1988
New York City

The interview wasn't going well. Not from Roxanne's point of view. She knew Lauren Weber's reputation as a talk show host. In a word, barracuda said it all. This came as no surprise to Roxanne and now she wondered how she'd ever been talked into this in the first place.

If Lauren's guest had anything to hide she had a way of tempting those skeletons out of the closet. And Roxanne had plenty to hide. Plenty that could tarnish her public image of sweet and innocent.

This is all Walt's fault. Roxanne's publicist had convinced her it would be good publicity for the new movie. Initially, his argument had been a good one: Lauren Weber was the most popular talk show host around, and this would be a nice plug for the new movie since millions of people would see the clips.

Walt had been adamant, so reluctantly, and against her better judgment, she'd agreed to let America's favorite talk show host interview the renowned authoress-actress Roxanne Simon.

"What can you tell us about Garrett-Hollander?" Lauren's questioning voice brought Roxanne back to reality.

She didn't falter at the mention of the ever-popular rock band. "Well..." Roxanne said, "I don't know what I could tell you that you don't already know."

"Isn't it true that you and your sister Candy knew them when they were nobody?"

"I've never thought of Frank or Rich as nobody."

"Isn't Frank Garrett the father of your son?"

The audience reacted with a mixture of gasps and whispers.

Roxanne laughed skeptically. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, his name is Frankie."

"Frank is my father's name," Roxanne said with all the repose expected of someone with two Best Actress Oscars under her belt.

Lauren took on one of those looks that said she knew she was getting nowhere. But Roxanne wasn't falling for that. Lauren Weber was regrouping. And Roxanne Simon would be ready.

"Your latest movie," Lauren said, changing the subject, "Bad Company, was released last week and it's doing well at the box office." She paused briefly, allowing the audience time for applause. "And rumor has it that it'll be nominated for multiple Academy Awards."

"Well...I think it's a little early to be supposing about the Oscars," Roxanne declared.

"You're no stranger to the Oscars," Lauren said. "You've won awards before. Aren't you getting used to collecting them by now?"

"I'll never get so used to it that I'll take something like that for granted," Roxanne said meekly of the Oscars. "I'm always grateful for any recognition of my work."

Roxanne was surprised at how cool she'd managed to remain. Lauren had invaded territory that was better left alone. Territory that was known for bringing out Roxanne's weaknesses.

"What's next?" Lauren's voice remained casual.

"A vacation," Roxanne said, and dropped it at that. It wasn't time for the public to know she'd started work on her autobiography.

"Devoting some time to your son?"

"Yes."

"Is he here with you?"

Apprehension bundled up inside Roxanne, but she wouldn't lie. In the past, her lies had a way of biting her on the butt. "Yes, he is."

"Could we bring him out?"

Shit. Through the years, Roxanne had successfully protected Frankie from the press. Not one photograph of him had ever been published in any newspaper or magazine. But America was going to get a look at him now.

If Roxanne refused to let him come out, the audience would know she had something to hide. That news could get back to Frank. On the other hand, if she let did him come out, then Frank might see him. Yet there was no real choice in the matter; refusing to bring him out would cause a much bigger fuss.

"If he wants to come out," Roxanne said. "But, Ms. Weber...please understand—" her tone issued an unmistakable warning, "—I wouldn't want his head filled with any foolish ideas."

That probably wouldn't stop Lauren, but hopefully a sense of decency would. Lauren didn't have to tell Frankie she thought Frank Garrett was his father to get her point across. The implication would be more than enough.

Roxanne's four-year-old son ran across the set and climbed into a chair that had been strategically placed between talk show host and guest.

Frankie looked at Roxanne for direction.

"Hi, sweetie." Roxanne smiled at the boy. "This is Ms. Weber and she wants to talk to you."

Frankie turned to Lauren and waited for her to say something.

"Frankie," Lauren's tone, drenched in gentle persuasion, placed additional emphasis on his name. "Is there anyone out there in TV land that you'd like to say hello to?"

Frankie nodded.

Lauren pointed off to the right. "Just look into the camera over there, and say whatever you want."

Frankie peered into the camera and waved. "Hi, Aunt Candy. I'm on TV." His upper lip twitched slightly to one side—a trait all too familiar for Roxanne.

Lauren smiled. "And what a lovely child he is. I'd say there's a striking resemblance." She paused. "Wouldn't you?" She topped off her declaration with a triumphant stare straight into the eye of the camera.

The damage was done. Anybody with eyes could see that Lauren wasn't speaking of any resemblance between mother and child. Frankie's locks, curly and black, were far from Roxanne's straight chestnut-brown hair. Nothing about his piercing baby blues resembled her unusual eyes shaded the color of purple violets. No, it was clear—Frankie didn't resemble Roxanne at all.