As usual, it had been a long day. She had done the final interview on a special on abused kids. It wasn't a pretty subject, but she had handled it well. Still, by six o'clock, the day had taken its toll.

Five … the assistant director's fingers went up in the final count … four … three … two … one …

“Good evening.” The practiced smile never looked canned, and the cognac color of her hair gleamed. “This is Melanie Adams, with the evening news.” The President had given a speech, there was a military crisis in Brazil, the stock market had taken a sharp dip, and a local politician had been mugged that morning, in broad daylight, leaving his house. There were other news stories to relate as well, and the show moved along at a good clip, as it always did. She had a look of believable competence about her, which made the ratings soar and seemed to account for her enormous appeal. She was nationally known, and had been for well over five years, not that it was what she had originally planned. She had been a political science major when she dropped out of school to give birth to twins at nineteen. But that seemed a lifetime ago. Television had been her life for years. That, and the twins. There were other pastimes, but her work and her children came first.

She collected the notes on her desk as they went off the air, and as always the director looked pleased. “Nice show, Mel.”

“Thanks.” There was a cool distance about her, which covered what had once been shyness, and was now simply reserve. Too many people were curious about her, wanted to gawk, or ask embarrassing questions, or pry. She was Melanie Adams now, a name that rang a certain magic bell … I know you … I've seen you on the news! … It was strange buying groceries now, or going shopping for a dress, or just walking down the street with her girls. Suddenly people stared, and although outwardly Melanie Adams always seemed in control, deep within it still felt strange to her.

Mel headed toward her office, to take some of the excess makeup off, and pick up her handbag before she left, when the story editor stopped her with a sharp wave. “Can you stop here for a sec, Mel?” He looked harried and distracted, as he always did, and inwardly Mel groaned. “Stopping for a sec” could mean a story that would keep her away from home all night. Normally aside from being the anchor on the evening news she only did the major stories, the big newsbreaks, or the specials. But God only knew what they had in store for her now, and she really wasn't in the mood. She was enough of a pro now that the fatigue rarely showed, but the special on abused kids had left her feeling drained, no matter how alert and alive she still looked, thanks to her makeup.

“Yeah? What's up?”

“I've got something I want you to see.” The story editor pulled out a reel of tape and flicked it into a video machine. “We did this on the one o'clock. I didn't think it was big enough for the evening news, but it could make an interesting follow-up for you.” Mel stared at the video machine as the tape began to roll, and what she saw was an interview with a nine-year-old girl, desperately in need of a heart transplant, but thus far her parents had been unable to get her one. Neighbors had started a special fund for Pattie Lou Jones, an endearing little black girl, and one's heart went out to her at once. And as the interview came to an end, Mel was amost sorry she had seen the film. It was just one more person to hurt for, to care about, and for whom one could do nothing at all. The children in her child-abuse special had made her feel that way too. Why couldn't they give her a good political scandal on the heels of the other piece? She didn't need this heartache again.

“Yes.” She turned tired eyes to the man removing the reel. “So?”

“I just thought it might make an interesting special for you, Mel. Follow her for a while, see what you can set up. What doctors here would be willing to see Pattie Lou.”

“Oh, for chrissake, Jack … Why does that have to fall on me? What am I, some kind of new welfare bureau for kids?” Suddenly she looked tired and annoyed, and the tiny lines beside her eyes were beginning to show. It had been a hell of a long day, and she had left her house at six o'clock that morning.

“Listen”—he looked every bit as tired as she—“this could be a hot piece. We get the station to help Pattie Lou's parents find a doctor for her, we follow her through the transplant. Hell, Mel, this is news.”

She nodded slowly. It was news. But it was ghoulish too. “Have you talked to the family about it?”

“No, but I'm sure they'd be thrilled.”

“You never know. Sometimes people like taking care of their own problems. They might not be so crazy about serving Pattie Lou up to the evening news.”

“Why not? They talked to us today.” Mel nodded again. “Why don't you check out some of the big-wheel heart surgeons tomorrow and see what they say? Some of them like being in the public eye, and then you could call the parents of that kid.”

“I'll see what I can do, Jack. I have to tie up my child-abuse piece.”

“I thought you finished that today.” He scowled instantly.

“I did. But I want to watch them edit some of it at least.”

“Bullshit. That's not your job. Just get to work on this. It'll be a much tougher piece than even the child-abuse thing.” Tougher than burning a two-year-old child with matches? Cutting off a four-year-old's ear? There were still times when the business of news made her sick. “See what you can do, Mel.”

“Okay, Jack. Okay. I'll see what I can do.” … Hello, Doctor, my name is Melanie Adams and I was wondering if you'd like to perform a heart transplant on a nine-year-old girl … possibly for free … and then we could come and watch you do it, and blast you and the little girl all over the news … She walked hurriedly back to her office, with her head down, her mind full, and collided almost instantly with a tall dark-haired man.

“My, don't you look happy today. Being on the news must be fun.” The deep voice, trained long ago as a radio announcer, brought her eyes up from the floor and smiled when she saw her old friend.

“Hi, Grant. What are you doing here at this hour?” Grant Buckley had a talk show that went on every night after the late news, and he was one of the most controversial personalities on the air, but he was deeply fond of Mel, and she considered him one of her closest friends, and had for years.

“I had to come in and check out some tapes I want to use on the show. What about you? It's a little late for you, isn't it, kid?” She was usually gone by then, but the story of Pattie Lou Jones had kept her around for an extra half hour.

“They saved an extra treat for me today. They want me to set up a heart transplant for some kid. The usual, no big deal.” Some of the clouds lifted from her face as she looked into his eyes. He was incredibly bright, a good friend, an attractive man, and women all over the network envied the obvious friendship they shared. They had never been more than just friends, although there were numerous rumors from time to time, but none of them true. They only amused Grant and Mel, as they would talk about it over drinks.

“So what else is new? How'd the special on child abuse go?”

Her eyes were serious as they met his. “It was a killer to do, but it was a good piece.”

“You have a way of picking the heavy ones, kid.”

“Either that, or they pick me, like this heart transplant I'm supposed to arrange.”

“Are you serious?” He had thought she was kidding at first.

“I'm not, but apparently Jack Owens is. You got any bright ideas?”

He frowned for a minute as he thought. “I did a show on that last year, there were some interesting people on. I'll look at my files and check the names. Two of them suddenly come to mind, but there were two more. I'll see, Mel. How soon do you need the stuff?”

She smiled. “Yesterday.”

He ruffled her hair, knowing she wasn't going back on the air. “Want to go out for a hamburger before you go home?”

“I'd better not. I should be getting home to the girls.”

“Those two.” He rolled his eyes, knowing them well. He had three daughters of his own, from three different wives, but none of them twins, or quite as adventurous as Mel's two girls. “What are they up to these days?”

“The usual. Val has been in love four times this week, and Jess is working on straight A's. Their combined efforts are defying all my efforts to remain a redhead, and giving me gray hair.” She had just turned thirty-five, but she looked as though a decade of that had gotten lost somewhere. She looked nowhere near her age, despite the responsibilities she bore, the job which weighed heavily on her at times, but which she loved, and the assorted crises that had come through her life over the years. Grant knew most of them, and she had cried on his shoulder more than once, about a disappointment at work, or a shattered love affair. There hadn't been too many of those, she was cautious about whom she saw, and careful too about keeping her private life out of the public eye, but more than that she was gun-shy about getting involved after being abandoned by the twins' father before they were born. He had told her he hadn't wanted kids, and he had meant every word he said. They had married right out of high school and gone to Columbia at the same time, but when she told him she was pregnant, he didn't want to hear.

“Get rid of it.” His face had been rock hard, and Mel still remembered his tone.

“I won't. It's our child … that's wrong …”

“It's a lot more wrong to screw up our lives.” So instead he had tried to screw up hers. He had gone to Mexico on vacation with another girl, and when he came back he announced that they were divorced. He had forged her signature on the forms, and she was so shocked that she didn't know what to say. Her parents wanted her to fight back, but she didn't think that she could. She was too hurt by what he'd done, and too overwhelmed at the prospect of being alone for the birth of her child … which then turned out to be two. Her parents had helped her for a while, and then she had gone out on her own, struggled to find a job, and done everything she could from secretarial work to door-to-door sales for a vitamin firm. At last she had wound up as a receptionist for a television network, and eventually she had wound up in a pool of secretaries typing up pieces for the news.