Jackie Rose

Dueling Duo By Jackie Rose

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dueling Duo - Tarot: Ten of Swords Copyright © 2005 Jackie Rose Cover art and design by Martine Jardin All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2005 Look for us online at: www.zumayapublications.com www.Extasybooks.com

Dedication: To all of the Sunday morning and weekday evening TV talk show shouters who keep us entertained, if not always enlightened. Long may they rave (and rant) at each other.

Tarot Card: Ten of Swords Illustrated by a man with ten swords in his back, the Ten of Swords stands for melodramatic misfortune. The bright side is—well, there IS no bright side. Whatever happens can only mean that everything is going to rack and ruin. But if you can keep a sense of humor about it, you just might see the absurdity in the situation and all those misfortunes you used to get so melodramatic about.

Jackie Rose

Thirty seconds after she had thrown her Styrofoam cup of water in his face, the ratings topped 'The Capital Gang'. If it had been hot coffee, the producer realized with some regret, they would have outdone even 'The O’Reilly Factor'. But the cold water was good enough, especially since the cameraman had had the presence of mind to zoom in immediately on Buck Patrick’s beefy face. It was turning even redder than usual beneath his receding dark hairline as he leapt to his feet. The camera then pulled back only far enough to show Cassandra Bailey trying to dab the water off his soaked shirt collar while he pushed her hands angrily away. Even better, the producer realized, the issue that had caused the uproar had not been one that would normally be described as 'hot'. On the contrary, using federal tax money to fight oak-tree disease had been added to the schedule at the last moment, after the Right to Rob advocate had cancelled. Somehow, though, Buck’s sneering that he was not boo-hoohooing over the plight of the lumber industry drove her into a rage. “You don’t really care about anyone’s problems, do you?” she had shouted. Then she had thrown the water before he had a chance to reply. 1

Dueling Duo

For the next two minutes, the national audience was treated to total silence as a makeup artist ran onto the set with a paper towel and dabbed at Buck Patrick’s face, while both men ignored Cassandra Bailey’s efforts to help. The studio spectators, by contrast, were equally divided between cheering, booing and gasps of disbelief, leading to a few shouting and shoving matches in the audience. Fortunately for everyone involved, that was the end of the program. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Cassandra told the producer the moment the camera was off. “She ought to be sorry!” Buck snarled. “You’re both lucky I don’t sue for assault.” The producer did not seem to have heard them. “Great show, kids,” he said. And good thing it’s a live show, he assured himself silently, because I could probably never persuade her to throw the water again, let alone to use hot black coffee instead. As it was, he realized with satisfaction, the security guards would be hard-pressed to keep the studio audience from breaking into fistfights in the lobby. Now, that’s what he called live television! Actually, as he assured himself, he had probably suspected that this confrontation was coming. Still officially called 'Words from Washington', the show was now known far and wide as 'The Dueling Duo'. Back in the 'Words from Washington' days, the show had not been known beyond the offices of the political aides who made it their business to keep aware of who was saying what on TV and who were 2

Jackie Rose

apparently immune to boredom. In those dear but very dead days, as the producer recalled, Cassandra Bailey and her guest of the week had uttered the 'Words' without fear of contradiction. Unlike her namesake of Trojan War fame, her problem was not that people refused to believe her, but rather that they never seemed to care. She was attractive enough, certainly, to warrant attention. Combining the angular blond beauty of Ann Coulter, the warmth and compassion of Eleanor Clift and the sharp intellect of Greta van Susteran, she was abundantly suited for the job. Her perpetual red linen blazer convinced the audience that she was a professional TV newswoman, because that’s what professional TV newswomen wore. She also displayed a professional, courteous manner to go with it. That might have been the problem. She had discussed plural marriage with the head of the Pro-Polygamy Party in a restrained, reasonable way that was guaranteed not to leave anyone screaming at the TV set. Or awake, for that matter. “Now, you know that many people disagree with your views,” she had said, as she always did when starting an interview. Then she had let the spokespolygamist actually speak for five minutes, without interrupting him, turning off his microphone, shouting him into silence or finding some other way of sticking a knife in his back. It was enough to make any producer wonder if she really was cut out for TV. That’s when he had decided that a change had to 3

Dueling Duo

be made. My God, the woman had made polygamy boring, he had realized, almost with awe. She could have Osama bin Laden as her special guest and people would be switching to Tim Gessert and the Boston police chief. And he had just realized what the change should be. By coincidence, on that very Sunday morning, he had heard Buck Patrick interviewing another propolygamy spokesperson on his radio show. “You call it plural marriage?” he had roared. “Well, I’ve got news for those bimbos of yours. One of them is married to you—the others are just your bimbos and too dumb to know it. I’m not boo-hoohooing over their problems anyway, if they are stupid enough to marry a man who tells them that he’s got another wife—and other wives, yet! But you are committing a crime, friend, so you should still be behind bars.” He was so obviously passionate about the subject, it was hard to remember that, a few mornings ago, he had been just as bitter in denouncing a prosecutor who went after polygamy cases. “Haven’t you got anything better to spend the taxpayers’ money on?” Buck had demanded. “People are killing each other— shouldn’t you go after them, instead of some guy who convinces a couple of women to marry him? How is that anyone else’s business, anyway?” Both spokespeople had one thing in common. Neither one was allowed to answer him. He had only shouted louder if they tried. In this way, he might 4

Jackie Rose

have had the distinction of being the only radio commentator to attract death threats from all sides of every issue. Well, not every issue, perhaps. On one memorable occasion, he did agree with a guest who was all in favor of raising veterans’ benefits. But that was mostly because Buck happened to be a Marine veteran himself, who had gone through college on the GI Bill of Rights. The only people who liked him—loved, in fact— were his fanatical followers—the Patrick Pack. They always called in to show their support for whatever position he was taking at the moment. In their honor, he had changed the program name from 'Tough Talk' to 'The Patrick Pack'. The producer had therefore made up his mind by the time he reached the TV studio. There, he was sure, Cassandra was performing the all-but-incredible feat of boring the audience while interviewing a psychologist who said that everyone should go around naked for a year, to make them more open, honest and trusting. No doubt, Cassandra would inform him that many people disagreed. Well, with the new format he was planning, boredom was not likely to be a problem, the producer had assured himself. Buck Patrick, he had felt sure, would have interrupted the explanation by punching the pervert in the nose—or, alternatively, roaring that he was not going to boo-hoo-hoo over people who paid nutty psychiatrists to write their crazy books. Cassandra had managed to make mandatory nudity 5

Dueling Duo

sound slightly less controversial than a vegetarian diet. **** Naturally, his leading lady had not agreed with his plans for a change. In fact, she had instantly been wary when he cornered her in the dressing room to say, “Great show, Cassandra.” “Well, it was certainly an informative one,” she had answered warily, knowing from last week’s rating report that very few people had tuned in to be informed. “It was great!” he had exclaimed, clasping his pudgy hands together. “There’s just one little thing…” At those fatal words, she had paused in the midst of removing her makeup, with her jar of Albolene cream in one hand and her Kleenex box in the other. “How little?” she had asked suspiciously, fixing him with her wide blue eyes (made as wide and blue as the sky itself by the eye shadow surrounding them). “I’m just thinking out loud now,” he had said, thus making her clutch the box even more tightly. “But what if you had a co-host? Someone you could work off of, so to speak.” Her thin lips had grown into a hard, sharp line beneath the coral gloss that was meant to make them seem as soft and generous as Laurie Dhue’s mouth, over at Fox TV. 6

Jackie Rose

“Did you have anyone in mind?” As though the thought had just struck him, he had snapped his manicured fingers and exclaimed, “Have you heard Buck Patrick on the radio?” For a moment, she had not known what that radio rabble-rouser could possibly have to do with the conversation. Then her mouth had fallen open as she was left, for once, speechless. “Buck Patrick?” she had shrieked. “That radio goon who does ‘The Patrick Pack?’ You want him to co-chair with me?” From her tone, he might as well have suggested her co-hosting with the al Jazeera bureau chief. “This is a responsible show!” “Well, we’d still be responsible, as long as we had you,” he had assured her. “They all know that you have a journalism master’s degree from Columbia University, and they all respect that. I am sure that Patrick will feel the same way.” “Buck Patrick!” she had snarled, with her lips now grown so thin, you could not have forced a lapel microphone through them. “He does not respect anything at all.” “But I know you will give him a fair try,” he had said. “You try so hard to be fair with everyone.” For the moment, she had found it hard to even be fair with her producer. He was, as she had realized, only trying to boost her program in the ratings, so that it would rise above, say, the infomercials for exercise machines. That was one reason why she accepted his suggestion, of dinner for three at the Da Vinci Cafe. 7

Dueling Duo

She did not tell him her other reason for being so agreeable. She was rapidly reaching the Big Four-Oh, a fatal time for TV newswomen (as opposed to her male colleagues, some of whom had covered the Kennedy-Nixon campaign). He could easily replace her with any one of the legion of twentysomethings who were waiting eagerly in the wings, with their own shoulder-length blond tresses, red linen blazers and journalism degrees. Each and every one of them, as she knew very well, would have been perfectly happy to cohost with Satan. **** The producer had chosen that particular restaurant for three good reasons, as he had told her. First, it was conveniently close to her condo in McLean, right on Route 123, near the McLean-Vienna border. It was also a watering (and also champagne-ing) hole for the Washington celebrities who lived in the same stylish suburbs, so that she was unlikely to attract undue attention there. They told each other where to find it, behind its lace curtains in Glyndon Plaza across Glyndon Street from the Giant supermarket and CVS Pharmacy. The third reason, he had kept to himself. In that intimate but elegant setting, he had realized, not even Cassandra Bailey and Buck Patrick were likely to start screaming at each other. He wanted them to save their shouting matches for the show. 8

Jackie Rose

Even in that soothing atmosphere, she could almost have been forgiven for attacking Patrick when he arrived. He had come almost a half hour late, after she and her producer had almost finished a bottle of characteristically fine Zinfandel. But it would have been very hard to stay angry when owners Enrico and Ibram were as charming and attentive as usual. “Now your friend is here, lovely Cassandra,” Ibram had said, while Enrico had bustled off looking for a waiter. Even Buck Patrick had felt compelled to exchange his trademark scowl for an appreciative smile. “It looks like a nice place,” he had said, looking around appreciatively at the gilt-framed French Impressionist prints. “Don’t let your listeners hear you,” she had answered, with a thin smile. “They’ll think you have lost your touch. I mean, they don’t often hear you saying a good word for anything or anyone.” **** She had meant it to sound like a joke, but it had not come out that way. He was the one who had managed to take a humorous tone, by saying, “Well, I don’t often get invited to such a nice place. Is the food good, too?” “The food is terrific,” Cassandra had assured him. “And I’m Cassandra Bailey, by the way.” She had half risen over the table, avoiding the white candle and fresh tea roses, to shake his beefy hand. 9

Dueling Duo

“And you are even lovelier than you look on TV,” he had answered, perhaps under Ibram’s influence. The producer had beamed, feeling that the evening was worth the cost—which was, in fact, relatively modest for such a fine place. “This place is very well known,” she had remarked. “President O’Neill often came here, while he was still a senator.” At that, she had the satisfaction of seeing his familiar scowl. She had not meant to do it, she assured herself, but she had made his good mood vanish at the sound of the president’s name. Too late, she had remembered that Buck Patrick hated Felix O’Neill, almost as bitterly as he detested Bill Clinton and both Georges Bush. Buck Patrick had never met a president he didn’t hate, on the radio, at least. “That’s the only thing he’s ever done that made any sense,” he had growled, while pouring himself a full glass of wine before the waiter could reach their table to do it for him. Desperately, she had cast around for the least controversial presidential policy—or, at least, the one that he was least likely to have howled about on the air. “I liked his federal welfare-to-work bill,” she had said, unfolding her linen napkin and tossing it into her lap with a surprisingly abrupt snap. Surely, she had thought, not even he could disagree with that admirable concept. His angry glare had told her she was wrong. 10

Jackie Rose

“That’s what they call it,” he had snapped. “But it’s just another way to convince welfare mothers to have more babies, so they’ll always have one under two years old and won’t have to work a day. I’m not boohoo-hooing about them.” “What should we do, then?” She had demanded, with her best display of polite interest. “Should we just let the babies starve?” “That’s what some people say, when they don’t want to be bothered with having their own kids even when they have plenty of money to support them. If those folks have to pay more taxes, I’m not boo-hoohooing for them.” If he says that one more time, I am going to start boo-hoo-hooing myself, she had decided. Bravely, she had gone on, “Then you think people should have to have babies, just as long as they can afford them?” “Why?” he demanded angrily. “So that more children can be neglected? I’m not boo-hoo-hooing over bad parents, either.” He himself had declined to create any neglected children with any of his four wives, as Cassandra realized with some annoyance. She herself at least had the excuse of never have been married. She had been about to tell him so, too, when, fortunately the mussels in garlic butter sauce had arrived. Buck soon began digging in with a gusto that showed that, as far as the food was concerned, he had finally found nothing to criticize. Cassandra had winced at his table manners, but had been glad that at least she could finally stop hearing about all the 11

Dueling Duo

people he was not boo-hoo-hooing about. As she had daintily dug her own mussels from their shells, she had looked down at the white linen tablecloth, ashamed of the way she had let him bait her. For the first time, she had wondered if the producer would blame her for the obvious personality clash, and let Buck do the entire show without her. But there was no cause to worry, as she had soon realized. The producer was practically rubbing his hands over his onion soup au gratin. “That’s great stuff!” he had assured them. “Every point of view on every issue. Just do the same thing on the air!” And be sure to stay angry at each other, too, he had added to himself. The viewers won’t be able to stop watching you, any more than those people around us can. The difference is, the TV audience won’t have to try to hide it. In keeping with the newer, livelier format, “Words from Washington” would now have two guests in every half-hour segment, representing both sides of some current issue, plus a studio audience asking questions of them both. The discussions had grown shorter and shorter as the advertisers kept coming on board, claiming more and more time. No matter who the opposing guests had been, Buck Patrick had unfailingly managed to argue with them both, until his face grew so red that his blueand-white striped tie seemed to be strangling him slowly. Cassandra Bailey, in turn, had valiantly tried to defend both guests, while she grew angrier at her 12

Jackie Rose

partner in response. Her voice had soared higher and higher in order to be heard over his constant interruption. Her hands, which had once remained folded demurely in her lap, now wildly stabbed the air, strongly suggesting that she would much rather have been slicing through his windpipe. For their first televised encounter, the topic had been President O’Neill’s first five months in office. That was not the kind of landmark that the first, say, half-year would have been, but the producer had felt sure it would bring out the worst in both contestants—or the best, from his point of view. First up, President O’Neill’s spokesperson had gamely tried to defend his leader’s stand against stricter libel laws. He had done it against his own selfish interests, the earnest young man had insisted. After all, he himself had been mercilessly ridiculed in an erotic fantasy novel that showed him owing his election to a vampire voting block, which had shown its teeth (or, rather, fangs) with the motto, 'I’m Undead—and I Vote'. “But that was an obvious parody of O’Neill and all those other liberals sucking up to minority groups,” Buck had shouted. His violent burst of anger had startled even their guest, who was a hardened veteran of 'The O’Reilly Factor' and Bill O’Reilly’s battle cry: “You’re spinning!” With a sideways glower at his adversary, Patrick had added, “And the part about the vampire girlfriend—his interred intern—that was pointing out his little habit of banging anything that doesn’t bite.” 13

Dueling Duo

“Or does bite, if she’s a vampire,” Cassandra had murmured. Ignoring this effort at humor, he had plowed furiously on, like the harnessed bull he resembled. “Anyway, the Supreme Court has ruled that an obvious parody is not libel, in the Capital Steps case. Even Judge Souter ruled for the defense, and one of their songs had made fun of him. “And besides, O’Neill asked for it when he ran for president. Other people just want to be left alone, and I am not boo-hoo-hooing for the muckrakers and smut peddlers who will ruin their lives for a buck.” Resolutely, he had ignored his blond adversary, whose voice rose higher and higher as she started saying, again and again, in a desperate bid to be heard, “But not every parody is that obvious.” If that encounter had encouraged the anti-libel attorney who followed the presidential spokesperson, it proved to be a vain hope indeed. This time, Buck Patrick announced that was not boo-hoo-hooing for people who did things that invited public shame. And this time, his adversary had not even gotten beyond the words, “But don’t people have a right to a private—“ before he was so rudely interrupted. The show had invariably ended with both co-hosts stamping off to their dressing rooms, ignoring the producer’s happy assurance that it had been, as always, “a great show, kids!” ****

14

Jackie Rose

For the first four months, however, the two fortysomething kids had stopped short of physical violence until the fatal oak-disease debate, which had ended when she threw the water in his face. Still appalled at what she had done, Cassandra gazed into the studio audience as the camera lights went off. The security guards were still trying to break up the heated debates or at least move them out into the lobby, where the spectators had already taken the co-stars’ framed photos from their display stands and thrown them onto the floor. “I should go out and try to calm them down,” she said. “You would only get them angrier,” the producer assured her, as though it had been the highest complement. So instead she raced backstage as fast as her stiletto heels could carry her, following Buck Patrick as he strode angrily to his dressing room. As he tried to slam the door behind him, she pushed through just in time. “Will you please get out of here?” he demanded, thrusting one ham-like hand towards the door as the other hand seized a fistful of Kleenex from the box on his makeup table. “I wanted to say how sorry I was,” she answered, as she pulled out another clump of tissues and started dabbing helplessly at his tie. Realizing that the blueon-blue striped fabric was pure silk and therefore ruined completely, she added, “I will be glad to pay for your tie, of course.” “This was from Brooks Brothers,” he told her. “It 15

Dueling Duo

cost fifty dollars. But you can afford it, can’t you, with the money they pay you to argue with men on TV.” At that, she pulled back from him and hurled the Kleenex into the trashcan. “Argue with men?” she gasped, almost too angry to speak. “Is that your whole problem? You don’t think women should argue with men, no matter what the men are saying? Is that why you are always attacking everyone I try to defend?” “I attack everyone!” he roared down at her. “And I do it damned well, too. How do you think I can afford fifty-dollar ties, along with all the alimony I pay? But no, I am not boo-hoo-hooing about women who earn a living by putting men down.” “Putting you down?” she squeaked, barely able to be heard, even though she was staring straight up into his face. He glared down in return, with his arms folded across his burly chest. “Any time I disagree with you, I am putting you down?” “Well, you do defend everyone I am attacking.” “But you just said it, you attack everyone!” “You still don’t have to defend them all.” Even in her righteous anger, she was glad that she had used the dissolving Listerine Fresh Burst breath strips that always gave her extra confidence before every show. She did not mind at all, in contrast, that he smelled faintly of beer: Men were supposed to smell that way, even if they didn’t look down on women. From his height of six feet plus, Buck Patrick looked down on almost everyone, anyway. As she leaned forward even closer to answer, her 16

Jackie Rose

face brushed his soaking shirt and tie. “You’ll catch your death of cold,” she muttered, and started fumbling at the knot. He slapped her hands away. “You’d like it if that happened, wouldn’t you?” he snarled. “Then I couldn’t talk at all.” When she ignored him and went on pulling at his tie knot, he retaliated by grabbing one of her brass jacket buttons in both hands. “How would you like it if it did this?” he demanded, as his thick fingers struggled to force it open. He succeeded only in feeling the soft white silk blouse beneath the red blazer, the lightly padded bra beneath them both and the firm flesh rising above the underwiring. Her bosom was now heaving in indignation beneath it. For answer, she pulled even more forcefully at his tie knot. He retaliated by jerking at her top blazer button until he finally forced it open After that, he easily pulled the other two buttons open. She stared at him in amazement, almost as stunned at his actions as he was himself, while he jerked the jacket off her shoulders and tossed it to the floor. Using one thick finger to hold her at bay, he backed towards the door and locked it behind him. **** Then he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips against hers, tasting the creamy gloss. For a moment, she struggled to free herself by beating her hands 17

Dueling Duo

against his burly chest, but his powerful arms remained locked around her. Her arms spread wide to encircle his broad back as he lifted her up and carried her to the tan vinyl sofa. In one unbroken gesture, he placed her on her back. With her arms still around him, she closed her eyes in rapture as he raised her black linen skirt to her waist. She kicked off her pumps, seconds before he jerked her panty hose down to her ankles and pulled them off her feet. She is a natural blond, he thought, looking down at her tight tangle of public hair. Somehow I always knew it. Then it was her turn to fumble desperately at his fly until she had pulled the zipper down. Taking his organ into her hand, she fondled and caressed it until it was thick and hard. He thrust his middle finger into her vagina, which grew warmer and moister every time he rapidly circled its vault. She gasped and writhed in response. Her knees rose to surround his thighs, pulling him into her even more deeply. She thrust herself up towards him, as her inner muscles started to constrict and release, following the rhythm of his finger. When he finally removed his finger, her own hand surrounded his penis and guided it towards her. Then her body was giving him its own sure welcome as her vagina closed and opened, closed and opened around him. Their motions became ever faster and more frenzied, until they carried them to the climax that would have left her screaming for everyone in the studio to hear, if his lips had not 18

Jackie Rose

silenced her. Still panting, he stepped back and fastened his trousers again, as he gazed down at her. “What did we do?” she gasped, with her skirt still bunched around her waist. “I think that’s pretty obvious,” he answered, as he jerked up his pants. “But why?” she asked, as she finally sat up, tugging her skirt back down. And he, who was famed for responding to questions so rapidly, had to think carefully about that one. “It was all our arguing that did it,” he finally decided, “and you finally getting angry enough to throw the water at me. That turned me on. Anyway, it won’t happen again.” “I should hope not,” she agreed, as she bent down to search for her panty hose on the floor. He almost forgot his vow, at the sight of her leaning over that way, with her backbone outlined beneath the white silk shirt, and her blond hair spilling over it. He did not realize that she had the same reaction to the sight of him looming over her, with his arms crossed over his burly chest beneath his sky-blue pinstriped shirt. “The thing we have to do,” she said, “is to stay calm and not get carried away.” As she said so, she started pulling on her panty hose again, making him wonder if he could even keep his resolution for the next fifteen minutes. He quickly turned his head away, as he felt his face flame even more hotly than it had on TV when he had debated the creep who 19

Dueling Duo

wanted to marry his first cousin. As Buck Patrick searched for something to look at other than Cassandra Bailey, his eye fell on the autographed photos that adorned his wall. They composed a galaxy of the political stars whom he had interviewed. The president’s photo stood in the center, like the sun, so that all the senators, lobbyists and department chiefs seemed to rotate around it. Buck Patrick found himself glaring, as always, at the hateful boyish grin that seemed permanently plastered to the president’s blue-eyed, dark-haired black-Irishman’s face. The Irish charm was the one ethnic stereotype that he himself had been completely unable to master on his own behalf, even though he could trace his own ancestry back to the Potato Famine. President Felix O’Neill, on the other hand, had obviously not only kissed the Blarney Stone, he had bitten off a chunk. Resolutely, Buck turned his face away from the POTUS as he fastened his trousers. He found himself facing some congresswoman or other, who had once gone on his show to explain why she was supporting Felix O’Neill. Which, he thought, was about what you could expect from any woman, even a congresswoman, and, yes, even a female journalist. They all obviously thought with their clitorises. (Or should that be clitorices or clitori, he wondered briefly, ever the newsman at heart.) But he was still the man in the case, as he reminded himself, and therefore he was supposed to do the 20

Jackie Rose

right thing. “Let’s go out and get dinner,” he mumbled. “You don’t have to take me to a restaurant, as though we were going on a date,” she assured him, as he watched her smooth her skirt across her flat stomach and curved hips. “I know I don’t have to take you out,” he said, feeling himself turn red again. “I want to take you out.” “Just like we were lovers?” she demanded. “But we are not personally involved, as I thought we just agreed.” “All right, fine!” he snarled, barely able to keep his voice from rising to a shout. “I just thought you might feel embarrassed.” “About what!” she demanded, her blue eyes flashing dangerously. “We agreed that it is something that just happened. I don’t have to feel ashamed of it, any more than you do. And I can afford my own dinner, thank you.” “All right, have it your way! I’m not boo-hoohooing about a woman who makes love with a man and then is too proud to let him take her to dinner.” “There was no love in it!” she all but shouted. “And don’t start that awful boo-hoo-hooing stuff with me.” “Boo-hoo-HOO!” was all he could think of to say, as he slammed out of the dressing room, making the thin plywood door rattle behind him. **** 21

Dueling Duo

For a moment, she actually thought of running after him to apologize. She really would have enjoyed going out with him, say to the Da Vinci Cafe. But then, she realized, they really would have seemed too much like lovers, going out on a date. She could not afford to give the public that false impression of them. **** Her producer, on the other hand, had gotten just the right impression. On the way to his male star’s dressing room, to try to apologize for his co-hostess and her inexcusable actions, he had noted the lady in question entering it. When she failed to come out again, the producer had braced himself for screaming and even the sound of blows. And when he did not hear them, he happily realized that he now had an even bigger and better attraction than he had even imagined before. He planned to make the most of it. **** While a guest on the old 'Words from Washington' show, presidential advisor Condi Rice had confided that she fought the stress by shopping at Pentagon Mall. “Well, you know what they say,” Cassandra had reminded her. “When the going gets tough…” “The tough go shopping,” the former Secretary of State had agreed. 22

Jackie Rose

After the program, the hostess had confided that she, too, subscribed to that same adage, but her happy hunting ground was Tysons Galleria, near her Northern Virginia home. Cassandra accordingly headed there the day after the deplorable incident on her TV show, followed by the even more regrettable event in her dressing room. Anyway, she could always use a new white silk blouse, she realized—and with summer coming, she might as well get one that was cut lower than her usual style. But if she had hoped to forget the previous evening’s deplorable happenings, she was doomed to disappointment. The saleslady, of course, was too well-bred and well-trained to comment even on the water-throwing scene, although, when it had happened, she had pointed to the screen and proudly told her husband, “I wait on her all the time.” “You should send her to the menswear section,” he had answered. “She owes him a necktie.” But, again, she was too discreet to suggest any such thing. Neiman-Marcus was, after all, a high-class store. It was, however, a Texan institution, and so was the customer who found herself standing next to Cassandra at the Designer Sportswear counter. That should have been obvious from the fact that her hair was too blond and piled too high for a woman of her age, her skirts were too short, her makeup was much too heavy, and she looked absolutely gorgeous. 23

Dueling Duo

“Well, bless your heart!” she exclaimed, in tones that at once proclaimed her heritage and could be heard all the way to Cosmetics. “Aren’t you that lady who goes on television? I saw you throw that water at that awful man, and right then and there I said to my sister who was visiting from Chicago—not that she’s really a Chicagoan, she was born and raised in Dallas just like me, but she went to Northwestern University and then married a local boy, so she had to stay there—I said, well, Leslie—she was named for the lady who married Rock Hudson and moved to Texas in 'Giant', because my mother always loved that movie, I later heard that Rock Hudson was gay but you could never tell that when he was on screen, he seemed so much in love with Liz Taylor—I said, Leslie, I’ve been waiting for her to do something to that awful man ever since he got on that show and now Praise the Lord, she’s done it!” By the time she had finished, as Cassandra realized in misery, every head in Designer Sportswear was turned towards them. “It was an unfortunate incident,” Cassandra mumbled, staring down at the blouse in her hand. “I apologized to him, of course.” If she had hoped to end the discussion that way, she was doomed to disappointment once again. “Well, bless your heart, you should never have done that for that awful Yankee. I could tell he was a Yankee right away, probably from Boston, but you seem like a lady, Honey, so I can tell you are from some nice place.” 24

Jackie Rose

“Westchester County. In Upstate New York.” “Well, isn’t that just what I said? Some nice place. So they should never have exposed you to a man like that. They were just trying to embarrass you, Honey, but you showed them.” As Cassandra was trying to form some suitable message of thanks and farewell, the woman raced on, “Of course, you are much too good for him, but he is kind of good looking, especially when he glares at you that way—just like the hero of one of those Orgazm romances I love to read on the Internet, the men are always glaring at someone, especially the heroine, and I love it when she glares right back, like you do. Since you are both single now, I can’t blame you for taking a shine to him, so good luck.” Now Cassandra could only stare at her openmouthed, knowing that any form of denial would only give her a greater resemblance to the heroine of some Extasy e-book romance. At that moment, two other shoppers came by clad in burkas that covered them from head to toe. While such garments were a fairly common sight in the Washington area, with its large diplomatic corps, Cassandra had never before found herself wishing that she herself were wearing one. If she had been, she reflected, no one could have seen her mortified face. She would probably not have been on television in the first place, of course, but, at this moment, that seemed a great advantage. Then she heard one of the women muttering something, presumably in Arabic, that Cassandra 25

Dueling Duo

could not understand, except for the phrase “Buck Patrick.” One thing was certain. If she had had any thought of replacing Buck Patrick’s tie in the Menswear department, she was not going to do it now. The whole store would have been laughing at her as the story traveled all the way to Fine Jewelry. Certainly, she could find some perfectly nice neckwear on eBay, where no one could see her when she ordered it. Having entered the big store through the parking lot, she left it through the mall exit, leading straight to Starbucks. She had not counted on the young crowd standing in line there, with nothing to do but gesture towards her, wave and smile. Making matters even worse, when she passed them on her way to the newspaper stand, one of them whispered, “Nothing like a lover’s quarrel for good sex afterwards.” Hardened veteran that she was, of verbal sparring with pro-polygamists, neo-Nazis and self-proclaimed professional sadists, that young woman’s tasteless comment still left her feeling too shocked to speak. And guilty, too: Are we really corrupting the public that far, she thought, that they always connect sex with violence and feel perfectly free to talk openly about both? Hastily picking up a Washington Post, she tried to hide her face in the Style section. To her dismay, she was greeted by an item in the Out & About section, with her name and Buck Patrick’s in boldface type, retelling the incident of the night before. 26

Jackie Rose

Then she wondered what the reaction must have been in Patrick’s favorite Irish pub. **** It was a lot more boisterous, just as she would have expected it to be. There, his cronies had greeted him with waves and cheers when he had stomped in fresh from his brief encounter with Cassandra Bailey, having stopped only to don a dry shirt. “That girl really likes you!” the bartender had assured him. “Look at the way you got to her.” “I bet you could get into her panties if you wanted to,” agreed the man sitting next to him, a loyal member of the Patrick Pack. She doesn’t wear panties, only panty hose, he thought, but stopped himself from saying it just in time. As it was, he felt sure that his red face was giving him away. “Who wants to talk about her anyway?” he demanded, with a glower, as his fist clenched around the handle of his frosted beer mug. One glance at that ham-like hand convinced his fellow patrons that they really wanted to debate polygamy instead. **** Both members of the Dueling Duo were thus eager to forget the whole thing and help the audience do the same. Needless to say, their producer did not share their feelings. Like an electronic Iago, he invited the 27

Dueling Duo

guests who were the most certain to make the most trouble. It was obviously more than bad luck, then, when he invited a congresswoman who was best known for crusading against sexual harassment and an attorney who specialized in defending against it. “Some of us might treat it as a joke,” charged Rep. Valerie Higgins (D-NY). “But it can be a terrible misfortune for the woman—or the man—who depends on their pay to support a family, and has to fend off some oversexed supervisor to do it.” Cassandra made her usual objection. “Many people would disagree with you,” she said. “They would say that a grown man or woman can just say no.” “It’s hard to just say no to your employer,” the Congresswoman retorted, shaking her stiff red helmet of hair. “Well, I’m not—“ and both women flinched as they awaited Buck Patrick’s hateful words. “I’m not boohoo-hooing for people who can’t say no.” Without thinking, the guest glanced towards Cassandra’s water cup. The hostess pretended not to notice as she hurried on, “How many of the charges are justified?” “Do you mean, how many of the victims are lying?” Rep. Higgins demanded indignantly. “I mean, perhaps they misunderstood the situation.” “It is hard to misunderstand the situation, as you put it, when someone is trying to take down your 28

Jackie Rose

pants.” And that was certainly true as Cassandra realized, while feeling miserably sure that everyone in the national audience could read her guilt in her stricken eyes. She was even angrier than usual when her co-host made his usual complete about-face and attacked the other side. This time, he declared that was not boohoo-hooing for men who took advantage of hardworking women who are at their mercy. To her surprise, she found herself switching sides as rapidly as her tormentor always did. “What do you mean, at their mercy?” she demanded. “Do you think working women are helpless creatures who have to do whatever their bosses want?” As she leaned forward in her royal blue swivel chair to take a sip of water, she heard the studio audience gasp in eager anticipation, and she knew that the viewers at home were all doing the same thing. She pulled her hand away as though the container had been on fire and almost heard the public joining in a universal disappointed sigh. They had so hoped to see her throwing the water again. Instead, she strode to her dressing room when the show was over. He stamped after her just fast enough to slam the door behind him. “We weren’t going to do this again!” she told him, panting, as she leaned back against the dressing table for support. “Doing what?” he demanded. “I am just asking 29

Dueling Duo

why you always have to quarrel with me.” “We’re supposed to be arguing with each other!” she reminded him. “That’s what they pay us for!” “And they don’t pay us for being professional journalists?” he demanded. “Professional journalists? You were a radio talk show host!” “And what about you?” he snarled, his face turning the usual brick red. “You were just a pretty face and a hot body that the TV camera loved.” “A hot body?” she gasped. “That’s pretty close to sexual harassment.” “Then this is even closer!” She flinched as he strode towards her and grasped her arms. Strands of her blond hair brushed his face as he pulled her towards him. Pressing his hand against the back of her head, he pulled her face towards him. Then he ground his lips down onto hers in a crushing, bruising kiss. This time, they did not even bother removing their upper garments. Instead, she tugged down her skirt and panty hose with one hand, while the other clutched his shoulder. In the same way, he jerked open his belt and his fly with his free hand, let his pants fall to his ankles, stepped quickly out of the trousers and kicked them abruptly aside. Their arms were tight around each other, as he pushed her back to the sofa and fell on top of her. Once again, her vagina flexed in its rhythmic spasms, pulling him deeper and deeper into her warm, wet, throbbing core. Each time he pulled 30

Jackie Rose

himself further out and then thrust further in, he sent her spiraling to ever greater heights of pleasure. She would have called out in her final ecstasy, if he had not remembered where they were and clasped his hand over her mouth. Even this added to her pleasure, as she passionately kissed his palm. Then he smothered his own groan against her mouth, as he followed her in orgasm. As she sat up, still gasping and trembling, he backed away to the dressing table and brought her a fistful of Kleenex. Looking down, she used them to wipe her legs as well as she could, before tugging the panty hose back into place. He pulled on his trousers at the same time. “Well, I see it happened again,” she said, not looking up at him. “I suppose it is like an addiction— if you do it once, you are likely to do it again. I know that because we had a recovering sex addict on my show one time. He said that what you have to do is stay away from temptation. So in the future we had better just stay out of each other’s dressing rooms.” “And did that system work for him?” “I didn’t have time to ask,” she admitted. “He grabbed me as soon as the lights shut down and I had to fight him off.” “I suspected as much,” he muttered, gazing at the floor. “Well, you won’t have to fight me off. I’m leaving right now.” ****

31

Dueling Duo

But getting out of her dressing room proved to be even more difficult than staying away from it. As he opened the door, he saw a trio of stagehands scurrying away from it. Cursing silently under his breath, he swaggered after them, glowering, as though daring anyone to say anything. She waited for another half hour, watching 'The Capital Gang' on her wall TV, before she ventured to follow him, after looking both ways to be sure that the coast was clear. Really, she thought, we are acting so foolishly—almost as though we were secret lovers, sneaking away from our forbidden rendezvous. **** After thirty years in show business, the producers knew secret lovers when he saw them. For one thing, they were usually the ones who tried to avoid looking at each other. For another, they were usually the last two people in the world to know what was happening to them. And if the public tuned in to see true love, he realized, what would they do when jealousy was added to the mix? Even more Iago-like than ever, he invited President Felix O’Neill to be the only guest for the whole halfhour, on the occasion of his first six months in office. Almost every woman who met the charming, ruthless career politician fell half in love with him, the producer realized, and Cassandra was not likely to be an exception. 32

Jackie Rose

It was just as that great popular philosopher Chris Rock had said about another president: What gets you elected is what gets you laid. In President O’Neill’s case, his hard, handsome black Irishman’s face accounted for both achievements, with his cold blue eyes and his warm, boyish smile. Even the typical blond arch-conservative commentatrix found it hard to look utterly disgusted when he turned that smile on her. What effect would he then have on an ardent supporter like Cassandra Bailey? When the president accepted the invitation, it was partly in tribute to the Dueling Duo and their growing fame. He shared the producer’s confidence in his own ability to charm the pants off Cassandra Bailey (literally or metaphorically, depending on his own feelings at the time). He knew, of course, that Buck Patrick openly detested him, but if his own rapier wit could not beat back the blunt hacking blows of that hulking oaf, then he was in the wrong business. The producer was more confident than ever that he himself was in the right business, when he saw President O’Neill gracefully lounging on the royalblue cushion of one swivel chair, while Buck Patrick and Cassandra Bailey faced him from their matching seats. Buck, as the producer noted with delight, was scowling furiously. His partner leaned forward towards the president with her eyes cast down but her bosom thrust forward in the universal body 33

Dueling Duo

language for “take me, I’m yours”. Finally forcing herself to look up, she said, “Well, Mr. President, you’ve been in the White House for six months now, and your popularity ratings seem to be as high as ever.” “Among the women, they are even higher!” her colleague snarled. “Among the men, they are still pretty low.” The president’s boyish smile started fading from his lips as his blue eyes grew even colder. “Well, we’ve concentrated on the issues that naturally interest women,” he said, “like health care and education.” “And of course, the ladies like you,” Patrick went on, his face growing red with rage at the thought. “They all want to go to bed with you, and from what I’ve heard, a lot of them have. Even some who should know better…” Ignoring the stunned gasps that arose even from the most hardened shout-show studio-audience stalwarts, he went on, “…and even some who are risking their journalistic objectivity that way. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. Haven’t you heard it, Cassandra?” For once, she was speechless. At last, falling back on the tried and true, or what she sometimes called her 'security sentence', she managed to say, “No, Buck, I have not heard any such thing, and some people might be very offended by your remark.” “Especially if they have reason to think it’s true,” he retorted. “Do you have any reason to believe that, 34

Jackie Rose

Cassandra?” And suddenly he was standing, glaring, looming over her. “Do you have any reason to think that some professional newswomen are acting towards him in a very un-professional way? Unless, of course, by ‘profession’ you mean the oldest one.” That brought her jumping to her feet, where she slapped him across the face. He opened his hand to strike her in return. This left President O’Neill with only one thing left to do, unless he wanted his ratings to sink like the Titanic. Springing from the chair, he bounded between them to shield Cassandra and punched Patrick with a left hook square to the jaw. The newsman staggered backwards before folding his fist for a right to the president’s midsection. He barely had time to raise it, though, before the Secret Service sprang from the wings and wrestled him to the ground. The president was putting a consoling arm around the weeping Cassandra’s shoulder, when the producer finally shouted, “Go to commercial!” But before the hapless mortgage broker had had time to learn that he had lost another loan to Ditech, the phones all over the studio building were ringing in frantic unison and the fax machines were jammed. The studio audience sat stunned in their seats, gazing helplessly at the rerun of the oak-disease segment that had suddenly replaced the live telecast of TV’s most popular shout show. Its rivals, however, stayed gleefully on the air. Like the veteran newsman he was, John McLaughlin realized that TV violence was suddenly 'Issue One', 35

Dueling Duo

and never mind the hourly nuclear threats from both India and Pakistan. Tim Russert and the Capital Gang came to the same unanimous conclusion: It had become a serious problem indeed, if it was even replacing the customary calm deliberation on talk shows like their own. During the weeks that lay ahead, as the Dueling Duo knew only too well, Bill O’Reilly, Greta Van Susteran and both Hannity and Colmes would also come to the same conclusion. Larry King would even give the entire hour to a child psychologist, talking about what a terrible example they were setting. There was even talk of charging Buck Patrick with assault or even high treason, just to prove that the government had a Zero Tolerance policy towards people who tried to punch out the president on national TV. The commentator did, indeed, go through a few anxious days, before President O’Neill assured an interviewer that he would not prosecute the culprit, who had, at any rate, failed to lay a finger on him, thanks largely to those opponents of all races who had sparred with him at Boston U. **** Cassandra also breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the news in her McLean condo. She had been virtually secluded there since Buck’s unpatriotic outburst, even disconnecting the phone. Soon she had to avoid turning on her computer as well, since the e36

Jackie Rose

mail was clogged by interview requests and even invitations to write a book about her own presidential affairs. By following the newscasts, she learned that Buck Patrick was doing the same. He was able to venture out of his Watergate condo, she realized with resentment, because even the most dedicated reporters backed away at the sight of his purposefully closed fists. The couple had no chance to express their feelings to each other, though, since they had not spoken since the regrettable occasion. Since their time slot was filled with re-runs, some viewers did not even realize that they were gone. Some fans, on the other hand, did, and started tuning in to 'The McLaughlin Group', where the debate, if less lively, was at least live. After a few weeks, therefore, her producer came personally to her door. He had to do it personally, because she would not have opened to anyone else. Together, they pushed it shut against the reporters who lurked there and were now trying to burst through. “It’s time to come back to work,” he told her. “How can I work with that man again?” she indignantly demanded. “You don’t think we are keeping him, do you? No, he’s outta there. I don’t think he’ll ever work on national TV again.” At that, she felt a pang of sympathy for him, despite the shame he had made her suffer. “But what can he do for a living?” she asked. 37

Dueling Duo

“The only thing he can do,” he replied, shaking his head sadly. “There’s only one place where a reporter can work, after trying to punch out the president on network TV. He’ll have to go back to his radio talk show.” Cassandra sighed. She knew that she could keep going alone for a while, based on the Infamous Incident alone, but things would get pretty quiet. She wondered how long she could stay on the air, once the public realized that it was back to the old days, of assuring Robbery Rights advocates that some people disagreed with their views. The show would be, face it, pretty dull again, and so, she admitted, would her life. Just to keep some excitement going, she started listening to the Patrick Pack. No way around it, she would miss him. And, yes, she would miss those furtive encounters in her dressing room even more. Knowing she could not do it openly in a drugstore, she wondered if she could secretly order a vibrator on-line. Thinking of that, her eyes lit up even without the batteries. She would have a guest who really did advocate teaching masturbation in the public schools. It was no use, though, as she realized, five long minutes after the show had begun. Without Buck to howl, first, that masturbation was a sin against nature and then, five minutes later, that it was everyone’s natural right, she had finally achieved the incredible, astonishing and all-but-unprecedented journalistic feat of making orgasm boring. Almost as dull as her 38

Jackie Rose

own life would be from now on. **** But the former Dueling Duo had reckoned without the public. They turned up in front of the studio, in numbers rivaling the protests at a national party convention. All bore signs reading something like, “Buck and Cassandra—bring them back alive” or “Cassandra and Buck—long may they rave.” Their reasons differed vastly. Feminists insisted that, as always, an innocent woman had been blamed for the actions of a brutal man. Their opponents charged that she had been allowed to keep her TV job while he had been thrown out of his. The two groups had thus clashed on camera, bringing even more publicity to the Dueling Duo story. In vain, the producer announced one name after another as Cassandra’s new partner. Every one brought furious calls, faxes and e-mails of protest. Cassandra and Buck belonged together. Finally, a psychologist on 'The Larry King Show' came out and said it publicly. The Dueling Duo were a couple—and that was why everyone wanted to see them together again. Watching them split up was like witnessing your parents divorce, he explained: It was worse than Desi and Lucy. “And, of course,” he added, “there is no other way to explain that jealous outburst.” “And of course,” the good doctor explained, “we 39

Dueling Duo

all know that all of that conflict came from sexual tension: their strong attraction to each other and their efforts to deny it.” Not even he could guess how futile their efforts at denial had been—or, if he did guess it, he avoided saying so, for fear of a libel suit. **** So after only three weeks, Buck Patrick was able to assure his radio audience that they had won, and the TV network was begging to have him back again. But even that was not enough for the Patrick Pack. “I’m glad you’re going to be back on the air with that lady, but you shouldn’t stop there,” proclaimed one listener, before the host had had time to finish saying, “Columbus, you’re on the air.” Even while his host was reaching a beefy finger for the button that would cut Columbus off, its resident had firmly added, “You should marry her, too.” “That isn’t even worth answering,” Patrick responded, throwing the switch that sent Columbus back to oblivion. “Philadelphia, you’re on the air.” But the City of Brotherly Love had her mind on another kind of affection. “Columbus was right,” she said firmly. “You should marry that girl and keep on debating her, too. And it’s obvious that you love her, or you wouldn’t have tried to punch out Felix O’Neill. She did not have sex with that president, and you know it.” “Baltimore,” he said, in growing desperation. “I hope you can talk about something other than my 40

Jackie Rose

personal life. We were discussing the lottery. You are on the air.” “You don’t have to marry her,” Baltimore told him. “You can just move in together.” “San Francisco?” “If you were in love with Charles Bailey instead of Cassandra, Buck, you would not have the option of marrying him.” “Miami?” “You say your Pack is always right, Buck, so why aren’t you listening to us now?” “Because it’s none of your business. Staten Island?” Even as he threw the switch, he knew that that one was a mistake. “Are you telling us that you don’t love her, Buck? If you don’t, then say so.” He had to think about that one. He thought about Cassandra, moaning, writhing and coming beneath him on the vinyl sofa in her dressing room. “Yes, I guess I do,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean she wants to marry me.” The next call was put through immediately, as soon as she told the controlman her name. Buck Patrick did not know it, however, when he said, “You’re on the air, McLean.” “Yes,” Cassandra Bailey said. “I do want to marry you.” The national audience was treated to the sound of cheering in the control room, along with a frantic ringing of the neglected phones. When Buck Patrick finally collected his wits long enough to answer one 41

Dueling Duo

of his calls, it was only so that he could tell Chicago that, “Patrick’s Pack was right all along. I wanted to marry her, and she feels the same way about me.” “Who does?” Chicago demanded. “I called to talk about oak disease.” **** Both James Carville and Mary Matalin were on hand to wish them well, at the wedding and reception in the National Press Club building. Unfortunately, someone said “Bill Clinton” in the famous couple’s hearing, soon after the cake had been cut. As the newlyweds escaped in their rented limousine, they heard the husband’s famous Cajun drawl: “Yes, I remember the Clinton-Gore Recession, with unemployment at three percent, and that’s also known as full employment.” As Cassandra rode with her head on her new husband’s shoulder, they agreed that they themselves would never again argue publicly that way. Transferring to Buck’s own car, they drove for their honeymoon at the Lovers’ Lodge bed and breakfast in the Blue Ridge Mountains. In their cabin, they lay locked in each other’s arms after making love, enjoying the fragrance of the logs burning in the stone fireplace. In an even more romantic mood, they took a long detour through the mountains on their way to the formal dinner in the main lodge, where, champagne 42

Jackie Rose

and wedding cake would complete the menu. The restored white Victorian structure itself looked like a wedding cake, with lattice railings circling its wide front porch beneath its peaked roof. It added a note of romantic charm to the splendid natural setting. Impulsively, she asked him to stop so they could stand together enjoying that magnificent mountain view. “Now take off your shirt,” she whispered. “I want to enjoy an even better sight.” After gazing her fill at his broad, muscular chest, she stood behind him and reached over his shoulder. Her fingers caressed every muscle there, lighting a fire that spread through his entire body, down to his cock (or dick, penis, phallus? he wondered, ever the newsman, even now). In her strapless lavender gown, she made it easy for him to reach into her bodice and caress her firm bosom in turn. (Boobs or tits were not the words he wanted use about his wife, he decided, and breasts sounded too much like poultry). Pressing her back against a tree, he raised her skirt with one hand as he opened his trousers with the other. One of her long, slim legs curled around his thighs as he entered her. Soon they were moving up and back together, in a rhythm that grew ever faster, as his thrusts became harder and deeper and she pushed herself ever more eagerly towards him. When they were finished, they stood locked in each other’s arms. 43

Dueling Duo

“The Lovers’ Lodge,” she said. “What a wonderful name it is for this wonderful place. We must come back here often. “We’ll tell the viewers about it, too,” he answered, between the soft kisses he bestowed on her hair, breathing in its fragrance. With a smile, he added, “Then we should get the entire week for free.” Pulling her head back, she protested, “But that would not be ethical.” “I don’t see why not,” he answered, drawing back and glaring down at her. “We paid full price for the cabin, and it isn’t our fault if they decided to comp us instead.” “It is our fault if we accept,” she said. “Is that what they taught you in journalism school?” he sneered. “And what’s wrong with that?” “Nothing, if you want to hear fancy theories.” “But stop, Buck,” she begged him, as she put her head on his chest again. “Let’s not argue on our honeymoon.” “You are right, my darling,” he agreed, as he returned to kissing her hair. “We can use it for a topic on the show.”

44

About the Author

L

iving in the Northern Virginia suburbs of Washington, Jackie Rose has earned five Virginia Press Association prizes during her ten years of feature writing for the Connection and Times Community Newspapers. Her husband David shares her love for history, cruising, Walt Disney World, their son Frank and— oh, yes—the Sunday morning TV talk shows. He also supports her other hobbies: working out with Jazzercise and buying the latest Vera Bradley pattern handbags.