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the military.
    "Once and for all," Ruth demanded, "did you
call the hospital before you went live?"
    "I couldn't get through," she lied.
    "Don't even try that with me, Kelly. I can
see right through you. And mark my words, if Darryl Mann's family
finds out about this, your ass'll be in a sling. You'll be staring
at a lawsuit—we all will be."
    Kelly froze. Lawsuit?
    "You were on the air at 10:03, right?" Ruth
growled. "At 9:24, Darryl Mann was pronounced dead."
    *
    Natalie jammed her newscast script into the
trash can in the matchbox-size yellow office she'd called her own
for fourteen years. Its only adornments were the seven Emmy and
Golden Mike statuettes perched on the gunmetal-gray steel
cabinets.
    Finally it was over. She collapsed in her
chair and laid her head on her desk blotter. She couldn't remember
the last time she'd been so drained. Everything ached. What didn't
ache pounded.
    The evening had been an extraordinary
humiliation. By sheer force of will she'd gotten through The
KXLA Primetime News without a blemish. There was no way she
would allow herself to screw up more than once in a day. She didn't
allow herself to screw up more than once in a year , and
never on so grand a scale.
    She winced. Calling the aftershock an 8 point
3? What an asinine mistake.
    For the first time in her television life,
she prayed the ratings had been low. And that one person in
particular had missed her performance. Miles. There was no hope in
hell Tony Scoppio had.
    Which reminded her that she had one more
chore to accomplish that hellacious evening. Telling her agent that
her news director was threatening to can her. Not the sort of thing
an agent likes to hear.
    Natalie forced herself to pick up her phone
and punch in his cell phone number. Two rings, then a muffled
"Yes?" on the other end.
    "Geoff? It's Natalie."
    There was a pause. She heard traffic noise,
the blaring of a horn. She'd caught him in his car. She could just
imagine him in the navy Jaguar convertible with the top down,
yellow tie slapping like a flag in the breeze, sunglasses on at
eleven at night to protect his contacts from dust. At times like
that Geoff Marner did a good imitation of a Hollywood mogul. Not
that that was much of a stretch.
    Geoff swore faintly under his breath. Then,
louder, he said, "Whoa, Nellie, are you all right? Those 8 point 3s
can really getcha!"
    "You sicko!" But she had to laugh. "I can't
believe you caught that."
    "What? You don't think my eyes would be
trained on KXLA while the ground rocks beneath my feet? Searching
desperately for reassurance from LA's premier anchor?" Another
horn. He swore again. "You know, we Aussies aren't used to quakes
of that magnitude."
    "All right, already."
    He paused and his voice took on a solemn
tone. "Actually, Nats, it's really not all that bad. Maybe I can
get you on America's Funniest Bloopers ." Another horn, then
a more somber tone. "Seriously, I wouldn't worry about one mistake.
You were gangbusters today. So lunch tomorrow? But remember, I
still want to take you out for your birthday and lunch doesn't
count. The usual?" The blare of a car radio. Another softly uttered
expletive.
    "12:30," she agreed. "I'll bring
sandwiches."
    "Not that crazy health stuff you keep pushing
on me. One sprout and I'm gone."
    She nodded, thinking swiftly. Maybe I can
put off telling him about my conversation with Tony? Just till
tomorrow?
    "Agreed?" he asked.
    "Fine!"
    "Good! One for the Aussie. Thank God I'm a
patient man."
    At that, she rolled her eyes. "Patient" was
the last adjective she'd ever use to describe Geoff Marner. Wild
man, yes. Smartest man she'd ever met, yes. Shark of an agent, yes.
Least lawyerly lawyer on planet Earth? That, too. But "patient?"
Never.
    "Till tomorrow then," he said; then he was
gone.
    Natalie hung up and stared down at the date
on her desk blotter. June 17. A day that would live in infamy. She
grabbed a black marker, drew a thick annulling X across the square,
and grabbed her