I squint at him, studying the beads of sweat on his forehead. He’s pulling out the Ace now, it’s peeking from his sleeve. He knows that I want that move to New York. He doesn’t have to offer me anything, actually, the contract binds me to this position change without my consent and without padding to make it more comfortable. I know he’s trying to appease me, lessen the impact my move will have on the newsroom. "You make an addendum to my contract saying that I get the anchor when Reeves retires, even if it’s before this contract expires, and I’ll make it easy for you."

He knows exactly what I’m saying. I’ll go because I have to but I can walk in silently and pretend it’s the promotion he claims it to be or I can go screaming and yelling like it’s the demotion I know it is. The choice is up to him. The image of the station could depend on it.

"What if Reeves hangs on another year?"

"Then we renegotiate my contract with the New York anchor still intact and a clause that lets me leave anytime it comes available." It’s a good deal and I know it. It secures me the coveted position I’ve wanted for years and also makes sure I stay on here, my second choice market, until that anchor is available.

Slowly, very slowly, he nods. "I’ll have the attorneys draw it up."

"So I work for Tabloid now?" I ask carefully. His answer to this next question will mean a lot to me.

"Ah, no, not exactly. More like partners. She’s camera crew and live director. You still work for me. Tonight’s your last newscast."

"Grand," I answer shortly and turn to grasp the doorknob in my hand. I’m doing a great job of controlling my temper and we both know it. Silently I ask for permission to leave with a raised eyebrow and he grants it, nodding his head. I decide an early lunch is in order and walk right out the front door.


* * *

Her arms are tight around me as we ride up in front of my new station. I pull my Harley-Davidson FLTSF Fat Boy up onto the sidewalk, creating my own parking space. I need to talk to the station manager about getting an assigned one right by the entrance. No way in hell do I leave my baby out in some parking lot. All six hundred and sixty-six pounds of pure white heat need to be readily available to me at all times. And far away from drivers of foreign automobiles who think nothing of crashing their door into my ride.

As I turn off the engine and free my head of the brain bucket, the girl behind me continues exploring my upper body, as she has all during the ride here. I try to remember her name, but it still escapes me as it has all morning. I shrug my mental shoulders. Doesn’t matter really. It’s not like I’m gonna be sending her a Christmas card or anything like that.

I hang the helmet off the handlebars and reach around for hers. As soon as the buffer is removed, she lunges for me again. God, she acts like she’s never been laid before. Not well, at least.

I spin around on the seat, facing her, admiring the full lips and generous breasts that caused me to pick her last night at the bar. I lick my lips and capture hers. She tastes good, like peppermint, and I realize she must have had a breath mint on the drive over. My tongue dives into her mouth again and again, intent on capturing all of that taste for myself.

I feel her moan against my lips and her breathing hitches. I bet I can take her right here, right now and not even have to use my hands. Never one to turn down a challenge, especially one issued by myself, I grasp her hips firmly and pull her toward me. Her knees are splayed wide as they encounter my legs and she is rocking on the seat, desperate for contact. I feel her smaller hands slide over my back, my neck, my hair, as she clutches me, seeking relief.

I reach down and pull both of her legs over mine and tug her forward. She’s straddling me now, moaning as the pressure of my stomach begins to provide some of the relief she’s sought. It’s still not enough to get her off, I realize, so I grasp her ass cheeks and pull her closer still, grinding her against me.

She’s getting close now. We trade long, moist kisses, tongues sliding against each other, matching the rhythm of her body against mine. I can feel her wetness through her cotton pants and against my T-shirt. She’s deliberately rubbing herself against my navel ring, using it to get off. Each time she scrapes against it, nice little tremors go through my body as well. Nothing much, but pleasant nonetheless.

I need to bring this gig to a close and get in to my new job. I also need to have pity on the audience we seem to have attracted. One guy in a suit is practically saluting us with his lower member as he watches, several other men are twitching nervously nearby. There are a few women on the periphery as well, each looking a bit flushed, wondering what this is like. The straight women are enjoying the show, thinking about how their husbands and boyfriends have never made them feel like I’m making this girl feel. And I prove that to them right now.

I pull my date tight against me and lift my body up off the seat, being sure to rake the ring across her sensitive spot with just the right amount of pressure. She goes off, and I feel her body succumb to the tremors, and I kiss her long and hard, claiming her in every way.

Sated, she nestles against my chest, breathing deeply, kissing my neck and jaw. I lick her earlobe. "Feel good, darlin’?" I ask, allowing my Louisiana accent to peek through, knowing how much women like Southern accents.

"Harper … god … yes."

I smile. It’s gonna be a good day. I glance around at the crowd, and wouldn’t be surprised if we got applause. You gotta go to clubs with expensive cover charges to see what we’ve just provided for free.

"Come on, I need to start my day." I wrap my hands around her waist and lift her up and off the Fat Boy. I follow her, swinging my leg over the long body of the bike. She staggers, still weak, and I steady her. Over her shoulder, I see what I am looking for.

I whistle, one of those piercing whistles my brothers taught me growing up. It’s the same one dad used to call us home in the evening. We could hear that shrill sound wherever we were in the neighborhood. A cab immediately pulls over to the sidewalk and I open the door for my date.

She grabs the lapels of my leather jacket and rubs her breasts against mine sensuously. "Please call me."

"Sure, baby," I promise. I lie. I can’t even remember her name, but I did enjoy her company. To distract her from my obvious lack of sincerity, I kiss her again. Once she is safely inside the confines of the car, I close the door and walk away.

My audience is still there. I recognize one of the women immediately, now that my focus isn’t otherwise distracted. Kelsey Stanton, the hot, young anchor for the network is staring at me, looking like a pickled fish. Obviously, she thinks I’m a cad of first order. I stand still for a long moment, taking her in. She’s shorter than I expected, but, damn, if the proportions aren’t all right. I wouldn’t mind giving her a ride on my bike. I might even use my hands, just to enjoy the feel of her. Knowing it will infuriate her, I smile and wink at her. I can’t believe she’s straight. Doesn’t seem right.

Time to go in and greet my new boss.

As I walk down the very staid halls of a network television station, I have to chuckle at what brought me, a tabloid camerawoman, here.

My phone started ringing off the hook with job offers the morning after I gave away my best penlight. The cops insisted it be kept as evidence, pissing me off entirely. It’s not like it was worth a lot, it was more the principle of the matter. I figure, if I disarm a nutjob, I should be able to keep the penlight as a souvenir. Now some crappy pissant evidence clerk will steal it and auction it off on e-bay, earning a bundle.

The first message that interested me was from KNBC, the Los Angeles NBC affiliate. Ronald Chambers, Division Chief, personally called me and asked me to come work for their news division. Needless to say, I was surprised to get such a respectable offer. I had always been told that a stint with True TV would successfully derail my career.

We met at a hotel bar in downtown LA for the interview. I figured he didn’t want me coming anywhere near the station and upsetting his precious employees. Like Kelsey Stanton, for instance. Gary told me last week at the bar that she despises our kind. Of course she would, our ratings kick her ass week in and week out.

Chambers told me what they needed: good camera work by someone not afraid to go after the story. He feels like his reporters have become too soft, too used to using their prestige rather than their gut in getting at the truth. I am supposed to "get out there and mix it up" or some other lame ass expression Chambers used. All he’s asking for is a taste of tabloid for the upright citizens who watch KNBC.

I can provide that.

As part of the deal, I insisted that my crew come along – Jimmy, my assistant, and Conrad, my editor. Best damn crew in the business, that’s us. And now we belong to Chambers. Hell, for the salary he gave me, I’d belong to just about anyone.

And the best part is: he promised me Kelsey Stanton.

Straight, my ass.

<fade out>


Coming next week to a computer near you …

Must Read TV

Exposure

Episode Four



Next week on Must Read TV …

I chuckle. "No. Pero soy mejor que un policia." I'm better than a cop. I can bring the whole damn world on someone with just the right camera angle. Which is exactly what I’m going to do with this bastard. For Cristina. And all the other kids who get used and abused by adults with guns.