“Dynamite. I'd say we're going to be getting a visit from your husband in about four seconds.”

It was two, as he exploded into the studio like a tornado, and was shaking with fury as he strode toward her. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Paul McCutchins is going to put me out of business!” He stood inches from her, and shouted right into her face. Maddy grew pale, but she never made a move backward. She held her ground, although she too was shaking. It terrified her when he, or anyone else, got angry, but this time she thought it was worth it.

“I said a source close to her said there could be an issue of abuse. Hell, Jack, I saw her bruises. She told me he beat her. What conclusion do you draw from that, when she commits suicide a day later? All I did was ask people to think about women who commit suicide. He can't touch us legally. I can testify to what she said to me, if I have to.”

“And you damn well probably will have to. Are you deaf, can't you read? I said no editorials, and I fucking meant it!”

“I'm sorry, Jack. I had to, I owed it to her, and other women in her position.”

“Oh, for chrissake …” He ran a frantic hand through his hair, unable to believe what she'd done to him, and that the studio jocks had let her. They could have cut her off, but they hadn't. They liked what she had said about abused women. And Paul McCutchins had a reputation as a verbally abusive person and employer, and as a younger man, he had gotten into an inordinate amount of bar fights. He was one of the most hated Senators in Washington and had a violent temper that manifested itself often. No one had been anxious to defend him, and it seemed perfectly plausible to them, although Maddy never spelled it out, that he might have abused her. Jack was still storming around the studio shouting at everyone when Rafe Thompson, the producer, came to tell him that Senator McCutchins was on the phone for him. “Shit!” he shouted at his wife, “and how much would you like to bet that he's going to sue me?”

“I'm sorry, Jack,” she said quietly, but without remorse, as the assistant producer came to tell her that the First Lady was calling. They each disappeared to separate phones, to very different conversations. Maddy recognized Phyllis Armstrong's voice instantly, and was filled with trepidation as she listened.

“I'm so proud of you, Madeleine,” the warm voice of the older woman came across the line crisply. “That was a very brave thing you did, and very necessary. It was a wonderful broadcast, Maddy.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Armstrong,” Maddy said, sounding calmer than she felt. She didn't tell her that Jack was enraged about it.

“I've been meaning to call you about the Commission on Violence Against Women. Actually, I asked Jack to tell you about it.”

“He did. I'm very interested in it.”

“Of course, he told me you'd love to do it, but I wanted to hear that from you myself. Our husbands have a way of volunteering us for what we least want to do. Mine is no exception.” Maddy smiled as she listened, and it made her feel better about Jack volunteering her time so freely. He was so often overpowering and so liberal about voicing opinions and decisions for her; sometimes it seemed like a lack of respect to her.

“In this case, he was right. I would love to.”

“I'm glad to hear it. We're meeting for the first time this Friday. At the White House, this time, in my private offices. We'll figure out a more appropriate location later. We're still pretty small, there are only a dozen of us. We're trying to figure out how to make an impact on the public, a real one, about violence committed against women. And I think you just took the first swing for us. Congratulations!”

“Thank you again, Mrs. Armstrong,” Maddy said breathlessly, and she beamed at Greg as she hung up.

“Sounds like you were number one in the Armstrong ratings,” he said proudly. He had loved how she'd done it. It took a lot of courage even if the head of the network was her husband. Now she'd have to go home and live with the fallout. And as everyone knew, Jack Hunter wasn't always a sweetheart, especially when someone crossed him. And Maddy wasn't any more exempt than anyone else.

As Maddy started to tell Greg what Mrs. Armstrong had said, Jack strode over to them with a look of fury. He was in a rage.

“Did you know about this?” Jack shot at Greg, desperate to blame someone, anyone, everyone, he looked as though he wanted to strangle Maddy.

“Not exactly, but close enough. I knew she was going to say something,” Greg said honestly. He wasn't afraid of Jack, and although it was a well-kept secret, and he never said anything to Maddy about it, he didn't like Jack Hunter. He thought he was arrogant and overbearing and he didn't like the way he ran Maddy around, though he didn't comment on it to her. She had enough to deal with, without having to defend her husband.

“You could have stopped her,” Jack accused him, “you could have talked right over her, and ended it before it started.”

“I have too much respect for her to do that, Mr. Hunter. Besides, I agree with what she said. I didn't believe her when she told me about Janet McCutchins on Monday. This was a wake-up call to those of us who don't want to have to think about how desperate some women feel in abusive situations. It happens every day all around us. We just don't want to see it or hear it. But because of who she was married to, Janet McCutchins made us hear her. Maybe if enough people heard Maddy tonight, Janet McCutchins's death will mean something, and help someone. With all due respect, I think Maddy did the right thing.” His voice quavered as he said the last words, and Jack Hunter glared at him.

“I'm sure our sponsors are going to love us if we get sued.”

“Is that what McCutchins said on the phone?” Maddy asked with a look of concern. She wasn't sorry, but she hated causing Jack such distress. But in her mind, it had to be done. She had seen with her own eyes what McCutchins had already done to his wife, and she was willing to testify to it, if she had to. She had taken matters into her own hands on the air, whatever the potential cost to her or the network. To Maddy, it seemed worth it.

“He was making veiled threats, but the veil was very thin. He said he was calling his attorneys as soon as he hung up,” Jack said to her harshly.

“I don't think he'll get too far,” Greg said thoughtfully. “The evidence was apparently pretty damning. And Janet McCutchins spoke directly to Maddy. That should cover our asses.”

“‘Our’ asses, how noble of you, Greg,” Jack snapped at him. “As far as I know, mine is the only one on the line here. It was a goddamn stupid, irresponsible thing to do.” And with that, he stalked across the studio again, and went back upstairs to his own quarters.

“Are you okay?” Greg looked at Maddy with concern, and she nodded at him.

“I knew he'd be upset, but I hope we don't get sued.” She looked worried as she said it. She was hoping that McCutchins wouldn't dare sue them, and risk exposing himself.

“Did you tell him about the call from Phyllis Armstrong?”

“I didn't have time,” she confessed. “I'll tell him when we get home.”

But Maddy went home alone that night. Jack had called his attorneys in to review the tape and discuss it with them, and it was one o'clock in the morning when he got home to Georgetown. Maddy was still awake, but he didn't say a word to her as he walked purposefully across their bedroom to his bathroom.

“How did it go?” she asked cautiously as he turned and glared at her.

“I can't believe you'd do that to me. It was such a fucking stupid thing to do.” He might as well have slapped her. But all Jack did was hit her with angry looks and words. It was obvious that he felt she had betrayed him.

“The First Lady called just after we went off the air, she was very excited about the broadcast, and thought it was a brave thing to do. I'm going on her commission this week,” she said apologetically. She wasn't sure how she was going to make this up to him, but she would have to try now. She didn't want him to hate her over issues that came up at work.

“I already made that decision for you,” he said, looking daggers at her as she mentioned the Commission on Violence Against Women.

“I made it for myself,” she said quietly. “I have a right to do that, Jack.”

“Are you lobbying for women's rights now too, as well as the abused? Do I have an editorial about that to look forward to? Why don't we just get you your own goddamn show, you can talk your head off all day long, and forget the news.”

“If the First Lady liked it, how bad could it be?”

“Pretty goddamn bad, if McCutchins's lawyers say it is.”

“Maybe it'll calm down in a few days,” she said hopefully as he walked slowly toward the bed, and stopped finally, to look down at her in thinly concealed fury. His anger hadn't dissipated or dimmed.

“If you ever do that again, I don't care if you are my wife, I'll fire you on the spot. Is that clear?” She nodded silently, feeling suddenly as though she had not done a good thing, but betrayed him. He had never in their nine years together been as angry at her, and she was wondering if he would ever forgive her for it, particularly if the network got sued.

“I thought it was an important thing to do.”

“I don't give a damn what you think. I don't pay you to think. I pay you to look good and read the news off a TelePrompTer. That's all I want from you.” And with that, he walked into his bathroom, and slammed the door behind him, as she burst into tears in their bedroom. It had been a stressful night for both of them. But in her heart of hearts, she still believed she'd done the right thing, whatever it cost her. And for the moment at least, it looked like it was going to cost her dearly.