He took a chair and waited until she settled behind the desk. He noticed that she folded her hands over the contract. No rings, no bracelets, he mused. Just a slender, black-banded watch. “It seems we have a number of mutual acquaintances, Ms. Fields. Odd that we haven’t met before.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” She gave him a small, noncommittal smile. “But, then, as an agent, I prefer staying in the background. You met Clarissa DeBasse.”
“Yes, I did.” So they’d play stroll around the bush for a while, he decided, and settled back. “She’s charming. I have to admit, I’d expected someone, let’s say, more eccentric.”
This time A.J.’s smile was both spontaneous and generous. If David had been thinking about her on a personal level, his opinion would have changed. “Clarissa is never quite what one expects. Your project sounds interesting, Mr. Brady, but the details I have are sketchy. I’d like you to tell me just what it is you plan to produce.”
“A documentary on psychic phenomena, or psi, as I’m told it’s called in studies, touching on clairvoyance, parapsychology, ESP, palmistry, telepathy and spiritualism.”
“Séances and haunted houses, Mr. Brady?”
He caught the faint disapproval in her tone and wondered about it. “For someone with a psychic for a client, you sound remarkably cynical.”
“My client doesn’t talk to departed souls or read tea leaves.” A.J. sat back in the chair in a way she knew registered confidence and position. “Miss DeBasse has proved herself many times over to be an extraordinarily sensitive woman. She’s never claimed to have supernatural powers.”
“Supernormal.”
She drew in a quiet breath. “You’ve done your homework. Yes, ‘supernormal’ is the correct term. Clarissa doesn’t believe in overstatements.”
“Which is one of the reasons I want Clarissa DeBasse for my program.”
A.J. noted the easy use of the possessive pronoun. Not the program, but my program. David Brady obviously took his work personally. So much the better, she decided. Then he wouldn’t care to look like a fool. “Go on.”
“I’ve talked to mediums, palmists, entertainers, scientists, parapsychologists and carnival gypsies. You’d be amazed at the range of personalities.”
A.J. stuck her tongue in her cheek. “I’m sure I would.”
Though he noticed her amusement, he let it pass. “They run from the obviously fake to the absolutely sincere. I’ve spoken with heads of parapsychology departments in several well-known institutions. Every one of them mentioned Clarissa’s name.”
“Clarissa’s been generous with herself.” Again he thought he detected slight disapproval. “Particularly in the areas of research and testing.”
And there would be no ten percent there. He decided that explained her attitude. “I intend to show possibilities, ask questions. The audience will come up with its own answers. In the five one-hour segments I have, I’ll have room to touch on everything from cold spots to tarot cards.”
In a gesture she’d thought she’d conquered long ago, she drummed her fingers on the desk. “And where does Miss DeBasse fit in?”
She was his ace in the hole. But he wasn’t ready to play her yet. “Clarissa is a recognizable name. A woman who’s ‘proved herself,’ to use your phrase, to be extraordinarily sensitive. Then there’s the Van Camp case.”
Frowning, A.J. picked up a pencil and began to run it through her fingers. “That was ten years ago.”
“The child of a Hollywood star is kidnapped, snatched from his devoted nanny as he plays in the park. The ransom call demands a half a million. The mother’s frantic—the police are baffled. Thirty-six hours pass without a clue as the boy’s parents desperately try to get the cash together. Over the father’s objection, the mother calls a friend, a woman who did her astrological chart and occasionally reads palms. The woman comes, of course, and sits for an hour holding some of the boy’s things—his baseball glove, a stuffed toy, the pajama top he’d worn to bed the night before. At the end of that hour, the woman gives the police a description of the boy’s kidnappers and the exact location of the house where he’s being held. She even describes the room where he’s being held, down to the chipped paint on the ceiling. The boy sleeps in his own bed that night.”
David pulled out a cigarette, lit it and blew out smoke, while A.J. remained silent. “Ten years doesn’t take away that kind of impact, Ms. Fields. The audience will be just as fascinated today as they were then.”
It shouldn’t have made her angry. It was sheer foolishness to respond that way. A.J. continued to sit silently as she worked back the surge of temper. “A great many people call the Van Camp case a fraud. Dredging that up after ten years will only dredge up more criticism.”
“A woman in Clarissa’s position must have to deal with criticism continually.” He saw the flare come into her eyes—fierce and fast.
“That may be, but I have no intention of allowing her to sign a contract that guarantees it. I have no intention of seeing my client on a televised trial.”
“Hold it.” He had a temper of his own and could respect hers—if he understood it. “Clarissa goes on trial every time she’s in the public eye. If her abilities can’t stand up to cameras and questions, she shouldn’t be doing what she does. As her agent, I’d think you’d have a stronger belief in her competence.”
“My beliefs aren’t your concern.” Intending to toss him and his contract out, A.J. started to rise, when the phone interrupted her. With an indistinguishable oath, she lifted the receiver. “No calls, Diane. No—oh.” A.J. set her teeth and composed herself. “Yes, put her on.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to bother you at work, dear.”
“That’s all right. I’m in a meeting, so—”
“Oh, yes, I know.” Clarissa’s calm, apologetic voice came quietly in her ear. “With that nice David Brady.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t hit it off the first time.” Clarissa sighed and stroked her cat. “I’ve been giving that contract business a great deal of thought.” She didn’t mention the dream, knowing her agent wouldn’t want to hear it. “I’ve decided I want to sign it right away. Now, now, I know what you’re going to say,” she continued before A.J. could say a word. “You’re the agent—you handle the business. You do whatever you think best about clauses and such, but I want to do this program.”
A.J. recognized the tone. Clarissa had a feeling. There was never any arguing with Clarissa’s feelings. “We need to talk about this.”
“Of course, dear, all you like. You and David iron out the details. You’re so good at that. I’ll leave all the terms up to you, but I will sign the contract.”
With David sitting across from her, A.J. couldn’t take the satisfaction of accepting defeat by kicking her desk. “All right. But I think you should know I have feelings of my own.”
“Of course you do. Come to dinner tonight.”
She
