The second guard eased the first away from the car and then turned to her. "Ms. Anderson, using your superior social position to belittle a powerless employee does not speak well of you."

She stared at him.

"The fact is that we've been instructed by your superiors to prevent you from entering. If you want to know why, I suggest you pull over to the right."

She nodded slowly and put the car in gear. "Okay. I will." She yanked the steering wheel to the right and accelerated madly into the walk-on lot.

Anderson was burning with anger after walking in high heels from the far corner of the parking lot. She was going to raise hell about this with Walter Kahn. She was talent.She shouldn't have to put up with facilities crap.

When she finally reached the guard shed again, the second guard pointed to a pedestrian gate where two people waited for her, one a trim woman in a tailored suit, the other another security guard. Anderson slowed down and then stopped. She stood there not liking what she was suddenly thinking.

The woman motioned for her to approach.

Anderson took a deep breath and walked up to them as composedly as she could manage. "What's this all about?"

The woman extended her hand from between the bars. It was like visiting hours at the state pen. Anderson extended her own hand for a cold handshake. "Ms. Anderson, I'm Josephine Curto from Human Resources. There's been a change in your contract status at the network."

"My agent is negotiating a contract renewal. It doesn't lapse for another five weeks."

"Yes. I see. Those negotiations are over. The network decided not to renew your contract. Please understand this decision came down from corporate. I'm just delivering the news. We thought your agent would have told you."

Anderson felt the tears welling up, but sucked in a breath and forced them back down again. She looked away and pressed her forefinger and thumb against the bridge of her nose-then looked back sharply at Curto. " Thisis how you decide to tell me I'm fired? I'm standing here like some kind of vagrant in the street. What am I, a threat? What am I going to do, shoot up the place?"

Curto was unperturbed as she attached papers to a clipboard. "That's not the concern. You are known to studio personnel and have access to a live television broadcast. I'm sure you can appreciate that the network doesn't want you getting on the air at this difficult time."

"Difficult time?" Anderson tried in vain to form her thoughts into words several times. The tears threatened again. She finally blurted out, lamely, "I have fans. You've seen my fan mail? There are men and women in Marin and Oakland and Walnut Creek-people who've asked to marry me. What are you going to tell them about my sudden disappearance?"

"I have no idea how to respond to that question."

"You should let me do a final broadcast."

"Lifestyles reporters don't get farewell broadcasts, Ms. Anderson."

"What about Jim McEwen? They had a big send-off when he retired."

"Jim was the anchor. He worked at the studio for thirty-two years. You've been here six."

"This is no way to treat talent."

"That's hardly at issue here."

Anderson realized Curto was smart for being on the other side of the bars. She took another deep breath and tried to center herself. "Can't I at least go in to say goodbye to Jamie and Doug and the others?"

"Oh, see, now why are we having this conversation? It's not productive," Curto said. She pushed a clipboard and pen through the bars. "Can you please sign these?"

Anderson just stared at her indignantly. "I'm not signing anything."

"You want your personal effects, right?"

"My personal effects? You mean you people emptied out my office?"

"Anji, what do you think is going on here? This is a large corporation with global responsibilities. Emptying out your office wasn't a vengeful act. It was a work order. Just sign the documents, and let's get this over with. This is not fun for you or me."

Anderson grabbed the clipboard and pen. She slapped it against the bars right in front of Curto's face and started reading the COBRA and 401(k) documents. She felt like a public spectacle. A loser standing outside the gates where everyone could see her. The grips and cameramen stared as they drove in through the nearby gate. She started tearing up in humiliation. Someone was punishing her. But who?

She finally just signed all the papers without reading them and shoved the clipboard back through the bars.

"We'll deliver your personal effects to your home."

Anderson hurried away, rushing for the distant refuge of her car.

"Ms. Anderson. My pen."

Anderson had been starting pitcher on Wisconsin State's girls' softball team. She stopped, turned, and hurled the pen at the corporate ice bitch with all her strength. The woman took it right in the torso. Had it been a Mont Blanc, she would have been sucking for air. But it was just a Bic, and the woman shrank back.

"There's no call for that!"

Anderson stormed away, her mind running in fast-forward to all the bad things that were sure to follow. Someone had dynamited a bridge on her road to success. She hadn't prepared for this at all. Fucking terrorists.

She mentally ticked off a list of her friends. They were all in the business or attached to the business. Who could find her a soft landing at another station? If not in San Francisco, then where? Not Madison, Wisconsin, again, please, dear God.

Then it hit her that Melanie hadn't warned her. That bitch had let her be publicly humiliated. Anderson pulled her cell phone out of her handbag and speed-dialed her agent. It rang three times and went to voice mail.

"You've reached the office of Melanie Smalls. Ms. Smalls is not available at the moment. To reach her assistant, Jason Karcher, press 3349."

Anderson punched in the numbers.

"Ms. Smalls's office. Can I help you?"

"Jason, it's Anji Anderson. Put me through to Melanie."

"Hi, Ms. Anderson. Melanie's on another line. Do you want to hold?"

"Look, I'm standing out here in front of KTLZ, and they've locked me out of the studio. Get Melanie on the damned phone."

"Okay. Hang on."

Anderson reached her car and clicked the remote. She got inside and cleaned up her mascara in the rearview mirror while Barry Manilow tortured her on hold because it looked like she had emphatically not "made it." The anger built inside her with each passing verse.

Finally Melanie clicked on. "Anji, what's going on?"

"I've just been fired at the studio front gate-publicly humiliated. Josephine Curto tells me that you knew my contract wasn't being picked up."

"Who the hell's Josephine Curto?"

"Some toady from Human Resources."

"Anji, we're still in negotiations with the network, and I wasn't told that any decision had been made. The ball was still in Kahn's court."

"Josephine just told me that my agent knew about this, Melanie. I just signed papers!"

"Well, she doesn't know what the hell she's talking about, and what do you mean you just signed papers? Why would you sign papers?" Melanie's voice became muted. "Jase, check the fax machine."

Anderson started crying again. She hit the dashboard-angry with herself for being so emotional. "Damnit, Melanie. Why didn't I see this coming? Who the hell did the network get to replace me?"

"Don't beat yourself up. We'll see if we can get you something on the E! Channel or-"

"No! Stop. I've been trying for six years to get on a serious news desk. I can't afford to do any more fluff pieces. I'm a journalist, not a damned fashion model."

There was silence on the other end.

"Hello?"

"I'm still here. Anji, you don't have the right pedigree for it. You haven't been a journalist, honey. Not really. And you weren't talking serious journalism when we got you onto the San Francisco affiliate."