It Only Happens in Spring

Chapter Six: Syd, Grant, and the deal

In which the canny reporter and the ex-husband meet, seduce, scheme and sign

"It's not for me that I'm here," said Syd Lagerfeld, crossing her legs so that her long and silky thighs were easily visible to Grant's leering eyes. He is cold and repellent, she thought to herself, but I only need to win him back for Sutton Spike's sake – and my career's as well – not for my personal delectation. And in her mind's eye formed the image of muscular Ashley, towering above her and gently prodding her most remote and private parts. No, I'm satisfied enough in that area, for now at least.

Out loud she oozed confidence. "I've just come from the mayor's," she told Grant with battered eyelashes, while she gently rubbed her upper thigh with her slender fingers. She was glad she had given her nails that second coat of Givenchy's Magique de Mauve this morning. It made them glisten against the pale grey of her stockings. Should she continue frankly and bluntly, pulling no punches? Or should she try to seduce with flattery, as though she were buttering him up? She'd rehearsed both ways in her head while on the way this morning, but hadn't come to a decision. Being spontaneous would help her blend with the moment.

She decided to be frank. After all, he had said, "a five minute window." Two could play that game.

"I've only got a minute," she said, with warning in her voice, "so I'll be frank."

"What could be so important that a Fair Deal reporter would want to speak to me?" Grant said, blushing.

Syd took the flattery silently. "It's just that...well, I wanted to warn you before you found out the hard way. I mean, it will be in all the papers tomorrow, but I'll break the story tonight, and you should be first to know."

Grant's silence was enough to convince Syd that her words had taken effect.

"You see," she said, "Sutton Spike is mixed up once again in mob affairs."

Grant's face took on a blank, impassive look, but inside he was seething.

"I've got it on tape – and I'll get it on film if you and I can't come to an agreement now – that she's dishing out cash to mob-money interests in order to slurp up some honey from ex-offenders, some of whom are so young they remember the first time they voted."

"You've got to be kidding," Grant said. His mouth was open. "First, I don't believe you. Second, why would my ex-wife knowingly involve herself in something she's tried for years to put behind her?"

"I don't know. Old habits die hard? Blood is thicker than water? Maybe it's that other old saw – you can take the cat out of the alley, but you can't..."

"Sutton Spike was never in the alley," Grant spat out his words like he'd eaten the canary raw. 

"And she was never a part of the Organization. She left it behind her when she went on stage, and that was thirty years ago. No, I'll need more proof than the word of an ex-officio reporter who probably has a grudge against my ex-wife for marrying above her station – something, I take it, you've never been able to do."

"Well, that's irrelevant," intoned Syd. "I've never wanted to marry. My career is too important to me. But I've certainly had my share of flings." And, she added to herself, she was going to make sure this latest fling remained hers alone – another reason to get Sutton Spike out of the way. 

"What I want to know is," she said airily, leaning in closely to Grant so their eyes met, her elbows propped up against his desk, "what are you going to do to help -- if anything? I can't keep Sutton's name out of the picture entirely, unless, of course, you decide to help me produce a television first."