Sweet Anger(67)

Kari challenged him back. “Who knew?”

Pinkie’s face split into a broad grin. “He found you!”

She laughed, her happiness spilling over. “Yes, he found me.” She wrapped her arms around her waist as though trying to contain the joy inside. “And he’s wonderful and we’re madly, deliriously, ridiculously, recklessly, hopelessly in love.”

“Hot damn,” Bonnie said, slapping the tabletop. “I knew it.”

“You knew it?” Pinkie countered. “Remember, I’m the one who sent him up there after her.”

“Well, whoever was responsible, the two of you or my guardian angel, I’m grateful. He’s … oh, he’s …”

“I think we get the point,” Pinkie said dryly. He never wanted to be accused of being a softy, though his eyes were suspiciously damp. He was gripping Bonnie’s hand beneath the table. To see Kari happy again meant the world to him. “I’m real happy for you, sweetheart. Where is this paragon of masculinity now?”

“He wanted to come over with me but had to go to his office. He said his desk would be piled high.” She gazed down into the coffee Bonnie had poured for her, which so far had gone untasted. “Speaking of which, do I still have a desk? That’s why I came here instead of waiting to catch you at work. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself.”

Pinkie sipped his coffee. Bonnie diplomatically excused herself to go finish dressing. “What makes you think you might not have a desk? Management didn’t fire you. I’m still news director. Or I was as of last Friday evening when I left for the weekend. I still have the power to hire and fire.”

“But I’ve seen Smiling Sally on the set every night. And last time we spoke you said the city hall beat had been given to someone else. Not that I want it back,” she added quickly. “I think I’d find it harder than ever to be objective about our D.A.” She flashed him a brilliant smile. Then her face became grave again. “Do I have a job, Pinkie?”

He sat back in the bentwood chair, which was too small for his barrel-shaped torso. “I’ve been giving an idea some thought. Let me bounce it off you.”

“I’m listening.” Though she didn’t want to appear too eager, her heart had begun to pound. This would be the moment of truth. Would Pinkie trust her enough to give her another responsible position, a position worthy of her talent and experience? Or would she be given an assignment so insignificant that she’d be forced to resign?

He drew on his cigarette and squinted his eyes against the smoke. “Your strong point has always been the human way you approach a story. Whether you’re giving a movie review or dissecting the D.A., you talk to the viewers as though you were chatting across the fence to your next-door neighbors. Your dialogue is natural and unaffected. No fancy stuff. They like that. It makes you a real person to them. I’m not talking about just credibility like a Cronkite or Brinkley has. You’re where the viewers are at. You’re real.

“So, what I was thinking of doing,” he continued on a deep breath, “was to turn you loose, give you no specific beat, but let you do human interest stories. The real gut-grippers. For instance if there’s a disaster, we report the disaster in the regular line up, but you do a human factor story that focuses on the people involved. Get my drift?”

She was already getting excited and it showed. “Yes, yes. I like it, Pinkie. I really do.”

“All right, now listen up. Management is gonna be watching you with magnifying glasses. I don’t have to tell you that you’ve got some fences to mend. Tread softly for the first few weeks.”

“I will. I promise.”

He saw her eager face, her shining eyes, and cursed. “I wish I could believe that. Hell, Kari, you’ve never treaded softly in your whole life.”

* * *

The intercom buzzed.

“Damn!”

Hunter was up to his ears in paperwork and mail that needed his attention. All the details his secretary couldn’t handle in his absence were waiting for him to attend to. He wanted to get finished with it so he wouldn’t have to stay late. He planned to spend the evening with Kari.

“I asked not to be disturbed unless it was absolutely necessary,” he said into the box.

“I’m sorry, but Mrs. McKee is here.”

Hunter was momentarily taken aback. His first thought was that his mother had come to see him. But that was unlikely, as she rarely traveled from home without his father. If they were planning to visit, they would have called ahead of time. There was only one other Mrs. McKee it could be.