Once More With Feeling by Emilie Richards Read Free Book Online Page B

traffic was too thick
to change lanes easily.
    She was going to be late for Gypsy Dugan's
lecture. She had gauged her time too closely, placating Didi
Caswell with one more stop at Cartier's.
    Elisabeth managed to pull into the fast
lane, and this time she stayed there. She was a careful driver, so
considerate that Owen refused to drive with her. But today, she was
a Formula One champ in a tan Mercedes. She was Elisabeth Whitfield,
about to make a close examination of the woman who had nearly
become her obsession.
    And why had Gypsy Dugan assumed such
monumental proportions in her mind? Elisabeth concentrated on her
driving, but the question was such a familiar one that she could
consider it, as well.
    The answer was just as familiar. Gypsy Dugan
was the road Elisabeth hadn't taken. She could watch Gypsy staring
back at her from the television screen, and she could see the life
she might have led if her decisions had been different.
    She switched lanes again and pressed down
harder on the accelerator.
    Gypsy Dugan was twenty-eight. Elisabeth had
made it a point some time ago to piece together the anchorwoman's
life story. At twenty-eight Elisabeth had turned men's heads, too.
The breasts that sagged now without an underwire bra had been taut
and lush. She had never had a model's figure; hers had been womanly
and inviting. And men had noticed and approved.
    That was only one tiny similarity, of
course. Hardly enough to consider. But there were others. Straight
out of college Elisabeth had gotten a job at a small White Plains
television station. For the first six months she had been nothing
more than a glorified gofer, but she had loved everything about her
work. She had a deep, abiding interest in the news, and she knew
she would have a flair for presenting it, when she was given the
chance.
    She moved up to writing next, and her forte
was human interest stories. Her bosses were so impressed with her
ability to ferret out interesting material that they rewarded her
by giving her a short spot every Wednesday at noon during the local
newscast. Then, as the spots drew attention, they were increased to
twice a week and finally, to twice a week during the evening
telecast.
    She photographed well; everyone had agreed
about that. She had a pleasant voice and a perfect oval face. Her
hair was a soft silver-gold that looked almost platinum under
studio lights, and she mined that asset by wearing it long enough
to touch her shoulders. Her warm smile--and a lifetime supply of
social small talk--put her subjects at ease. Consequently they told
her things that they had never told anyone before.
    Her connections hadn't hurt, either. Her
family was only moderately wealthy, but their roots extended deep
into some of America's richest soil. As a child she had played
tennis in the Hamptons, skied at St. Moritz and sunned her pale
skin in Cap d'Antibes. Better yet she knew a host of people who had
lived just as she had--and she knew how to use them. She quickly
graduated from spots at the local dog pound to spots interviewing
the occasional celebrity who wandered through White Plains. She
sensed what names to drop in order to get interviews, and only
rarely was she turned down.
    There were few anchorwomen in the early
seventies. Elisabeth aspired to be one of them someday. As part of
her career climb, at the beginning of her third year out of college
she moved to a more prestigious station in Manhattan.
    Then she met Owen Whitfield.
    The driver of a rusty sedan leaned on his
horn as she cut in front of him to get to her exit. She glanced at
the clock again as she braked on the ramp. Despite a valiant
effort, she was still going to be late.
    Suddenly she was furious at Owen in a way
she never had been before--or perhaps had never acknowledged. She
had given up everything for him. Theirs had been a whirlwind
courtship, even though her parents had disapproved of the match.
One night at a neighbor's party she had fallen in love with the
poor young