Beaker was stomping around like a scorned woman, and Ray had to will himself not to smile.
“You are unbelievable!” Beaker continued to say as he went from one side of the van to the other, gathering his equipment. Ray leaned against the side of the vehicle and studied his notepad, trying to ignore Beaker’s ranting. “Plus, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s snowing! I hate snow!”
Maybe this was crazy. Maybe? It was crazy. He was getting ready to confront the man who had assaulted him…the man who’d just gotten out of jail for it. But the story was here, not in some police captain’s office. There were a lot of unanswered questions. Why would Petey Green assault him, especially when the station was going to present his side of the story in the more favorable light? After all, who couldn’t relate to a man disgruntled about pigs next door?
In Ray’s heart, he knew he’d just scratched the surface of this story. There was something else going on, and he would get to the bottom of it. There was no reason he couldn’t make this story the lead story. With the right information, it could slide into the top spot.
“You about ready?” Ray called.
He heard Beaker growl before he finally came around the van with the camera equipment. “At least we’re here in daylight, though I can’t say that brings me a whole lot of comfort. What are you going to do when he opens the door and pokes a shotgun in your face?”
“Hope that you’ve got the camera rolling.”
“Funny. I only hope he’s so distracted by you that he doesn’t see me. But you and I both know they always go after the camera guy. The reporter is standing there asking all these obnoxious questions and poking a microphone in the guys face, and what does he do? He shoves the cameraman.”
“Well, Beaker, lucky for you—and I’m talking from experience here—Mr. Green seems more focused on me.”
“You should’ve told me we were coming here. I would’ve packed a heat.”
The edges of Ray’s mouth trembled with restrained laughter at Beaker’s misuse of Hollywood cop lingo. Ray had never known someone who watched more cop shows and movies. Beaker watched every version of CSI and Law and Order, plus he would rent two or three cop movies every weekend. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he could never get the jargon quite right. Once he’d gone through the day trying impressions of Mel Gibson’s Martin Riggs character in Lethal Weapon. Somebody had recognized it from the movie, which prompted Beaker to grow out his hair for two years to try to look like the character. Ray never understood why Beaker couldn’t at least feign a little bit more courage outside his imaginary world.
“We’re going to be fine,” Ray said. “Let’s just both be on guard.”
Ray couldn’t deny the apprehension that built with every step he took toward Petey Green’s house. The cut on his forehead even started to throb again.
He noticed that Beaker trailed a good distance behind him, pretending to fiddle with his camera in order to lose ground. He didn’t let that deter him, but his feet felt heavy as he stepped up to the porch.
Petey Green’s house was not unlike Elva Jones’s house, with a screen door that looked barely attached and windows covered with sheets. Ray noticed two peepholes and wondered if the homeowner was staring through one of them at this moment.
Captain Wynn’s quiet office suddenly didn’t look so unappealing. Here Ray was, out in the action where he wanted to be, but his hands shook enough to make him realize that perhaps he hadn’t made the wisest choice. Plus Hugo had specifically instructed him not to interview Petey Green, so now he was putting his life and his career on the line.
Ray knocked anyway.
Besides Beaker’s heavy breathing behind him, the only things he heard were the pigs snorting next door. The smell was horrendous.
Ray knocked again.
“Nobody’s home,” Beaker said. “Great. Now we don’t have an interview from the captain or any other footage. Maybe I could just get a closeup shot of your wound there, and if we’re real quiet, and don’t scare it, maybe it will give us a quote.”
Suddenly the front door flew open, causing Ray to spin around and drop the microphone.
Obviously, they’d woken up Petey Green. That, or he was coming off a very bad hangover. Either way, this wasn’t starting out well.
Green blinked at the dull daylight and scowled, looking as if he was trying to get his bearings. Ray used that moment to scoop up the mike.
“Mr. Green,” Ray said, and to his horror, his voice cracked.
“Nice,” Beaker whispered.
Ray kept his focus on Petey Green. “I’m Ray Duffey from News Channel 7.”
Green’s harsh, narrow eyes widened.
“I wanted to talk to you about the situation next door and give you a chance to tell your side of the story.”
Green stumbled forward and out the front door. Ray backed up a little. “Ain’t you the one that trespassed on my property before?”
“Sir, we just want your side of the story concerning the pigs. What about the pigs makes it difficult to live near them?”
Green was rubbing his left cheek for no apparent reason and pulling on his pants with the other hand. “I thought I told you to get outta here. I already went to jail once for making you get out of here, and here you are again. Ain’t you learned your lesson?”
“Sir,” Ray said, “I’m not here to harass you. I just want the truth.”
“The truth is that I hate News Channel 7, and if you don’t get yourself off my property, I’m going to call the police, who I know won’t get here fast enough. So then I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands again.”
Ray turned to Beaker and said, “Turn the camera off.”
“What?”
“Turn it off.”
“Why?” Beaker asked.
“Just do it.”
The cameraman sighed and switched it off.
“I have the camera off now,” Ray said.
“So?” Green said. “I ain’t afraid of no camera.”
“Mr. Green, I believe there’s more to this story than we’re seeing on the surface. And what better way to get the truth out than to tell it yourself?”
Petey Green walked toward Ray, who had backed down the porch steps until he stood in the middle of the man’s front yard. “You’re not here about the truth. You don’t care no thin about the truth.”
“That’s not true, sir. That is indeed why I am here. I just can’t see why you would risk going to jail over a news station covering your neighbor’s pigs.”
“How ’bout the fact that I just don’t like you?”
“You don’t even know me, so I’m not buying that either.”
A string of expletives tumbled out of Green’s mouth. Ray tried to sort through them to find exactly what was making the man so angry.
In the middle of two words Ray would never use—in public anyway—he heard Gilda Braun.
“What did you say?” Ray asked, interrupting his rant.
Green stopped. “You want me to repeat all that?”
“Did you say ‘Gilda Braun’?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“What about her?”
Green’s eyes glared, and with a sneer he said, “Maybe you should ask her.”
Chad Arbus walked into the station, his unbuttoned trench coat breezing behind him due to his quick stride. He pulled off his gloves in order to put his hair back into place. He looked around, trying to spot Hugo. He could see that he wasn’t in his office.
Then he heard Hugo’s voice at the anchor’s desk. What was he doing there? It was hours before the broadcast, but the set was lit up like they were about to begin. Maybe there was breaking news.
And then he noticed a peculiar sight. That girl. What was her name? Hugo’s new assistant. He’d had a couple of run-ins with Religious Rhonda and was perfectly content staying a good twenty-five yards away from her. The first time he’d met her, she’d thanked him for “blessing her” with her job. “I’m not a priest,” h
e’d replied and then walked off.
Chad took a few steps forward for a better view but made sure he was out of her line of sight. He watched, half hidden behind a beam, as Hugo talked to her. What was he doing? Why was she sitting behind the anchor’s desk? He sighed and settled in, watching Hugo’s masterful technique. One of the most talented men Chad had ever known, Hugo had this amazing ability to pull out the best in people and remain calm under pressure. Hugo had created a wonderful sense of respect around the station. People called their bosses “Mr.” and “Mrs.” It was odd to hear people twice his age calling him Mr. Arbus, but the idea quickly grew on him. The rest of Hugo’s old-school ways went out the window, though, when Chad arrived. He hated the dress code and wasn’t about to wear a tie to work every day. He even told the anchors to dress only from the waist up. Everyone thought that was pretty funny, the anchors sitting behind the desk in shorts and a suit jacket. He knew it bothered Hugo, who felt the way a person dressed set the tone for his or her professional attitude. That was a bunch of bunk. The professional attitude was set by whether or not Chad treated them like they were worth his time.
Chad was hired to shake up the station and bring in some new blood, and the only way to do that was to demand respect. So far that hadn’t been a problem. He’d ensured that no matter what his job was going to be done. And right now was no exception.
Chad removed his coat and draped it over his arm. He straightened his polo, and then, with as long a stride as his short legs would allow, he headed for Hugo. As soon as Hugo saw him, he stopped what he was doing and met him halfway.
“Mr. Arbus,” Hugo said. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”
“I’ve had some important things to take care of.”
“Mr. Green is going to sue?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” He gestured toward Hugo’s assistant. “What’s going on here?”
“This is going to sound crazy…”
“What?”
“We can’t find Gilda. She’s nowhere. I even had someone go by her house, and she’s not there.”
“So what’s the big deal? We’ve got other options besides Gilda.”
“I’m afraid something bad has happened to her.”
“A bad case of Botox,” Chad growled. “Maybe she’s finally realized she’s not anchor material anymore.”
“As you know, our afternoon anchors have contract stipulations. And our other two options for anchors are…”
“Where? Everyone knows there’s no vacation right before or during sweeps week.”
“They’re not on vacation. They’re, um…”
“What?”
“Cosmetically unavailable.”
“Another Botox mishap?”
“No.”
Chad’s eyes shifted to the girl, who noticed him and stood to wave. “Hello, Mr. Arbus. Good to see you again.”
Chad looked at Hugo and pitched a thumb at her. “Why’s she kissing my butt?”
“She’s not, sir. Hayden’s just nice.”
Chad gave Hugo an unimpressed look. “So why is she behind the anchor’s desk next to Tate? With a microphone on her shirt?”
Hugo was gesturing, but no words were coming out.
“What?” Chad demanded. “Speak up.”
“I think she can do it.”
“Do what?”
“Anchor the ten o’clock.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“You have to see her. She’s got natural talent. She’s very calm and together.”
“Yeah, until the live broadcast. Then what?”
“Then…we’re going to have to have faith.”
“Faith?” Chad snorted. “This industry isn’t built on faith, Hugo. It’s built on cold, hard facts. Guarantees.”
“Bringing in a new, young, pretty anchor is going to get us some attention.”
Chad cut his eyes back to the girl. Strangely, she did have the right look. Cute but intelligent. Blonde hair that looked natural. With a little hair and makeup work, they could add a couple of years to her.
“She’s our only option?” Chad asked.
“I’m not one to gamble, sir. But tonight, I’m afraid we’re going to have to.”
Chad studied Hayden as she spoke with Tate. They were a good visual match and seemed at ease with one another. Though Hugo didn’t look anxious, he did look desperate, which wasn’t making Chad feel any better about the situation.
“It’s your call,” Chad finally said. “But it better be the right one.”
“Yes sir,” Hugo said.
Chad turned and walked toward his office. He trusted no one more than Hugo, but things could change.
“Why are we back here?” Beaker complained. “We have nothing, Ray. Do you realize that? I don’t have one minute of footage.”
“We’re following the story, Beaker,” Ray replied as they walked into the news station.
“The story’s going to be that you get fired if you don’t come up with something. And quick.”
“We’ll have something. I don’t know what, but we’ll have something.”
“What if we don’t?”
“We will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Ray turned to Beaker, who almost ran into him. “Because there’s a story here. Can’t you see that?”
“I see a really ticked-off guy who doesn’t want us anywhere near him.”
“But why? Why does he hate us so much?”
“The public loves the news but hates newspeople. Everybody knows that.”
“No, there’s something more.”
“And how do you plan on finding that ‘something more’?”
“Easy. I just have to talk to Gilda.”
Roarke slipped into Gilda’s dressing room, which was still dark. He didn’t turn on the light but could still see it, wrapped in red paper and neatly tied in a bow. His heart sank. He’d finally taken the next step. Inside the box was a note declaring his feelings, and at the end, he’d signed his name. It hardly looked like his signature because his hand had been shaking so badly.
Where was Gilda? With all that was at stake tonight, she should’ve been in two hours ago. His note had encouraged her, told her that he believed she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known and that she didn’t need to be “fixed.”
Suddenly the door to her dressing room opened, and Roarke spun around, feeling he’d been caught red-handed. But he did sign his name. Maybe he could just tell her himself. It was time she knew. His heart told him so. No more hiding behind little gifts and poems. This was the woman he loved, and she had to—
“Ray?” Roarke squeaked as the lights came on.
“What are you doing?” Ray asked.
“Nothing.”
“You look like you’re doing something.”
“I’m standing here.”
“Doing what?”
“Nothing. Just standing here.”
“In the dark. In Gilda’s dressing room.”
“So?” Roarke knew his face was flushing. He could feel his neck growing warm. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for Gilda. What else?”
“Well, as you can see, she’s not here.”
“But why are you here?” Ray glanced behind Roarke. By Ray’s expression, Roarke knew he had spotted the gift on her vanity. “No way…”
Roarke groaned and rolled his eyes.
“Gilda?” Ray nearly shouted. Roarke waved his hands and shushed him. “You’re in love with Gilda?”
“You don’t know her like I do,” Roarke said.
“We both know her exactly the same.”
“You don’t see what I see.”
Roarke could tell his friend was trying hard not to judge, nodding like he understood. But his eyes looked dazed and perplexed.
“I’m really in love with her, dude,” Roarke said. “I wrote her a note telling her.” He gestured toward the red box.
Ray
stepped forward and put his hand on Roarke’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you. And Gilda would be lucky to have a man like you. How, um, how does she feel about you?”
“I don’t know yet. She apparently hasn’t read the note.”
“That’s what you were doing? Leaving a note?”
Roarke sighed. “I left the note hours ago. I figured she’d be in by now. But she’s not.”
“She’s not?”
“Weird, huh?”
Ray looked distressed. “I’ve got to talk to her.”
“Why?”
“I went to interview Petey Green today.”
“You what?”
“I know, I know.”
“Hugo told you specifically not to interview him, didn’t he?”
“Roarke, I’m telling you, something weird is going on here. Green mentioned Gilda, that I should ask Gilda why he hates us so much.”
“You know people, Ray. They prefer one station over another because of an anchors hairstyle or choice of tie.”
“I don’t know. This seems a little different.”
“Yeah, well, everything around here seems a little different if you ask me. Gilda’s not here and your lady’s in the anchor chair.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hugo’s been working with Hayden to fill in for Gilda if Gilda doesn’t show up or shows up but can’t frown.”
“Hayden? Why Hayden? She has no experience in front of a camera. What about Julia…or Michelle? Why couldn’t he use Ronny?”
“Rumor has it that Michelle can’t stay up past seven, Julia knocked out her two front teeth, and Ronny’s hair plugs are infected. All I know is that Hayden’s been out there practicing all afternoon. She even taped a promo.”
Ray shook his head. Roarke added, “You should probably ask her out soon.”
“Why?”
“Because, dude, she’s about to become famous.”
Chapter 17
At four o’clock in the afternoon, Gilda still hadn’t shown, and Ray had nothing for his story except a few vague facts and a shot of Petey Green opening his front door. He felt such panic that he was actually drinking coffee. It tasted nasty, but he’d chewed off all his fingernails and he needed some other oral fixation. Sucking his thumb was out of the question.
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