Chapter Nine #2
She left me alone to speed read the Associated Press, Reuters, the New York Times, and every local paper. Gigi swung over and whispered, “Don’t let them scare you. They don’t pay us enough to take shit.”
I didn’t want to tell her that my salary was decent, but then my standards were English degree low. I still thought in terms of an hourly wage. “Lauren must be doing something right to get a promotion.”
Gigi shook her head with a sidelong glance toward the studio. “They throw money at the personalities while the rest of us are fungible.” She held out her arms. “I applied to the social media manager position.”
My chin dropped as I took her in. “You’re kidding.”
“Like I said. Whatever they told you your job is, that’s not your job.”
“What is my job?”
She shrugged. “Keep the talent happy. Don’t stick your neck out.”
“But you’re happy here?”
“I mean. At least it’s steady work I can add to my résumé. And there’s plenty of opportunity to learn on the job. I’m thinking of going back to school to get certified in technical support.”
Once Gigi roamed off, I scanned the news. I wasn’t that out of touch, and I read pretty fast, so when Lauren came back about an hour later, I stretched and said, “Okay. I’m ready for the Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me news quiz.”
She grabbed a seat beside me, typing on her own laptop.
“We’re in charge of blocking the time and slotting in the news packages.
” She had some fancy software that looked complicated, and I recalled Evan telling me air traffic control would be less stressful than working in a newsroom.
I swallowed down sudden nausea, either from impostor syndrome or memories of that horrible last phone call with Evan.
“Walt will make his own sports packages, and Bob does weather live. We’re in charge of the A and B blocks.”
Lauren stayed with me for another hour as we built a rundown for the six o’clock news.
The mechanics of putting the half-hour show together challenged me, but in a fun way.
At last, we had a newscast written and sent it over to feed into the teleprompters.
As the six o’clock hour ticked closer, I sat in the control room and watched everyone get into position. The pressure of this job was no joke.
My stomach rumbled. “When do we eat?”
Tom laughed. “Settle in. You won’t have time to think about food for the next hour.”
Sure enough, things intensified, and soon we were gearing up for the live broadcast. My feet ached from racing back and forth between the control room, the studio, and my desk. Roiling nerves left my hands clammy as my imagination presented all the possible things that might go wrong.
Luckily, I wasn’t running the show. Lauren did all the heavy lifting while I observed, riveted by the chaos of the studio. She clapped her hands. “Look alive people! We go live in five. Everyone should be in place for the pre-show teaser. Tom, are we set?”
The anchors stacked their pages, not talking to one another. When Lauren counted down to the live teaser, they put on their camera faces and smiled to promote the upcoming stories.
“How will construction on Route 29 impact Charlottesville? Coming up at six we’ll hear what local business owners have to say.” Kent’s voice was smooth and professional.
Holy shit. They were saying my words. Well, the words Lauren and I had worked out. What a rush! I mean, it wasn’t Tolstoy, but it was as close as I’d ever come to being a professional writer.
The camera cut to Sandra. “And we’ll take you to an area elementary school where giving thanks has never tasted so good.”
I winced at how cheesy that sounded in Sandra’s sultry voice, but she’d said it. I felt like a master puppeteer. Oh, the power!
The cameras went off, and Kent muttered, “The viewers at home must be giving thanks for God’s bounty. Your boobs are practically popping through the cameras.”
My head swiveled back to the monitor. Had I heard that right?
Sandra adjusted her bust line. “Keep your eyes on your own paper, Kent.”
Was this what went on every night?
A prerecorded package introduced the anchors, sports, and weather cast with a blanket “and the entire news team.” I beamed. I was the news team.
Then we were back on air, and I hovered in the doorway, thrilling as the news anchors continued saying phrases I’d crafted.
The words were lost to history the moment they’d entered the atmosphere, but still.
I was making money from writing. And I didn’t even have to ask if anyone wanted fries with that.
Lauren talked through the headset, loading things on her computer, calling out directions, noting the time, and uttering many words I didn’t even understand, making sure everything stayed on the rails.
All the while, Tom worked his console like a damn magician, pulling up highlight reels, eyes on so many monitors my head was spinning.
More commercials, sports, then Bob Laslow with the weather.
He was capable, with an honest fatherly demeanor.
Friendly and trustworthy. But I wondered how many people would be watching him when Evan Spurlock showed up on a competing network.
I would’ve turned the dial to get my weather from that eye candy.
If I could ever look at him again without throwing up.
At last, we wrapped. I expected something like applause or a round of “good job everyone” as the screens went black. Through the glass, I could see the anchors take out their earpieces and speak to each other, and I craned to hear what jabs they traded.
Lauren said, “Let’s debrief quickly about this newscast and grab dinner before we start all over again for the eleven o’clock.”
I blew out my breath. Holy shit. We had to do that again? “Okay.”
She closed her laptop. “It’s always intimidating your first time. It gets easier if you pay attention.”
The debriefing took no time, and soon I was out the door, looking for food. I’d forgotten how hungry I was during the excitement of the show, but now I felt so dizzy I could have eaten road kill.
I texted Chelsea as I walked. Can you meet me at the dumpling place?
The dumpling place was cheap, fast, and nearby.
Order for me. I’ll be over as soon as I can.
I got us each a double order, and while I hovered at the counter, watching the guy ladle the dumplings into the hot oil, Chelsea entered, waved, and grabbed us a table in the back room.
When our food was ready, I carried the tray over and slid into the wooden booth.
I wanted to tell her all about my day, but food first. I grabbed my chopsticks and shoved crispy, delicious fried dough in my face until I couldn’t eat anymore.
The whole ceremony took about three minutes.
Then I leaned my head against the wall behind me and processed everything that had happened so far.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s putting that blissful glow on your face?” she asked, poking at her food with more thoughtfulness. She was always such a slow eater, savoring every bite. “Was Evan at the station?”
At that question, I scrunched my face. “No need to remind me about him.”
“Sorry. You just look like you’re walking on cloud nine. How’d the first day go?”
“It’s not over yet, but it went so well.”
“Yeah?”
“Despite all my fears and every reason I should have failed, I successfully helped run part of a newscast. Me.” I wasn’t sure this would be a longterm career, but Shelby had been right that my many part-time jobs had taught me valuable skills.
“And you’re surprised? Of course you rocked it. What have you ever failed at once you put your mind to it?”
Love, I wanted to say. Romance.
The draft of my novel sitting on my hard drive.
But I let her pet me and said, “Maybe this was my big break. Maybe despite years of advice to the contrary, it just fell in my lap.”
“Well, good for you. Alas, I’m on my feet all day long, so I have no lap to catch falling things.”
“Just hot Greek chefs.”
“Pish.” She waved away the very suggestion.
“When we go to”—I searched my memory for the last place we’d talked about traveling—“Martinique? You’ll be in the lap of luxury.”
“I shall lap it up.” She sipped her soda. “Do you think you’ll be able to get time off still? Have you asked about vacation?”
Shit, I hadn’t. “I get paid leave. I suppose I can go ahead and see about January.”
“Paid leave.” She sighed. “No wonder you’re walking around like you won the lottery. I bet you even get sick days.”
“I’m going to have dental insurance.”
“My God. Stop. You’re killing me.” She gathered the trash and stacked it on the tray.
“You know, you could easily have these things too.”
“I know. But it would feel like defeat.” Chelsea’d never taken a corporate gig for her graphic design work because she wanted the illusion of freedom to leave Charlottesville behind. Not like she ever would. Like me, she was mired here. Maybe because of me.
“It wouldn’t have to be forever.” I stood, carrying the tray to the bin. “You don’t always have to think in terms of all of nothing.”
“I know.” She followed me to the door. “But I’m not ready to wave the white flag yet.”
I leaned in to give her a hug. “Things are going to look up. For both of us. I know it.”
She was both the toughest cookie and the most frightened child I’d ever known. And as messy as she could be, I loved her with my whole heart.
She pulled away. “Who needs a man when I’ve got you?”
As proof of my chivalry, I held the door to let her walk out ahead me. “We really would kill it at marriage.”
Out on the pedestrian mall, the streetlights had come on, Chelsea punched my shoulder. “Go kill ‘em, Tiger.”
I waved before heading in the opposite direction with a little too much optimism about the new job, hoping I wasn’t wrong. Hoping this was the dawn of a new day.