Love at 11 - By Mari Mancusi Page 0,36

to finish any of them. Two years ago my agent dumped me. After that, I kind of gave up on the whole dream.”

“But you can’t give up on a dream,” I protested. “That’s against the rules. I mean, look at me. My dream is to be a Newsline producer. Sure, it’s a long shot—especially with what I’m stuck producing at News Nine—but I’m not going to give up on it.”

“You’re cute,” Jamie said with a smile. “You know that?”

Oh, man. I knew I was blushing a deep purple. “Yeah, yeah.” I brushed him off. “But I’m right, too. Do you think Hemingway never got rejected? In fact, I read somewhere that before he became a successful writer someone stole his suitcase and it had almost everything he’d ever written in it. And you know in the 1920s they didn’t have any of it backed up on a hard drive.”

“Man. That would have sucked.”

“Yes. I’m sure it sucked royally. And imagine if Mr. Hemingway, greatest author of our time said, ‘Okay screw this, I’m just going to be a lame-ass journalist for the rest of my life and never write shit ever again.’”

“I’m willing to bet money that Hemingway never once used the term ‘lame ass’ in a sentence. Or ‘screw this’ for that matter.”

I rolled my eyes. “Exactly. And he didn’t quit, either.”

“Fine. I get your point.”

“So you’re going to start writing again?”

“Just for you.”

“Good.” I nodded firmly, ignoring the chills of pleasure running up and down my spine. Just for me. I shouldn’t like the sound of that as much as I did. “And I expect to see this work in progress on a regular basis.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And in the meantime I’m going to read this.”

“If you want to. But don’t feel obligated.”

“Are you kidding? I’m dying to read it!” I stuffed the book in my purse before he could change his mind. “Thanks for bringing it in.”

“No prob,” he said. “On one condition.” I cocked my head. “Which is?”

“You’re not allowed to let those losers at News Nine get you down, either. That bastard with a superiority complex, Terrance Toller, or anyone else.”

I grinned. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

“And no matter how many exposés you have to do on killer household products, you are hereby not allowed to give up your Newsline dreams.”

“Roger that.” I lifted my hand in mock salute. “Good. As long as we understand each other.”

We did, I thought as Jamie stood to throw his cup away in preparation to go back to work. In fact, we understood each other too well. And that was becoming a problem. At least for me.

We were coworkers already. We were fast becoming friends. So why wasn’t I content with that? What made me long for more?

Chapter Eight

FROM: “Terrance Toller”

TO: “Madeline Madison”

SUBJECT: ME!!!!

Madeline,

I took another look at your script and realized what the fundamental problem was. There is just not enough of ME in it. In fact, besides my voice, I hardly make an appearance at all. When viewers tune into a segment of “Terrance Tells All” they expect to see Terrance. Why would I bother even having a segment if it wasn’t all about me? I am News 9’s most valuable commodity. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you how in 1998 I won the “Anchor You Trust the Most” award, voted by the San Diego community.

I’ve taken it upon myself to shoot some video of me examining different killer lipsticks. You can pepper my appearances throughout the script. Just stay away from the first few shots—the photographer completely messed up my lighting and you know how I abhor improper lighting!

Thank you for your efforts and please keep the above in mind for future stories. I know you do not want to disappoint my public.

Terrance

P.S. As a friend, I want to mention that you might seriously reconsider that Old Navy outfit you had on yesterday. If you’re going to be interviewing people in the name of Terrance Toller, you must look the part. Acceptable designers would include Armani, Dolce and Gabbana, Donna Karan (which does not include that off-the-rack DKNY!) and Chanel. (And no, knockoffs are not acceptable.)

I closed my e-mail with a groan. Terrance was seriously out of control. Did he really, honestly think viewers cared if he was physically in the segment? Was he that genuinely narcissistic? I mean, hello!? He was a reporter, not Brad Pitt! Did he not get that?

But the question was, how did I explain that without having him rip me