The Lost Cats and Lonely Hearts Club

by Nic Tatano

Cut!!!

  I’ll get back to this later. Right now my boss has taken me off the street for the day. In the news business that means I’m not doing a story. Anyway, I’m not working today so I can travel to a production house and record some public service messages for a national pet rescue association. They wanted me to bring the kittens but I told them they were too young to haul ‘em all the way to Manhattan for the entire day. When they’re grown up a bit they can be spokes-cats. For now I’m told they have several well-behaved felines that will be my furry co-stars. But in reality we all know the cats are the stars and I’m simply a supporting character. Which is as it should be.

  The facility is just a few blocks from the newsroom, so I hoof it there. Two people from the animal group meet me in the lobby, gushing over me like I’m the Mother Teresa of the cat world. They lead me back to the studio, where I find a set that looks like a typical living room. Cameras are set up while a lighting person checks things.

  “Welcome, Miss Shaw.”

  I turn to follow the voice and find myself face to face with a very cute guy. “Hi there.”

  He sticks out his hand. “Jamison Rogers. This is my production house. We’re really happy to have you for this project.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Oh, yeah.

  I lock eyes with the guy for a moment, getting lost in his baby blues. He’s about my height, slender with dark hair and has that boy-next-door thing going on. Probably one of those guys who looks thirty but is actually forty and will always have a boyish charm.

  “Well, Miss Shaw—”

  “Madison, please.”

  “Sure. Madison. I assume you already looked over the scripts but I can put them in the prompter if you like.”

  “They’re only thirty seconds.” I tap my head. “Got ‘em memorized.”

  “Great.” He places one hand lightly on my back and ushers me across the room. “Let’s get you made up then and we’ll be ready to roll.”

  Two and a half hours later (and a few scratches from a temperamental Siamese … which I was told is redundant) we’re done. All but one of the cats was wonderful and we did three versions of the public service announcements. My boss has given me the whole day for this but Jamison and his staff were incredibly organized, on the level of news people who have multiple deadlines every day. The video we shot looked great and hopefully the finished product will have the same quality.

  I’m thanking the production crew and getting ready to leave when Jamison approaches me. “Madison, I must say, it’s great to work with someone who came prepared. You nailed every take. It’ll be hard to find the best ones because they’re all so good. And the video of you playing with the cats is gold.”

  “Well, I must compliment you on your staff. Very professional and organized.”

  “Most of them worked in your business. As did I.”

  “Oh, really.”

  “Yep. You’re looking at a former reporter who only got a few rungs up the ladder in news before I started doing this. But I picked up some very valuable skills. The best being time management. Nothing forces you to be organized more than a job in television news.”

  “No kidding. How long have you had this business?”

  “Started it about twelve years ago.”

  “Well, you seem to be doing quite well for yourself now. You have a great facility with all the toys.”

  “Yeah, we do okay here. Listen, since we had booked the entire day for this and we knocked it out so quickly, you free for lunch?”

  Of all the professions in the world, none like talking shop as much as television news people.

  The topics are endless, but the ones at the top of the pyramid generally can fill hours:

  —My boss is an idiot.

  —Our anchor is a brainless beauty pageant queen. (Another redundancy.)

  —Bias is killing the business and viewers hate us.

  —Consultants are the devil’s spawn who borrow your watch and then charge to tell you the time.

  —Our cheap CEO throws nickels around like manhole covers.

  And since I’ve got someone who worked in the business sitting across from me at lunch, small talk isn’t necessary to get things going. Jamison may as well have left the business yesterday. The man is certainly up on things regarding the news media, well read on current events, and shows a great interest in my quest to take down the media’s great white whale, corrupt Senator Joe Collier, AKA Teflon Joe, named because nothing ever sticks to him. Jamison has a personality that was made for on-camera work. (Or a fun date.) Why he’s not on the network or in a major market is probably due to the one common denominator with those of us who did make it.

  Pure luck.

  Go to the smallest market with a TV station, and you’ll find someone just as smart or smarter than someone at the network. And you can find plenty of people at any network who should be working as crash-test dummies.

  In my case, a network executive driving across the country happened to be watching my station in his hotel room the night I broke a huge investigative story while working in a place I refer to as Upper Buttcrack, Arkansas. And when he found out I’d interned at the network, the brass ring was mine.

  In Jamison’s case, the stars didn’t align so he bailed after eight years out of frustration and started what is now a successful production company. (And yes, I did the math, which makes him about forty.)

  An hour after trading media stories, it’s time to find out more about this guy. I take a bite of cheesecake as I begin my search for red flags. May as well get the big one out of the way. “So, I guess you like cats.”

  “I wouldn’t have brought a bunch of ‘em into my studio if I didn’t. We’ve actually been doing those public service announcements pro bono for a while. Our business does so well I’d feel guilty if I didn’t give something back.”

  “Ah, very nice of you.”

  “Not as nice as what you’re doing for those kittens. Must be quite a lot of work.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Turning down the Presidential campaign gig? Not sure I could have done it. To me that’s a very big deal.”

  “Seemed like the right thing to do. At least I still get to hound Senator Collier in his campaign, not that I’ll find anything on that sleazeball. Anyway, since you know what I do in my spare time, tell me what you do with yours?”

  “I have a small sailboat I like to take out on weekends when the weather’s nice. Really clears your head to get away from video and technology to commune with nature. I’ve always loved the water.”

  “That sounds great. Where do you sail?”

  “I’ve got a little place on the Jersey shore. It’s a bit of a commute but I couldn’t spend my entire day in Manhattan. And half the time I can work from home anyway when I have writing or editing to do.”

  “And when it’s too cold to take the boat out?”

  “I build a fire and look at the ocean.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  He looks down a minute, takes a deep breath, then back at me. “I’m, uh, taking the boat out on Sunday. Weather’s supposed to be perfect. I sure could use a first mate.”

  “Sounds like fun. But I’ve never been sailing. So, what might be the duties of a first mate?”

  “Enjoy the sunshine and drink wine. Then have dinner with me on the patio as the sun sets.”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  Chapter Ten

  I’m putting groceries away from my Saturday morning shopping when I hear the doorbell ring. I close the fridge and head for the door. “Coming!” I’m expecting a package of cat supplies but find a surprise instead.

  A very pleasant surprise.

  Officer Marino.

  I hold out my wrists as if to be handcuffed. “Well, I guess you figured out my true identity. Damn witness protection program. I’ll surrender peacefully if you don’t do a perp walk for the media.”

  He laughs. “And good morning to you
too.”

  “So to what do I owe this visit from one of New York’s finest?”

  “I’m selling tickets for a fundraiser to help the family of an officer who was killed in the line of duty two years ago. I figured a woman who would take care of orphaned kittens might be the kind to help out.”

  “Absolutely. Come on in.” He’s dressed casually, khakis and a white linen shirt that shows off buffed biceps. “I assume you’re off duty today.”

  “Yep, I’m a Monday to Friday cop.”

  “So in that case you have time for that coffee you missed when you pulled me over.”

  He flashes a smile. “Sure thing. I’d love some.”

  “Actually you have three cups coming. One from the Fourth of July as well. And another for rescuing me at the bar.” I lead him to the kitchen and point to the breakfast nook. “Have a seat and I’ll get you a cup. How do you take it?”

  “Light and sweet.”

  “Just like your women, huh? Sadly I’m neither.”

  “Y’know, you’re funny as hell. How come I don’t see that side of you on television?”

  “Covering politics is a serious business. Though not nearly as serious as yours.” I fix two cups of coffee and join him at the table. “So, you actually watch my network?”

  “Yeah, I’m a political junkie and I love election coverage. Your stories are very objective, not biased like so many of your cohorts.”

  “Thank you. My journalism teacher always said to tell the viewers what you know, not what you think. No one will ever know how I vote.”

  “Very admirable. Oh, how are the kittens?”

  I cock my head at them in a sun square where they’re sleeping in a ball. “Still fat and happy. They’re coming along really well. Do you have a cat?”

  “I’d love one, but my apartment building doesn’t allow pets.”

  “That’s not right.”

  “But I plan to get one when I buy a house. Our family always had cats when I was growing up. I like their independent attitude. And they’re smart as hell.”

  “So, what’s the deal on the fundraiser?”

  He pulls a stack of tickets from his pocket and removes a rubber band. “It’s a dinner dance for Sergeant Tim Rockwell’s family. Left behind a wife and two kids. Maybe you remember the story? He was sitting in the patrol car and a guy came up and shot him.”

  “Right, who could forget that one? Really sad. Did you know him well?”

  He bites his lower lip and looks down. “He was my partner.”

  I realize he was a big part of that story, so I reach over and take his hands. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. So you’re the officer—”

  “Right. I was in the donut shop getting coffee when it happened. Sarge usually got the coffee because his best friend owned the donut shop but he had pulled a muscle and was driving that day.” He shook his head. “There but for the grace of God go I. I don’t mind telling you I feel guilty about it every day. It should have been me.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Well, I often wonder if the killer had shown up on a different day. It would have been me instead of him, and he’d be there for his wife and kids. I’m just a single guy with no one depending on me.”

  “That’s not true. Look at all the people you help in your job. Like me. You can’t beat yourself up about it. And at least you did take out the murderer. But hey, you’re doing a good thing to help out his family. Focus on that.” I lean over to a kitchen drawer and pull out my checkbook. “You said it’s a dinner dance?”

  “Yeah. The tickets are a hundred bucks apiece. We’ve got a great band and the food is being donated from Castelli’s.”

  “That’s worth the money right there. I’ll take four. My friend Rory and her boyfriend love to dance.” I start to write a check as he peels off four tickets. “Who do I make it out to?”

  “Rockwell family fund.” He sips his coffee as I write the check. “You know, you look so different from television. Or how you did when I pulled you over.”

  “Yeah, they try to turn me into a fashion model. Good luck with that. So now you see I’m a plain Jane.”

  “You’re not remotely plain. I meant to say you look better in person. Why do they cover up your freckles?”

  “The consultants said they don’t have enough gravitas. According to my boss, it would be like getting breaking news from the Little Mermaid. So our makeup person puts the pancake on with a trowel.”

  “I don’t know why. You sure don’t need it.”

  I can’t help but smile. “You’re very sweet.”

  “So, I guess you’ll be double-dating with your best friend. You do that a lot?”

  “It won’t be a double date. I don’t have a boyfriend. And I’m not currently seeing anyone.”

  “Really.”

  I look up and hand him the check. “Yeah, really. I’m a free agent.”

  “So the guy on the Fourth of July—”

  “Like I told you, friend of a friend I met at a cookout. I’m certainly not going to see him again.”

  “Ah. I was worried you might be upset that I put your boyfriend in jail. By the way, he had two DUIs in Florida. Judge will throw the book at him and take away his license.”

  “Damn. See, you probably saved lives keeping him off the road. And you saved me from someone who isn’t responsible.”

  “Yeah, guess so.”

  “Anyway, since I don’t have a boyfriend, maybe if your girlfriend isn’t the jealous type you might take me for a spin on the dance floor.”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend. And I’m not seeing anyone either.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. A lot of women aren’t big on dating cops. High risk profession and we get a lot of bad press.”

  “I hope you know that none of that bad press comes from me. I really respect what you guys do. I wouldn’t be here if two cops hadn’t saved my life.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  “Long story, I’ll tell you some other time.” I study his face for a moment, the sincerity in his eyes. The bravado I’d lost about asking a guy out is back a bit since I’m going sailing with Jamison tomorrow. So if he turns me down, it won’t hurt as bad with another good guy on my dance card. I’ve never really played the field, but …

  What the hell.

  Alert the Weather Channel. Tell Satan it’s about to get real friggin’ cold down there.

  My heart starts pounding a bit as I take a deep breath. (Damn, if guys go through this every time they hit on a woman, I’m amazed most aren’t dead from heart attacks.) “So, anyway, uh … the, uh … I was …”

  “Yeah?”

  Dammit, girl just spit it out. “Well … since I’ll be a third wheel with Rory and her boyfriend, and you don’t have a jealous girlfriend, perhaps you’d like to be my escort? And should you do me this huge favor, I’d be inclined to cook you dinner tonight in return.”

  He leans back with his coffee. “That has to be the cleverest approach to ask a guy out I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’m not asking you out. You’re helping out a woman who doesn’t want to be alone on the dance floor and I’m making dinner to thank you. Plus I already owe you for making me drive safely, saving me at the bar, getting me home on the Fourth of July …”

  “Okay, whatever you wanna call it. But I’d be happy to be your … escort … to the dance. And I would love to have dinner with you tonight. Should be done selling tickets to people I know by four.”

  “Good. Dinner is at seven.”

  “Looking forward to it. You wanna catch a movie after?”

  I cock my head toward the kittens. “I haven’t arranged for a sitter and I know my usual girl is visiting a college today. They still have to be bottle fed every few hours.”

  “No problem. I’ll pick up a movie.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I guess you’d like a romantic comedy?”

  “Hell no. Get something with a lot of explosi
ons where the good guys win.”

  He starts to laugh. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m really glad you ran that stop sign.”

  “I hope it won’t ruin your reputation showing up at the affair with a felon. Or one who associates with them.”

  “Very funny.” He starts to fold the check. “Hey, this is for five hundred. The tickets are a hundred apiece and you bought four.”

  “It’s for a good cause. Besides, lately I’ve started to realize I’m blessed. I mean, hell, I tell stories for a living and you’re out there risking your life to protect me. Anyway, time I started giving back a lot more. Keep the change.”

  “Very generous of you.” He puts it in his pocket. “Well, I better get back to selling some tickets.”

  “Right. We can talk more tonight.”

  “See you then.”

  The minute he leaves I’m on the phone to A.J. “I need help. Now.”

  “What happened?”

  “I asked the cop out on a date.”

  “Holy shit! Oh my gawd, I just saw pigs fly by my window.”

  “Very funny. Anyway, I need your assistance.”

  “What, you want me to come along and hold your hand?”

  “No, I invited him over for dinner.”

  “I hope you mean you invited him out to dinner.”

  “No. Here. My house. I’m making dinner.”

  “Madonne. You’d better put the phone number for poison control on the fridge. You tryin’ to chase him away on the first date?”

  “Fine, I admit I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

  “So you call an Italian.”

  “Hey, some stereotypes are based on fact. But I don’t have a sitter for the kittens tonight so I had no choice. Can you come over and help me cook something great?”

  “Sure. This is a DEFCON ONE dating emergency. On my way.”

  My hands are getting tired as I roll the mixture into meatballs. “I thought the only thing in meatballs is, ya know, meat.”

  A.J. sips her wine as she directs me. “Typical non-Italian assumption. Most people try to make meatballs with ground beef and nothing else. You’re basically eating hamburgers and ketchup. You gotta have the ground pork in there. The pork gives the flavor to the meatballs and the sauce.”