
“Was it Sherry?” he said.
Norah stopped dead. She turned to face him.
“He dedicated a book to her,” Pete said.
“A book?”
“It’s called Genuine Lies. I think there’s a character based on her.”
Norah grabbed on to the wall. Her legs felt rubbery. “Does he . . . When did you . . .” She was so overwhelmed she couldn’t find the right question to ask first.
“He didn’t tell me it was you, Norah. But I saw the way he looked at you in the makeup room. It’s true, isn’t it? Ted Shriver is your father.”