Scoop

by Rene Gutteridge

  Back at the station, the 6:30 news was wrapping up. Ray found Roarke at the assignment desk. “Did you get to her computer?” he whispered.

  “Yeah. I didn’t find anything.”

  “What do you mean you didn’t find anything?”

  Roarke raised an eyebrow. “You seem a little on edge.”

  “It has not been a good day.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “More than I can possibly explain, but as of right now, all I’ve got for my story is Green coming out of his house angry and Captain Wynn looking as if I bribed him for a quote.”

  “Did you?”

  “Long story. Are you sure you looked in all the folders?”

  “Dude, I had to work fast, okay? But I didn’t find anything. And as I suspected, she’s not dating anyone either.” He smiled a little.

  “Did you look for anything besides evidence of her love life?”

  Roarke’s smile faded. “You need to chill.”

  “I asked Hayden out.” Ray folded his hands together and rested his forehead against them.

  “You burped the Tupperware?”

  “She’s got plans this weekend.”

  “And…?”

  “And what?”

  “Well, she didn’t say no. She just said she’s got plans.”

  “For the whole weekend?”

  Ray glanced around and added, “Sam must have gotten to her first.”

  “Oh, man. That stinks.”

  “Yeah. Big time.” Ray looked up and noticed Sam walking from the weather desk toward the break room. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

  Roarke stood. “Ray, seriously, man, I think you should chill out for a little bit. I mean, what good is that going to do except make you look like an idiot? Or worse.”

  “What’s worse?”

  “A desperate idiot.”

  “Sam’s asking her out for all the wrong reasons. Hayden’s too naive to see that.”

  “Ray, wait…”

  But Ray couldn’t. His blood was boiling. He’d hit a dead end with the Green case, been manipulated by the police, and duped by Sam “A League of His Own” Leege. Something had to give.

  Marching straight toward the break room, Ray tried to think of any way that he could come across as composed and cool about the situation. Nothing came to mind.

  Pushing open the door, he was surprised to find Sam hanging over the sink with the water running. He didn’t seem to notice anyone else in the room.

  “Sam,” Ray said harshly, but the weatherman continued to hang over the sink. Then he grabbed two paper towels, wet them, and rubbed them all over his face. “Sam!” Ray tried again. Sam looked up like the paper-towel dispenser had just spoken to him. “Over here,” Ray said, and Sam turned his head. Then he squinted, like Ray was a beaming light.

  “Ray?” he asked.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Ray asked, stepping forward, out of whatever light seemed to be blinding Sam.

  Sam stood upright and took three attempts to turn off the water. He was trying to blot his face dry, but the paper towel was sopping wet. “Nothing. Why?”

  Was he sick? He sounded different. Maybe he had a cold. Good. He was sick and going to get a tongue-lashing. Exactly what he deserved.

  Ray was about to open his mouth when he noticed Sam’s shirt was buttoned wrong. And then he noticed his tie, barely hanging by its knot, clashed with his shirt, which was odd since Sam was a certified metrosexual.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Did I stut—”

  “What?” Ray asked.

  “—ter?” Sam finished. “What are you doing in here anyway? Don’t you have…have something to…do?”

  Sam’s eyes looked wild and unfocused. Ray began to wonder if maybe it was the flu and he should find a bottle of disinfectant really quickly. All of this was making it very difficult to be hard core. Sam’s eyes, puffy and red, didn’t seem the least bit interested in what Ray had to say.

  “What are you, a…a…?”

  “You need to sit down,” Ray said, grabbing his arm. Sam yanked it away.

  “A…nurse or something?”

  “You don’t look good, man,” Ray said.

  “I’m fine. I just need to step outside for a…thirty-two degrees.”

  “Huh?”

  Sam’s eyes suddenly turned shiny. “I’m a failure, Ray.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ray realized he should be agreeing with him in order to make his point, but something was very wrong here.

  “I’m horrible at my job. My dad—now that man, he could stand outside, lick his finger, and tell you what it was going to do on Sunday. I’ve got”—he paused for what sounded like a hiccup—“these fancy computers and assistants and…1 can’t even tell you what it’s doing outside now.”

  Ray ran his fingers through his hair. Sam had taken the wind out of his sails. This was not going well. Ray pulled up a chair. “Look, Sam, everyone makes mistakes—”

  “You don’t.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “No. You’re…you’re one of a kind, Ray. I’ve never told you this before,” he said, leaning forward and stretching out his hand like Ray might grab it. He didn’t. “But I look up to you, man. I do. You’re really good at this…this…news stuff. I’m just your everyday hack. I mean, yeah, I can flirt on air and charm the daylights out of a camera lens, but at the end of the…” He paused. “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven.”

  “At the end of the night, I’m nothing, Ray. Nothing.” Sam laughed.

  As he did, Ray got a whiff of… Was Sam drunk?

  “Sam, are you sure you’re, uh, you’re—”

  “What? A loser. Yeah. I’m just really bad at this. I am in a league of my own. The league of losers.” Every fourth word slurred. He blinked slowly and smiled at awkward times. “You have nothing to worry about, Ray. You’ll always be on top. I talk but I don’t walk, you know.” For the first time, Ray noticed the coffee sitting in front of Sam. Sam gulped it suddenly, and Ray realized that coffee wasn’t the only thing in that mug. Which surprised him as he tended to envision Sam as more of a martini-sipping type.

  “Sam, you’ve got to stop this.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You’re dru—”

  The door flew open, and Hugo walked in, his eyes wide like he was expecting something bad to happen.

  “What are you two doing?” Hugo asked.

  “Just…sit…” Sam’s long blinks between words made Ray stand and address Hugo.

  “What do you need, Mr. Talley?”

  “I need to know that tonight’s newscast is going to go off without a hitch.” Hugo glanced at Sam, then at Ray.

  Ray also glanced at Sam, who looked like he could pass out at any moment. Hugo was starting to notice too, so Ray took Hugo by the arm and said, “I need to talk to you for a second.” He guided him out of the break room.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Look, I’ve put off telling you this because I wasn’t sure what I could find. My story about Green is…a little weak. I don’t have much.”

  “How can you not have much?” Hugo said, his voice tight with restraint. “You are the story.”

  “Well, sir, that’s what I’ve been trying to avoid. But I found something really interesting. It’s a lead I’m following that—”

  “What exactly do you have, Ray? For tonight?”

  “I have a quote from the police captain…and a shot of Green coming out of his house.”

  Hugo’s eyes lit. “What?”

  “I know, I know. You told me not to go interview him. But I couldn’t build a story around Captain Wynn’s take on things. Something is telling me that there is more to this story. Why does Green hate our station so much? Why does—”

  “He’s saying we provoked him! And now you’ve gone to his house? To provoke him more?”

  “Mr. Talley, listen for a minute. When I was th
ere, Green said Gilda’s name, and I think there may be something more to this story than just the pigs—”

  Hugo’s nostrils flared with each word Ray spoke. Then he held up his hands. “You don’t show a second of that footage you have of Green. Do you understand me?”

  “But…but all I have is Captain Wynn, and it’s like a five-second quote.”

  “Then you better figure something out. You’ve got a three-minute segment. Are we clear?”

  Ray nodded.

  “We still haven’t found Gilda. This is going to be a nightmare.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Everything else has to be perfect tonight. Perfect. No exceptions. I have no idea what’s going to happen with Hayden, so nothing else can go wrong.” Hugo glanced toward the break-room door. “Is he okay?”

  “Sam? Oh…yeah, he’s…he’s just…you know. He’s fine.”

  Hugo eyed Ray carefully then walked off. As soon as Hugo rounded the corner, Ray slipped back into the break room, only to find Sam passed out at the table. “Sam!”

  Sam jerked up and with his right hand pointed to something and said, “Winds from the north, making for a chilly morning, but it’ll warm up by noon—”

  Ray rushed to him. “Sam! You’ve got to get a grip. You’ve got to get ahold of yourself before the newscast.”

  Sam’s hand dropped and he eyed Ray. “Why do you care? You hate me, Ray. Everyone knows it.”

  Ray tried to keep his tone even though he really felt like shouting. “I don’t hate you, Sam, but you’ve got to pull yourself together.”

  “Because you care so much about me?” Sam laughed. “Right. There’s nothing you’d like to see more than me crash and burn.”

  Not tonight. “Sam, please. Let’s just put all that aside. Hugo needs us to be at our best.”

  Sam sank in his chair. “Sorry, Ray. I’m not buying into your sudden concern for me.”

  “Look, Sam, the truth is that I was going to come in and confront you about asking Hayden out. It made me mad. She’s a good and decent person, and she shouldn’t be the object of a competition. I felt like you were asking her out just to get at me, to prove you could win. So you won…fine. Let’s put that aside and—”

  “Wait a minute,” Sam said, finishing off the contents of the mug.

  “What?”

  “What do you mean I won?”

  “You asked Hayden out. She’s going out with you this weekend.”

  Sam’s unfocused eyes managed to look amused. “I asked her out. But she said she couldn’t.” A sloppy smile spread across Sam’s face. “A few minutes later, I heard her talking to Trent, asking him what he was doing this weekend.”

  “You’re lying,” Ray said.

  Sam threw up his hands. “Now I’m a drunk and a liar. And I was beginning to think you cared.” Sam stood, cradling the mug in his hands.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Why do you care?” Sam sneered.

  Ray grabbed his arm as he tried to pass. “Sam, you cannot screw this up. You’ve got to…to…de-drunk yourself.”

  Sam laughed heartily. “De-drunk. Good one, Ray.” And he stumbled out the door.

  Chapter 19

  Hugo wasn’t sure why, but a strange and very real calmness swept over his body in waves. Between the waves, he experienced moments of sheer panic, but then the calm would come again. Maybe his Blue Pill was working again, though he couldn’t imagine why, since he knew his level of anxiety this evening was twice what it normally was.

  He watched Hayden in the monitor. She looked really good on camera. That engaging grin came through the lens. Her eyes sparkled underneath the lights. They’d been rehearsing like crazy, and now, with only a few minutes until time to go on air, she actually looked relaxed. She studied her script intently, talking a little with Tate, who didn’t look all that uptight either.

  It was so hard for Hugo to get his hopes up, though. Sure, he wanted to believe he’d witnessed a minor miracle with Gilda disappearing and Hayden Hazard, of all people, stepping in with near flawlessness. But he just wasn’t sure he had enough faith, because deep in his heart he knew good things hardly ever happened. He’d been in the news business long enough to know that. That’s what made the news a business.

  Something about Hayden, though, made him want to believe. Either she was certifiable, or she really believed she could do this. Either way, she made him believe, at least a little, because there she sat in the anchor’s chair. Even her name had an anchor’s ring to it. Hayden Hazard. So, with all the horrible bad luck he’d witnessed in the last forty-eight hours, was it possible that things might turn around for him tonight?

  Chad wasn’t happy. He’d called Hugo a lunatic and made it clear that if this didn’t work, Hugo was out of a job. But Chad couldn’t deny that Hayden had the look they’d been searching for. “Now let’s just hope she doesn’t make us look like idiots,” he’d quipped before returning to his office.

  “Yes, let’s hope,” Hugo said aloud, causing a few people to turn to look at him. He ignored them, realizing how much he wished Hayden could also be in the room, standing near the back wall like she normally did, offering words of encouragement.

  Suddenly, her voice came crackling through the speaker. “Mr. Talley, how are you doing in there?”

  Hugo smiled and leaned into the microphone. “Fine, Hayden. We’re on in about two minutes. You ready?”

  “Ready!”

  “How about you, Tate?”

  “I’m ready too, sir.”

  “Okay. Just remember, look for the floor director’s hand signals. We’re going to keep this very simple tonight, but if you get confused he’ll be pointing to the correct camera. He’ll also be giving you the countdown and will be letting you know when it’s time to—”

  “Mr. Talley,” Hayden smiled, “you’ve told me this a hundred times.”

  Hugo found himself laughing. He didn’t know why. Maybe because this was all so absurd. But now it was time for him to step back and release it all. There was nothing more he could do but watch himself either become a hero or unemployed. He decided to stand against the back wall, where Hayden normally stood.

  He could hear the director counting down, and everything seemed to slow to a crawl. Except his mind. Thoughts raced through it like one bullet train after another. It seemed an odd time to be contemplating his life, but there he stood, wondering what exactly he was missing, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t be happy. Even when good things happened, he was fearful about when it would all go away. He’d never thought much about his soul or spirit or being or whatever you wanted to call it. But if he honestly thought about it, he pictured it huddled in a dark corner of himself, trembling and wide-eyed.

  “On in ten, nine, eight, seven…” Each number Willis announced hung in air, and Hugo felt breathless as he watched the monitors. Hayden’s hands were moving across the stack of papers on the desk, and she wasn’t looking up at the camera.

  “Look up, look up!” Hugo whispered.

  “…three, two, one, roll intro…”

  The News Channel 7 logo appeared with the music. And then it cut to Hayden and Tate. Tate was looking up at the camera, greeting it with his usual smile. Hayden was still looking down at her notes. Hugo clasped his hands together, begging whatever powers that be.

  “Good evening. I’m Tate Franklin.”

  Hayden paused, looked up a little, then lifted her chin. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Tate glanced at her, worry flashing across his face.

  “Come on!” Hugo shouted, causing everyone in the control room to jump.

  Then she smiled. “And I’m Hayden Hazard. Thank you for joining us this evening.”

  Hugo let out a whimper, but he didn’t care. She’d spoken.

  “Tonight, we begin with coverage of the wastewater treatment plant explosion. For that, we go to Jill Clark, who is standing by live at the plant. Jill, what have you learned?” Hayden asked.

  Hugo watched J
ill give her report. The calmness he’d known just moments before returned. He didn’t even listen to Jill’s report but instead kept his eyes focused on Tate and Hayden.

  “Back to you,” Jill said.

  “Thank you, Jill,” Hayden said. “We’re glad to hear there weren’t more casualties. It could have been much worse.”

  The calmness washed away. Hayden wasn’t sticking to the script. She was given no extra commentary, just the bare bones. But she looked at Tate, indicating he was up, and he went on to his part.

  Hugo was afraid he might distract her if he whispered into her IFB, so he just let it go. She’d done a good job so far, though a little stilted. She was warming up fast.

  “She’s good,” Willis said.

  Hugo nodded. Something told him this was going to be a very, very good newscast.

  “Sam? Sam!” Ray had gone looking for Sam after a grip had remarked that the weatherman had taken off his microphone and disappeared a few minutes into the newscast. Ray’s segment was to air right before the weather, so he knew they both had at least ten minutes.

  He’d been watching Hayden, who was doing amazingly well for her first time in front of the camera. The mistakes she made were minor, and Tate had been able to cover for her. They seemed to be working well as a team.

  Now, though, Sam had the potential to undo the entire newscast. Ray had elected not to tell Hugo about Sam, because when he’d found Sam a couple of hours after their initial meeting, he seemed to be coming off his buzz.

  Ray hadn’t been able to get over the enormous disappointment he felt knowing that not only had Hayden turned him down for a date, but that she’d actually asked Trent out. Trent, of all people? It had ruined his entire night, and he was having a hard time caring about anything but himself.

  But now, realizing they might not have a weather segment and thus, ten minutes to fill, Ray knew he was going to have to do something—and quick.

  Although he looked everywhere, including the men’s room, he came up empty. What were they going to do? The assistant director was heading for Ray, his arms thrown up. “Were four minutes until commercial!” he ranted. “Where is he?”

  Ray sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t find him.”