From the Heart

impossible beauty to lighting, makeup, camera angles. But standing face to face in harsh morning light, she was quite simply the most physically beautiful woman he had ever seen. The incredible bone structure; the flawless skin. Only her eyes were hot, giving away the fury she was controlling. Thorpe smiled again. He loved to watch the ice crack.
    “Is that the problem, Thorpe?” Liv demanded as she stepped aside to let the crew pass. “Don’t you like reporters who happen to be women?”
    He laughed and shook his head. “You know better than that, Liv. ‘Reporter’ is a word without sex.”
    His eyes weren’t intense now, but filled with good humor. She didn’t like them any better. More accurately, she refused to like them any better. “Why won’t you cooperate with me?” The wind was tossing his hair around his face as it had the night before. Thorpe seemed untouched by the cold as Liv shivered inside her coat. “We have the same job; we work for the same people.”
    “My turf,” he said quietly. “If you want a share, Liv, you’re going to have to fight for it. It took me years to establish myself here. Don’t expect to do the same in months.” He saw her shudder against the cold as she continued to glare at him. “You’d better get inside the van.”
    “I’m going to have my share, Thorpe.” It was half threat, half warning. “You’re going to have a hell of a fight on your hands.”
    Thorpe inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I’ll count on it.”
    It was obvious to him that Liv wasn’t leaving until he did. She would stand there shivering for an hour out of sheer stubbornness. Without a word, Thorpe walked down the steps to his car.
    Liv stood for another moment after he’d driven off. Shewas aware—and annoyed by the fact—that she was able to breathe with more ease when he was no longer standing beside her. He had a strong personality; it was impossible to be indifferent to him. He demanded definite emotions. Liv decided hers were all unflattering.
    He wasn’t going to block her way. She wasn’t going to put up with it. She walked down the steps to the van slowly.
    Anna, she thought suddenly, remembering the name Dell had mentioned to Thorpe. Anna Dell Monroe—Dell’s daughter and official hostess since the death of her mother. Anna Dell Monroe. Whatever was going on in her father’s life, she’d know about it. Moving quickly now, Liv climbed in the van.
    “We’ll drop the tape at the station for editing; then we head for Georgetown.”

2
    L iv typed furiously. She had given Carl the Dell interview for the noon news; but she had more, a great deal more, for the evening show. Her hunch about Anna Monroe had paid off. Anna knew the details of her father’s life. Though she had been careful during the interview, she wasn’t the trained diplomat her father was. Liv had enough from her half-hour interview in the parlor of Anna Monroe’s Georgetown row house to give her viewers a story with touches of glamour and suspense.
    The tape was good. She had already taken a quick look at it while it was still being edited. Bob had captured the stylish elegance of the room and the gentle, privileged breeding of the woman. It would be a good contrast to the compact shrewdness of her father. Anna’s respect for her father came through, as well as her taste for the finer things. Liv had worked both into the interview. It was a solid piece of reporting, and it gave a glimpse of the larger-than-life world of affluent people in politics.
    Liv transcribed her notes hurriedly.
    “Liv, we need you for the voice-over on the tease.”
    She glanced up long enough to search for Brian. The look she gave him made him sigh. He pushed away from his desk and stretched his shoulders. “All right, all right, I’ll do it. But you owe me one.”
    “You’re a prince, Brian.” She went back to her typing.
    Ten minutes later, Liv pulled the last sheet from her typewriter. “Carl!” she called to the director as he crossed the newsroom toward his office. “Copy for the lead story.”
    “Bring it in.”
    As she rose, Liv checked the clock. She had an hour before air time.
    The television was on, its volume low, when she entered Carl’s office. Seated behind his desk, he checked copy and time allowances.
    “Did you see the tape yet?” Liv handed him her pages.
    “It’s good.” He lit a cigarette from the butt of another and gave a quick, hacking cough. “We’ll run part of this