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to watch the news. She couldn’t change the world anyway. She’d never used her celebrity regarding politics. In fact, she was pretty apathetic about politics. She didn’t believe one vote mattered, which would crush her high school civics teacher. She’d been all gun-ho, Miss Secretary in the Student Government, back in the day. And as an adult, she turned out to be apolitical. Go figure.
    The soap opera world was political enough. She had all the backstabbing politics and behind-the-scenes wheeling and dealing in the small, incestuous community of soaps.
    All the news she ever wanted to hear could be found on The Weather Channel. She didn’t need to go surfing the Net to read about what ailed the world. And while she’d once been a football and basketball fan growing up, tuning in for scores all around the country, she’d lost touch with teams and players’ records long ago. Catching the occasional Knicks game in person satisfied her now.
    But something Detective Waggoner said stayed with her as she slept. There were others who had been attacked. She wasn’t the first. A compelling urge to tune into the local news station to find out what was going on overwhelmed her.
    She wondered if she’d become a news junkie in the months it would take to heal. Would this be how her brush with death might change her? She hadn’t done the near-death experience thing. No rushing through a tunnel or beautiful sunlight cascading feelings of peace over her. The last she remembered was lying on a wet sidewalk, knowing she would die. Not exactly the warm fuzzy stuff they spotlighted on GM A .
    A soft knock startled her. Callie called out, “Come in,” and realized how weak her voice still was.
    Beth entered, worry written over her face and in every line of her body, though she smiled at Callie as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Her best friend carried a bouquet of springtime flowers and some magazines, which she sat down on a tall cabinet by the window.
    “Want to meet the guy who saved your ass?” Beth asked as she walked over to stand next to the bed.
    Callie shook her head slightly, ignoring the pain. “What a greeting. No ‘How are you, Cal? Heard you almost died.’” She smiled, though. Beth always lifted her spirits, even in the worst of times.
    “Yes, I would like to meet him and gush appropriately. Hey—is he single? Maybe this is the new way to get a date. We’d have lots to talk about, and he’s seen me at my absolute worst.”
    Beth made a face. “Well, they won’t let the little hero in. They won’t let anyone in, Cal. People are going nuts. Miz Head Writer Deirdre’s dying. She claims all storyboards are now ruined for the next six months. She’s got the writers pulling an all-nighter tonight. And Marvin swears you’re trying to get him fired. He’s afraid he’ll never direct again, unless it’s straight-to-video shit. I think he’s behind the rumors that you aren’t really hurt.”
    “Guess you learn who your real friends are when a homicidal maniac stabs you.” Callie kept her tone light, but she was curious. “Seriously, I didn’t know anyone wanted to get in. Why would the police keep my friends out?”
    Beth pulled up a chair and sat. “I talked to Waggoner, the guy in charge of the case. Nice enough guy. Seemed protective of you. I’m sure it’s just a precaution.”
    Beth reached over and poured some ice water into a glass and slipped a straw in. “You look parched, girlfriend. Let me buy you a drink.”
    She brought the glass to Callie’s mouth. She found herself greedily sucking the life out of the straw and drained the entire glass.
    “Best drink I ever had. Do they have Happy Hour here? I could go for a two-for-one.”
    Beth studied her a moment. “How bad are you, Cal? You’re cracking jokes as usual, but you look awful. I know how long you were in surgery. I wore a groove into the linoleum from pacing so much. And the show is worried. Without you? The ratings will