Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [120]
Maggie, silent, watched the screen, and a million memories washed over her. Her eyes misted as she saw her sister laughing, talking, or flirting with a guest. A huge lump formed in her throat and she bit her lip as Mary Theresa as Marquise winked into the camera or tossed back her head and laughed. Where are you? Maggie wondered, and had to clear her throat. Marquise had hosted the show alone for the first four years—she’d been the pioneer behind it. Craig had come along two years ago and had, over time, become more and more important, and, according to Mary Theresa, more demanding.
“He wants it all, I tell ya,” Mary Theresa had confided in one phone call. “Blondie would like it if I just disappeared.”
“Ms. McCrae—” Ron Bishop’s voice brought her back to the present, and she had the uneasy feeling that he’d asked her a question.
“Oh, sorry—what did you say?”
“That I’d give you a tour of the station if you want one.” He glanced at his watch. “I think we just have time.”
“Sure.” She needed as much information about her sister’s life as she could amass.
They talked a while longer and he showed her the newsroom, where desks were joined together in a hub, with only soundproof panels separating them. Reporters typed stories on their computers, researchers collected data, a news board was ever-changing, and televisions tuned in to every station in Denver were suspended overhead. Another soundproof room was the studio where the news was filmed. Computer-directed cameras faced a curved, bleached desk where the news team worked each shift. In another room several computers were hooked up to the news department’s web site.
Bishop introduced her to several people, including J.R. Alexander, the assistant news director. An energetic, quick-witted man of about forty, with steel-rimmed glasses and a smile that was as quick to flash as vanish, he moved from one computer station to the next, answering questions, giving advice, and generally riding herd over the hubbub.
“Want to cohost the show?” J.R. asked, giving Maggie the once-over. “I bet the viewers would never know the difference.” Behind his glasses, his brown eyes gleamed as he thought of the possibilities. “Ever done television?”
Before she could answer, he was called away.
Ron guided her into a maze of back hallways. “J.R.’s been with us a little longer than your sister and was the executive producer of Denver AM before we promoted him into management. Here’s where we do our film editing…” He gave her the grand tour, introducing her around.
With each new person Maggie met, curious glances were cast her way. She heard the whispers behind her back, though she ignored them.
“My God, I thought she was Marquise!”
“Can you believe the resemblance?”
“It’s weird. Creepy. I wonder if she’s the same kind of self-serving, raving bitch.”
“Oh, Jesus, let’s hope not. One is enough for a planet this small.”
Laughter and sniggering followed her, but she ignored it. After Denver AM had finished taping and the studio audience had filed out of the building, Ron led her down a labyrinthine hallway to a small office occupied by Craig Beaumont.
Marquise’s cohost was reaching for his coat, which hung on a hall tree near the door to his tiny office. He did a quick double take at the sight of her. “Marquise! My God, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Where the hell have you been? You…you look great.” He hesitated, as if he sensed something different for the first time, and he glanced at the beaming Ron Bishop. “Wait a second—”
“This isn’t Marquise. It’s her sister. Maggie McCrae, Craig Beaumont.”
“Hey, is this some kind of joke…” he said before realizing the truth. “For the love of Jesus. Look at you. You and