Mind Over Matter

studio—Wednesday,” she decided. “Yes, I’m sure it’s Wednesday of next week, to discuss spontaneous phenomena. And then, oh, sometime the following week, I’m to go to the Van Camps’. We’ll tape in Alice’s living room.”
    “The Van Camps’.” She felt the heat rising. “He set all this up with you.”
    Clarissa folded her hands. “Yes, indeed. Did I do something wrong?”
    “Not you.” Fired up, she rose. “He knew better than to change things without clearing it with me first. You can’t trust anyone. Especially a producer.” Snatching up her purse, shestrode to the door. “You don’t go anywhere on Wednesday to discuss any kind of phenomena until I see just what he has up his sleeve.” She caught herself and came back to give Clarissa a hug. “Don’t worry, I’ll straighten it out.”
    “I’m counting on it.” Clarissa watched her daughter storm out of the house before she sat back, content. She’d done everything she could—set energy in motion. The rest was up to fate.
     
    “Tell him we’ll reschedule. Better yet, have Abe meet with him.” A.J. shouted into her car phone as she came up behind a tractor-trailer.
    “Abe has a three-thirty. I don’t think he can squeeze Montgomery in at four.”
    “Damn.” Impatient, A.J. zoomed around the tractor-trailer. “Who’s free at four?”
    “Just Barbara.”
    While keeping an eye peeled for her exit, A.J. turned that over in her mind. “No, they’d never jell. Reschedule, Diane. Tell Montgomery…tell him there was an emergency. A medical emergency.”
    “Check. There isn’t, is there?”
    Her smile was set and nothing to laugh about. “There might be.”
    “Sounds promising. How can I reach you?”
    “You can’t. Leave anything important on the machine. I’ll call in and check.”
    “You got it. Hey, good luck.”
    “Thanks.” Teeth gritted, A.J. replaced the receiver.
    He wasn’t going to get away with playing power games. A.J. knew all the rules to that one, and had made up plenty of her own. David Brady was in for it. A.J. reached for her map again. If she could ever find him.
    When the first raindrop hit the windshield she started to swear. By the time she’d taken the wrong exit, made three wrong turns and found herself driving down a decrepit gravel road in a full-fledged spring storm, she was cursing fluently. Every one of them was aimed directly at David Brady’s head.
    One look at the house through driving rain and thunderclouds proved why he’d chosen so well. Braking viciously, A.J. decided he’d arranged the storm for effect. When she swung out of the car and stepped in a puddle of mud that slopped over her ankle, it was the last straw.
    He saw her through the front window. Surprise turned to annoyance quickly at the thought of another interruption on a day that had seen everything go wrong. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a week, his work was going to hell and he itched just looking at her. When he pulled open the front door, he was as ready as A.J. for an altercation.
    “What the hell are you doing here?”
    Her hair was plastered to her face; her suit was soaked. She’d just ruined half a pair of Italian shoes. “I want to talk to you, Brady.”
    “Fine. Call my office and set up an appointment. I’m working.”
    “I want to talk to you now!” Lifting a hand to his chest, she gave him a hefty shove back against the door. “Just where do you come off making arrangements with one of my clients without clearing it with me? If you want Clarissa in the studio next week, then you deal with me. Understand?”
    He took her damp hand by the wrist and removed it from his shirt. “I have Clarissa under contract for the duration of filming. I don’t have to clear anything with you.”
    “You’d better read it again, Brady. Dates and times are set up through her representative.”
    “Fine. I’ll send you a schedule. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
    He pushed open the door, but she stepped in ahead of him. Two electricians inside the foyer fell silent and listened. “I’m not finished.”
    “I am. Get lost, Fields, before I have you tossed off the set.”
    “Watch your step, or my client might develop a chronic case of laryngitis.”
    “Don’t threaten me, A.J.” He gripped her lapels with both hands. “I’ve had about all I’m taking from you. You want to talk, fine. Your office or mine, tomorrow.”
    “Mr. Brady, we need you upstairs.”
    For a moment longer he held