Film at Eleven. Kelsey Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ would take a better man than you are, Gunga Din.

      Chandler smiled and winked. “Let’s hope every woman out there adopts your philosophy. Dr. Jameson will answer any of your relationship questions. Call the number at the bottom of your screen.” Chandler flipped her book open to a premarked page. He glanced down, then looked at her from under his brows as if surprised. “You also advocate divorce, Dr. Jameson.”

      Molly’s blood boiled as she tried to maintain her fake smile. “Again you’ve misinterpreted my position.” Read for comprehension, pretty boy! “I advocate divorce in situations where there is abuse, both physical and emotional.”

      “Or lack of love,” he read.

      “Which is a form of emotional abuse, Mr. Landry. Relationships are living things. They need fuel to survive. If there is no love, the relationship withers and dies.” Which is exactly what I’d like to have happen to you!

      “You don’t confine your advice to men and women,” he continued. “You write extensively about parent-child relationships, as well. Do you have children, Dr. Jameson?”

      “No. My book is based on research and almost a decade as a therapist.”

      “Isn’t it hard for you to hold yourself out as an authority on children when you’ve never had any of your own?”

      “Psychiatrists often can’t have firsthand knowledge of a given situation. For example, a doctor doesn’t have to beat his wife in order to understand the dynamic of spousal abuse.”

      He gave her a slight nod of recognition. “We’ve got John on line one. Go ahead, John.”

      “Yes,” a deep voice crackled through the studio. “My life sucks.”

      “This is morning television, John,” Chandler warned politely. “Watch the language.”

      “Anyway,” John’s voice sounded annoyed and tense. “I’ve got a crappy job. My mother’s always ragging me. The government screwed me.”

      “Doctor?” Chandler interrupted. He gave Molly a “help me” look.

      “John, it sounds to me like you’re overwhelmed right now. I suggest you take some ‘me’ time.”

      “I can’t. I need my lousy job to pay my bills. And my mother needs me. I do everything for her.”

      Molly heard the anger and torment in the voice. “You have to make a choice, John. I hear your frustration. When we’re in that place, it affects everything we do. You have to take responsibility for your own happiness. If your job is making you miserable, then find another job. As for your mother, give yourself permission to take a break.”

      “She needs me.”

      “That may well be. But you need you, too. Once you’re happy and fulfilled, you’ll find that the other pieces of your life fall into place. Find something that will make you happy, John. One thing. Then do it.”

      “We’ve got to take the next caller, John, good luck,” Chandler said, pressing one of the blinking lights on the phone in front of him. He greeted the caller by name as provided by his producer.

      Chandler smiled over at the small woman with the authoritative tone. She was too damned cute to be such a tight ass. He’d actually found her book enlightening, insightful even. His producer had insisted he mention the section on sex. The plan had been to mention it once to please the higher-ups, and then move on. Then he saw Molly Jameson.

      She was a prim, professional package at serious odds with the frank discussion on sexuality he’d read. This, of course, was far, far sexier. There was something incredibly appealing about this woman. He guessed she was much more than a pretty face hidden beneath a layer of navy linen.

      Chandler had to struggle to look interested as the next few callers chimed in. Three women involved with losers who couldn’t or wouldn’t stop the cycle of the dead-end relationship. To her credit, Molly seemed to be taking it all in stride.

      “…time for you to put a period on this relationship and move on,” Molly advised. “Don’t look at it as a failure, think of the two years you spent with Tony as a learning experience.”

      “Thank you.”

      Chandler listened as his producer’s voice boomed in his ear, then said, “Dr. Jameson, our first caller, John, is calling back.”

      “Hello again, John,” she said.

      Chandler watched as she wiped her damp palms across her lap. Odd that such a confident woman should be so uncomfortable on camera.

      “I took your advice,” the caller stated.

      “That’s good, John,” Molly replied, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

      “Hey, John?” Chandler asked, “You only called a few minutes ago. How did you change your life in such a short period of time?”

      “I did what she said,” John answered. “I just killed my mother.”

      Chapter Two

      “It worked! They bought it.” Feeling triumphant and high on success, he looked at his companion.

      Approval. Admiration. Reading that in those eyes eased the rapid pounding of his heart. He felt fortified, bolstered. Because he’d done his part perfectly, the plan was in motion.

      “Patience, son.”

      Oh, for— He didn’t want to be patient. Not anymore. Patient sucked. It was his time, damn it! His turn. Without responding to the unnecessary caution, he rose and went into the tiny, galley-style kitchen and ran water over his hands until the stream went from red, to pink, to clear. Grabbing the vegetable brush his mother kept in a frog on the lip of the sink, he began scrubbing at his finger tips. Who knew it would be so hard to get blood out from under his nails?

      How like his mother to be a pain in the ass even in death.

      His companion stood, collected his briefcase and brought it over to the kitchen table. The metal locks clicked loudly as he depressed the tabs. “This should tide you over through the next phase.”

      Drying his hands, he moved to ogle the tidy rows of money displayed neatly in the open leather briefcase. Wiping his palms down the leg of his pants first, he lifted one banded stack of bills. Heavier than he’d’ve thought. His heartbeat sped up as he fanned the crisp notes, enjoying the breeze created against his face. “This is great.”

      His companion pulled the money from his grip and dropped it back into the case with an authoritative plop. He closed the lid and snapped the locks back in place. As if he had the right. As if he still owned the money. “This is to be used as we agreed.”

      “I know.” Of course he knew. Hadn’t he gone over and over this countless times? He wasn’t a moron. Still, as much as he resented it, he craved the man’s approval.

      “You must stay focused. Too much is at stake here.” His expression softened as he returned the cash. Next, he reached beneath the bills and took out a metal rod with a circular emblem welded to one end. “You know what to do?”

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