by Josie Brown
“So then, tell me what you know about the Queen Bees' initiation party.” I jerk the knife out of the table and place it back on my napkin.
He gulps. “Every interoffice email goes into Hart Media’s secure cloud.” He sighs. “And because I’m searching it for correspondence related to Wagner Klein and the Dutch Bank, I’m perusing everything, including the Queen Bees’ correspondence to each other. Their little ritual includes drinking games.”
I shrug. “Jack can hold his liquor.”
“Not if he’s been roofied!”
My heart falls into my gut. “Why would they do that?”
“So they can…You know, they take the guys to bed. Then they take turns putting him in compromising positions.” He pauses, then exhales. “And they take photos. The man’s face—or a more randy part of him—is always in the picture, but the women wear disguises or pose in such a way that they never show their faces.”
I shake my head, incredulously: “I still don’t get it!”
“It’s a power trip, I guess. The moment they have the goods on the dude, he’s their bitch. They can run all over him, on-air and off. They get first dibs on perks, like all those free tickets to glitzy events that come to the network. Also, they can coerce him to into giving up the best assignments. If he complains about it, they may release the photos to the press, and there goes his career.”
“Arnie, if something like that happens to Jack…” I’m so angry that I’m shaking.
“Don’t worry, Donna. I always have Jack’s back. If they take any photos of him, they’ll be gone—poof!” He waves his hand like a magician.
I nod, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about how his night might end up. I text him a warning:
Your co-workers are fiends! Get outta there. NOW.
I hope he gets it in time.
In any case, if I’m to take Jack at his word that we’ll make the flight, I should leave.
I tap Arnie on the shoulder. “I’m heading back to our hotel. But you’ve still got a few moments, so the next drink’s on me.” I order Arnie a mango-raspberry frozen margarita like the one he’s been eyeing from across the bar.
Arnie asks, “How about the taco you haven’t touched?”
“Sure. Consider it payment in advance.” I give him a kiss on the cheek, then I’m off.
I rush into my hotel room—
And find Jack standing there.
He wears a towel around his midriff. He’s wiping his head with another. From the streaks on it, I can tell his hair is now brown again, if only for the weekend.
“Oh, you’re back! So…soon?” I rush into his arms. “You got my text?”
“As it turns out, I didn’t see it until I walked out of the Marriott.” He chuckles. “That text of yours—you must be psychic!”
“At least I’m not psycho, like your cohosts!”
Jack sighs. “So, you saw the news?”
I shake my head.
“So…how did you know what they were up to?”
“I met Arnie for happy hour. Apparently, he’s seen photos from the Queen Bees’ previous ‘initiations.’ He says it’s not a pretty sight, especially for their victims. So, what happened there?”
Jack snorts. “The Marriott's lounge has more mirrors than a French whorehouse. I caught Beverly giving Lolita the high sign about something. After Beverly waltzed off to the little girl’s room, Lolita slipped a mickey into my drink. But as she fielded a call, I switched it with hers. First, I poured half of it in Beverly’s glass too.” He grins. “They fell asleep in each other’s arms. By the time they woke up, I’d taken off. From what I can tell on social media, they got into a slugfest over Lolita's supposed screw-up. Some fan took a video of it, and it went viral.”
“My God!” I gasp. “Talk about bad publicity for the show!”
“On the other hand, the other networks are ecstatic. They’re running the video on their news shows. But don’t expect to see it in any Hart Media newspapers or newscasts.”
“Jack, how did you know the cheat sheet contained a covert message?”
“Emma clued me in. She said you’d bumped up against the same issue with Larry.” He shrugs. “Charlotte has already called me to apologize for the Queen Bees' behavior on the network’s behalf. But by what she said, Beverly and Lolita’s public brawl may have been just the excuse she needed to break their contracts. Hopefully, she’ll find cohosts who get along, at least while we’re on the air.” His smile widens. “The best news is that I may get a few days off next week while Suzanne retools the show.”
“Speaking of good news, I got a promotion today.”
Jack’s jaw drops. “What? You're leaving Larry? That must have broken his heart. He seemed to enjoy being your whipping boy!”
“That may be the case, but Randall Hart himself asked me if I’d transfer to the D.C. bureau…as”—I brace myself for Jack’s reaction—“the new White House correspondent. Ryan likes the idea. He thinks it may bring about a break in the case.”
Jack’s smile fades. He can’t shake his frustration over my friendship with Lee. Finally, he grunts, “I guess congratulations are in order.”
“Jack, I know you’re not happy about it—”
“You're right. I'm not. But I’m sure that Lee will be tickled pink.”
He leaves my room for his, closing the door behind him.
It’s going to be a long flight home.
12
Open-Ended Question
To encourage a source to give a lengthier answer to a question, a reporter will hit the source with an open-ended question. This is one way to avoid “yes” or “no” answers that don’t really tell the full story.
To keep your life from resembling a charades game, you should try the technique too!
For example, if you want to find out if your teenage daughter is dating the wrong kind of boy, ask her, “Why does your boyfriend have to report to his parole officer?”
And you can ask this question the next time you eat out in a new restaurant: “Excuse me, can you point out the dishes that brought you to the attention of the city health inspector?”
And this classic gem may also prove revelatory: “When was the last time you beat your wife?”
Remember: the best questions receive the best answers.
“Mom! Mom! What do you think? Is this okay for my interview with Babette?” Mary stands at the top of the stairwell. She’s wearing a new dress. It’s quite retro in style: form-fitting to just above the knee in canary yellow, with black piping around its three-quarter sleeves and bateau neck, which also sports a bow on one side. Her hair is tamed into a French twist. She wears large glasses.
Realizing that she’s stunned me, she heads down the steps on her black kitten-heel shoes. “Well, how do I look?”
“Very sophisticated. By the way, why the glasses?”
“Because they’ll make me look smarter.”
“You are smarter. If you’d work harder in school, you’d have the grades to prove it. But yes, you look perfect. The glasses are a cliché. Where did you get them, anyway?”
Mary snickers. “In your costume closet.”
“Really, Mary?” I throw my hands up in the air. “First Aunt Phyllis, and now you? Agh! Okay, I’m putting a lock on that door!”
We’re interrupted by the doorbell.
I’m still in my pajamas. The flight was late and bumpy. By the time Jack and I made it home, it was midnight on the West Coast. “It’s ten o’clock on a Saturday! Who could that be?”
“I told you. I’m interviewing Babette Chiffray today!”
“Wait! You mean, you’re doing the interview here?” I look down at my flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt that was a birthday gift from the children. It proclaims:
* * *
I’M A
DROP THE F-BOMB
KIND OF MOM
* * *
I sputter, “Why aren’t you doing it at Lion’s Lair?”
Mary nods.
“Babette thought it would be a good change of place for her to come to our house. And since Janie is with her, I knew Trisha would love to show off her room, so I said yes.”
I run to the living room window.
Yep, there’s Babette. She holds Janie’s hand. Her daughter is all smiles. And, as always, her Secret Service detail is tagging along.
The bell rings again.
“I’ll get it!” Jeff races out of the living room. He’s dressed in khakis, a button-down shirt, and a tie that he must have taken from Jack’s closet because it is much too long for him.
“Why is he dressed up too?” I ask.
“He’s my camera man,” Mary explains. She nudges me into the living room. Mary’s iPhone is set up on a tripod that faces one of our twin sofas.
Jeff flings open the front door before I have a chance to duck out of sight. Immediately, three Secret Service agents stride in. I recognize one of them—Lurch Muldoon, who heads the First Family’s security team. He comes over to shake my hand. Noting my tee-shirt, he smothers a grin, but he manages a straight face when he exclaims, “Mrs. Craig, always a pleasure!”
I blush. “Same here, Mr. Muldoon. But, as you can see, I wasn’t expecting company. Of course, Janie and Babette are always welcome—as are you.”
What do you say to a man who once saved your life, and on your wedding day no less? Lurch will always be welcome in my home.
“May we search the premises?” he asks.
“By all means.”
He motions to the other men to spread out.
As one of the agents starts upstairs, Lurch asks, “Is Mr. Craig in?”
I shake my head. “He’s jogging.” As I predicted, Jack barely talked on the flight home. When I woke up this morning, he’d already left the house. The note he left on my bedside table had one word on it:
Jogging. —J
* * *
By now, he could have run to Malibu and back, but Lurch doesn’t need to know that.
Nor does Babette, who, having gotten Lurch’s okay to enter, strolls in with Jeff.
She is dressed in a blush-toned short-sleeved scalloped sheath, studded with tiny stones. Her hair falls softly around her shoulders. As always, her makeup is impeccable, unlike me, who was too tired to wash my face last night after we arrived.
Awed by Babette’s elegance, Mary’s smile wavers. Still, she straightens her shoulders as she makes her way to Babette’s side. “Hello, Mrs. Chiffray. So good to see you again.” She reaches out to shake the First Lady’s hand—
But suddenly, a scream rings out from upstairs: from Trisha, who is now bounding down the stairwell.
Janie screams too as she runs toward her—
And joyously, they hug each other at the foot of the steps.
A third scream comes from Aunt Phyllis, who bounds into the foyer from the great room. A damp sheen covers her leotard-clad body. Her yoga mat is rolled tightly. Suspicious of Lurch, she raises it like a bat.
Drawn by their cries, the two roving agents also come running in: one from upstairs and the other from the kitchen. Despite the anxious scowls on their faces they lower their raised guns when they see what the ruckus is all about.
They face off with Aunt Phyllis when Lurch shouts, “Agents! It’s only Mrs. Craig’s aunt! Weapons down!”
I look left to right and pray…
Slowly, the men drop their weapons.
Aunt Phyllis’ eyes open wide. “That was one hell of a workout! Gee, my heart is racing!”
Babette shakes her head in annoyance. “Janie, see what you caused? Quit acting like a hoodlum!”
“So sorry, Mummy!” She lowers her head, duly chastened.
But then Trisha nudges her and they run out toward the kitchen, Lassie and Rin Tin Tin bounding at their heels. Finally, Trisha gets to show her friend the backyard playhouse: a perfect place for them to plot and scheme what to do in the few precious hours they have together.
One of the agents sighs, but nonetheless follows them out.
Just then, I notice that Jeff has caught the whole thing on his iPhone. I motion him to put it away. Reluctantly, he slips it back into his pocket. Still, something tells me it’s going to end up on the Hilldale Signal’s online edition on Monday.
Suddenly, Babette notices me. Eyeing my attire, she sniffs. “Gee, Donna, had I known it was a slumber party, I would have dressed down.” She looks around. “Speaking of dreamy, is Jack around?”
Bluntly, I reply, “He’s out on a jog.”
Nope, I’m not surprised she asked. I just hope it isn’t to taunt him about his double life as Good Morning Hartland’s man candy.
Babette gives a disappointed sigh. Still, she leans in for the perfunctory air kiss.
Reluctantly, I accommodate her. Oh well, when in Rome, or something like that.
But when Aunt Phyllis moves our way for her version of a group hug, Babette holds out her hand to stop her. “This is a Valentino, Mrs. Lindholm! So please, let’s forego your usual bear hug.”
Phyllis takes the request with a grain of salt and a middle finger salute. I’m able to smack it away before Babette sees it, or one of her trigger-happy agents blows it away. My unflappable aunt sticks her wireless buds back into her ears as she heads back into the great room.
Thank goodness Mary has already ushered Babette into the living room.
Mary starts off politely. “It’s an honor to interview you, Mrs. Chiffray, especially in light of all your accomplishments since entering the White House.”
Babette rewards Mary with a glowing smile. “Thank you, Mary. It’s very kind of you to acknowledge them.”
“In fact, I know our viewers would like to hear what you feel your greatest accomplishment has been thus far.”
Babette pouts as she thinks through the question. “Why… motherhood, of course.” Babette lifts her head proudly. “Raising a happy and healthy child in this great country of ours is an honor and a privilege!”
“I’ve no doubt,” Mary insists. “But, considering the esteem and power that comes with your position, surely there is one public accomplishment that makes you especially proud?”
“Yes…” Babette’s eyes narrow. “Certainly you’ve heard about my new cause: Peace Meal.”
“I think it’s wonderful,” Mary exclaims promptly.
Babette preens at the compliment.
“In fact, this brings up my next question. Would you be open to sharing a Peace Meal with someone today?”
“What…me?” Babette’s head jerks back, as if someone has just slapped her. “No!…I mean…I’ve got such a busy schedule and all—”
“But, when I set up this interview with your aide, Ms. Desmarais, she told me the day was wide open…Oh, except for your mani-pedi and physical training session. So, we called over to the Hilldale Senior Living facility to see if one of the residents might be free for dinner. There were so many who have relatives living too far away, or who have no family at all. We had to pull a name at random.”
Appalled, Babette’s eyes open wide. “That won’t work for me!”
“But…it’s your signature movement,” Mary points out. “And since, as it was just reported, you’ve yet to experience it yourself, don’t you want to?”
I have to hold my breath to keep from snorting out loud.
Babette’s face turns bright red. No doubt the memory of “Grant’s” gotcha moment still haunts her. Babette’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Mary, but my daughter’s wide-eyed innocence muzzles her as she clearly contemplates the best way to get out of this dilemma. When Babette finally answers, her tone is not just firm; it’s menacing: “I’m sorry, Mary, but you’re mistaken. In fact, Janie and I have arranged to take a tour with the principal of the local elementary school.”
Mary is so excited by this bombshell that she sits straight up. “You’re moving back to Hilldale?”
Babette drops her head before nodding. “Yes. I don’t think we’ll be in Washington much longer,” she says
ominously. “At least, Janie and I will be living here.”
Oh, brother…
Mary’s mouth drops open. Her head whips around to the camera, where she mouths one word: DIVORCE!
And yet, she is so touched by Babette’s theatrics that she takes the woman’s hand. “But President Chiffray is cooperating with the Special Counsel! He’s innocent…I mean, right?”
Tears glisten in Babette’s eyes. “I…I hope so. You see, the asset in question…well, he told me he’d sold it! So it shouldn’t have been in the portfolio to begin with!” She lowers her head to hide a deep sob.
Which company? Say the name so I can verify this…
“Cut!” Mary exclaims.
NO! NOT YET!
Wild-eyed, Jeff looks up from the iPhone’s viewfinder. Apparently he agrees with me because adamantly, he shakes his head.
“I said CUT!” Mary insists. She moves closer to Babette to shield her face from the camera.
Jeff grumbles but does what he’s told.
A wisp of a smile rises on Babette’s lips.
When she looks up, the tears have miraculously vanished.
Mary doesn’t notice because she’s too busy wiping away tears of her own.
Lurch knows Babette well enough to have the agent watching Janie bring her to her mother as quickly as possible.
When the girls appear, there is a frown on Janie’s face. “Must we leave so soon?”
“Now, now Janie,” Babette says firmly, “Don’t you remember? We have an interview with the principal of your old school, Hilldale Elementary. You remember Miss Darling, don’t you dear?”
Hearing this, Trisha is jubilant. “We might be in school together again?” She hugs her friend. “Janie, that’s awesome! I can show you around and introduce you to everyone! Hey, you said you play soccer at your D.C. school, right? I play too! I’m a forward. We’re on a winning streak! Wait until you meet Coach Middleton! She works us hard, but we adore her. You will too!”
