Star Time by Joseph Amiel Read Free Book Online Page B

Although he was surprised to realize that he enjoyed exploring the uncharted territory of life with another person—getting to know her, to care about her—and she whisked away the loneliness that had habitually propelled him to spend evenings and weekends out with friends, he was also far less used to the isolation that secrecy imposed on them.
    Apart from appearing to run into each other on Saturday mornings at the local supermarket with their separate grocery lists, as any two acquaintances living in the same neighborhood might, they dared risk few joint activities away from their sanctuary, which made it also a kind of prison. Yet, however carefully correct they had to appear to colleagues, the joy that grew out of living together was inextricable from their joy at working closely with each other, each relationship heightening the intensity of the other. Knowing they might have to answer at night for their professional decisions kept them slightly higher on their toes during the day.
    Once, during lunch in the commissary, another woman reporter advised Chris that she was hurting herself at the station by acting so coldly toward Greg. The woman insisted on inviting him over to their table. Afterward she expressed delight at having been the catalyst for the friendlier behavior the two had exhibited.
    "And all the time I wanted to wring your neck over that piece of yours," Greg admitted, laughing, when they were back home, sipping beers from the bottle, feet up on the coffee table.
    Her expression turned comically incredulous. "You couldn't be referring to the 'Gorgeous Bathrooms of Beverly Hills'?"
    He nodded. "Not the piece itself, but those dumb sound bites from the contractor you fought me on. They should never have been in there to begin with."
    Her expression heated. "Assigning that piece was the real mistake."
    "People are interested in how the other half lives."
    "Their toilets? You can't be serious."
    "Viewers envy that kind of luxury. They can't get enough of those stories." He smiled. “Any consultant can tell you that.”
    Chris was incredulous. "Those rich people are just mindless gluttons. A toilet is not a centerpiece of hygienic chic. A shower is just something to wash off in. Or have I been missing something all my life?"
    "I'll bet we get more letters about that piece than anything we do all week." He smiled maliciously. "We ought to make it a weekly feature. The high point each week would be a shot of you using one of L.A.'s most luxurious potties."
    "I'll let someone else win an Emmy for that one." She reflected a moment. "Would you really like to live like that?"
    Only to Chris and only lately had he felt trustful enough to divulge some of a past he had tried to eradicate. "I grew up as the poorest kid in the richest neighborhood in town. We lived in a dilapidated little house because my mother wanted us to be in the best school district. Every time there was a strike or layoffs at the steel mill, we went back into debt. I was always afraid one of my classmates would wander by and realize just how poor we were. But they already knew."
    "You must have had friends."
    "Enough, I guess, but I always felt I couldn’t let down my guard. We were the token working-class paupers." He grinned. "A lot of that changed when I got a regional tennis ranking. They thought I might become somebody and didn't want to be cut out."
    "Did you feel they looked down on you?"
    "More like just an outsider, hungry to get in. I had the feeling the other fathers had mastered some trick or tactic my own father was inept at. I worked my tail off to make friends with their kids and learn it."
    "Was it your father who wanted you to take tennis lessons?"
    Greg shook his head. "Tennis wouldn't have occurred to him. No, that was my mother."
    Chris grew thoughtful. "You know, you never talk about her."
    "She died when I was young," Greg said, and abruptly stood up. "I think the roast must be ready by now."
    At dinner Chris renewed her