“Fine. Rich, it’s my pleasure,” he said as they shook hands. “Now, I’ve been there before. You’re bored and looking for a challenge. I’ve been doing this since I was your age, which I’m not going to say what year. Are you looking for advice or just to vent?”
Asking Ted for his professional opinion was the last thing on his agenda before they met, but now it seemed appropriate. “If it’s not a problem, I could always use some direction.”
“Are you sure about that? Think very hard before you answer yes. People agree to it, but then they can’t take the constructive criticism.” Ted tilted his head down so he could see over his glasses. “I’m brutally honest, and I don’t bullshit unless I’m in a pickle.”
“Yeah, sure,” said Rich, thinking he could take a good beating.
“Suit yourself. I’ve watched several of your stories, and you’re good, but not great. You’ve got potential, but there are a couple of things missing.”
“Okay, I’m game.”
“There’s a disconnect between you and the person you’re talking to and the audience. There’s no chemistry. You create a story and a conversation, but you don’t look like you give a damn about the people you’re talking to,” said Ted, on a roll.
“Yeah, I do. I talk to people, and I care,” Rich said.
“See, I’m giving you advice, and you’re immediately getting defensive. Arrogance and insecurity are going to hold you back.” Rich bit his tongue and let Ted continue. “There’s a certain chemistry you need to have with your audience. What I mean is, you need to sell yourself to sell your story, inform, and entertain. Let your personality come through to the audience. That doesn’t mean that you become emotionally attached to the story, because then your own bias will come through; it’s a rookie mistake. Following me?” Ted asked. Rich nodded in agreement. “Here’s what I mean: have you ever watched the celebrities they bring in to promote products on the home shopping channel?”
“Umm, no.”
“The best ones are those who sell themselves, not the product. Imagine if Robin Williams came on and spoke the script directly off the teleprompter. He could easily do that, but he knows comedy sells. Instead, he tells jokes and makes fun of himself and the product at the same time. It’s entertainment. It’s what you have to do. Let your personality come through, and take the metal rod out of your ass.” Rich blushed at the aspect of being uptight, but the more he thought about it, the old man was right.
The verbal beating didn’t deflate his ego as badly as he thought it would. Contrarily, it gave new insight and inspiration to his career. For the first time in five years, he felt refreshed and that a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “I appreciate the advice. I really do.”
“Good. Once you’ve figured it out, come talk to me, and we’ll see how you’re doing.”
“One other thing: as I said, nine-eleven got me thinking. From what you’ve seen, do I have what it takes to become a foreign or a war correspondent?” Rich asked.
Ted raised an eyebrow at the question and replied playfully, “Baby steps, young grasshopper, baby steps.”
“But isn’t that what you did? You started off as a grass-roots reporter, and then you got promoted to an investigative reporter, then you got on with CBC.”
Ted laughed again, “Those were different times. I was the only reporter who was single and multilingual. There was this gorgeous Spanish gal, but she had kids and stayed put behind the anchor desk. Point is, start with investigative reporting and start networking. By that I mean sources. You need reliable sources that won’t dick you around when you need them. After you’ve built up a solid reputation, then you can look into being a foreign correspondent.”
“I’m fluent in the languages of the countries that we have major economic ties with, and I already have a short list of sources,” Rich said in an effort to prove he could do it.
“If you really want to do international, you need to stay single, and it’s a bitch trying to keep a family together. Trust me, I know. I’ve been divorced four times, twice from the same woman. If you’re embedded and cover wars, you’ll get kidnapped, shot at, tortured, get hate mail and death threats. You’ll see human nature at its very worst and see horrific scenes of savagery. That’s your job, though–you uncover the shit that all the assholes of the world create and try to give it a voice, plain and simple. If you don’t give them a voice, no one else will,” Ted said philosophically.
Without any hesitation, Rich said, “I can do that. I don’t care if I get married or have kids.”
“You say that now, but people change, especially when they see people around them having families. It’s depressing.” Ted held up his cane and said, “See this? I’ve had this thing ever since I was released as a hostage in Vietnam in April of ‘75. I was beaten every day for five years, and I lost over a hundred pounds. The other two journalists I was traveling with resisted and got a bullet through their skulls. When I was released and got back into the States, people at the airport said I was a traitor and spit on my shoes. Are you still interested?”
Rich’s determination to make something of his career won out. “I can do it. Just tell me how.”
Ted raised an eyebrow. “First, work on what I mentioned about your on-air demeanor. Sell yourself as well as the story. Second, get your feet wet in investigative reporting. This is time consuming and requires you to learn about subjects and people who can be downright nasty. You cannot fear confrontation, or you’ll be eaten alive. It’s dog eats dog. Third, once you’re competent with the first two, give me a call. Here’s my number and email; I’d like to see how far you’ve come in a few years.”
Ted slipped him a business card and paid for his drink.
“I’m sorry, Ted; can I buy you a beer or something? What are you drinking?”
“No worries, but I’ve got a tee time at nine in the morning, so I need to get some rest. Rich, it’s been a pleasure talking to you, but I’ve got to go.” A second later, he walked out the door and disappeared.
The bartender made an announcement for last call, so Rich got up to leave.
Rich could have conversed with Ted and picked his brain for a week. He flew higher than a kite, and he knew he wouldn’t get any sleep, but he didn’t care. To get advice from a journalist for whom he had the utmost respect was priceless. All he needed now was a strategy.
CHAPTER 9
Rich prepared his scuba gear on the dive boat. Watching others don their equipment and being in the company of fellow divers invigorated him as he made last minute adjustments to his weights and harness. He finished by squirting defog fluid into his mask and rubbing it all around with his fingertip.
The last-minute weekend getaway to the Cayman Islands was worth it; Rich had been obsessing over his conversation with Ted Burke, and he felt he had made little progress. An escape is exactly what he needed, even if it was for a short duration. With little arm-twisting, he talked his best friend and video cameraman, Gabriel Amiri, into being his dive buddy and entertainment. Gabe entertained the eight other divers with his impressions of Stewie Griffin from The Family Guy.
About a half mile off Seven Mile Beach, the boat captain brought the engine to idle and wiped the sweat off her brow with her arm. Several deckhands maneuvered themselves to grab the buoy and tied the boat to it. One by one, the small group of recreational divers plopped into the calm surf and waited for the two dive masters to make their entrance into the warm, emerald-green, Caribbean waters.
Rich and Gabe read their safety checks from memory aloud. “SPG, weights, air, tank strap and valve, mask, regulator, you’re good to go,” said Gabe as he touched each item on Rich’s rig and moved on to the next. Once they were both checked, Gabe did his best to waddle like a duck over to the stern and did a perfect giant-stride entry into the water.
The water was warm enough not to need a wet suit. As the last person off the boat, Rich was becoming anxious as hell to play in the ocean. Before he jumped, he looked down;
the visibility was good enough he could see all the way to the bottom. Man, I live for this part! With the gracefulness of a wide receiver, he jumped in and joined the others. The dive master gave the thumbs down signal, and the air hissed out of the buoyancy compensators as each diver let out just enough air to initiate a descent. The world outside his mask changed in an instant. Gone were buildings, cars, noise, cell phones, bosses, and, most importantly, stress. The scene before him was like being on another planet. Schools of jacks, parrotfish, and the occasional barracuda swam by. The reef terrain undulated, hiding many crevices, sponges, and underwater slot canyons. The slots were sometimes no wider than shoulder width, but were frequent hiding places for the bigger fish, the most prized and hardest to find. Most non-divers think of sharks and are reluctant to dive in ocean waters. One could dive these waters for years and only see a passing nurse shark or eagle ray.
Rich descended and leveled off at the eighty-foot mark. Excitement turned to serenity as each diver glided effortlessly over the vivid reef system. He looked to his right in time to see Gabe giving him the “ok” signal. He returned the signal and added air into his buoyancy compensator to prevent himself from accidentally coming into contact with the reef.
An hour later, the dive master gave them the thumbs-up signal, and they all began their ascent to fifteen feet to begin a three-minute decompression. Back on the boat, the mood was lively as they each took turns removing their equipment and getting back into dry street clothes.
“Did you ditch the metal rod on the bottom of the ocean?” Gabe teased Rich.
He slipped back into his cargo shorts and let the sun tan and warm his body. “Just maybe. See the green moray eel? It scared it right out of me. I’m feeling better already.”
“So what next, then? You’re going to be some hot-shot reporter and bed billions of beautiful women who lust for your loins?”
“Who says they don’t now?” Rich retorted.
“Yeah, yeah. You da man, Rich, you da man.”
“Well, what about Jackie? She was fine, had a nice pair and a killer body. I wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating cookies.”
“Yeah, but she was a psycho-bitch with a lisp.”
“You disqualify her because she talks funny? That’s pretty shallow, coming from you.”
“Ha!” said Gabe. “I’m the shallow one all of a sudden? Which one of us is married with three kids? Who’s the one dating a dozen girls at the same time and some on the same night? Who’s the one waking up with two or more women after a night partying?”
“Touché. Ain’t nothing wrong with partying all night and taking a couple lovely ladies home if they’re willing. Just saying,” Rich said. “I’m young, and I don’t want to settle down yet. There’s no harm in it, just as long as there’s no phone calls nine months down the road asking for a paternity test.”
“Or a test for bugs,” Gabe added.
“You know, I’ve been thinking…” Rich’s voice trailed off.
“Oh great, here he goes thinking again. Thinking always gets you into trouble.”
“…I’ve been thinking you and I need to be a team.” Rich got Gabe’s attention instantly.
Gabe raised an eyebrow and debated if he should take the bait. “Okay, what do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. You’re a great cameraman, and I think we should feed off of each other.” Rich let Gabe mull it over. “I say we go after the gritty stories and do international. We could report in places like South Korea, Saudi Arabia, and Iraq. Doesn’t doing the same stories over and over again get old to you?” The two had only begun working with each other at WSNO news, and they already felt like best friends. They were inseparable, despite the differences in their personal lives. The two thought alike and knew each other well enough to anticipate each other’s actions.
“No, not really,” Gabe answered, content with the sun shining on him. Work was the last thing he wanted to talk about. “I have good pay, hours are okay, I can pay the bills, and my wife and kids are happy. It’s all I need.”
“But don’t you want to get out and experience the world?”
“You sound like a kid who just graduated from high school and wants to see everything before reality hits and they have to get a real job.”
“You ever follow Ted Burke and his cameraman, Mike Rowe?” asked Rich.
“Yeah, sure, that pair is an icon.” Ted and Mike were notorious for being dumped into war-ravaged nations where lawlessness was the norm. Mike was with Ted when he was kidnapped and taken hostage by the Vietnamese and was lucky to have escaped unharmed. “You have some sick craving to be shot at? Guys get killed in Iraq, and our female correspondents get mugged as they walk down the street in Afghanistan or raped and held hostage in Iran. I’m not worried about being raped, but I don’t know if I’m comfortable going into countries with such low respect for human life.”
As hard as Rich tried, he didn’t know if he could get Gabe to side with him. “Tell me this then, why do you do what you do? You could have chosen any other job in the world, but no, you chose to be a videographer. Is it a coincidence? I think not.”
“Okay, fine, I used to be like that, but now I have a family and I lost my feeling of invincibility. I don’t drive as fast, I take less chances, and I think about my family before I make a decision.”
Rich figured if he could light Gabe’s inner spark, he could get him on board. “Let’s say for a year we bid for foreign assignments. You speak Spanish and Japanese, so we could blend in. We could be the next generation Burke and Rowe.”
Rich knew that, as much as he hated to admit it, Gabe had an inner desire to travel overseas. If he weren’t married, he’d no doubt accept the offer and go crazy. “You’re trying to get me divorced and be your partner in crime, aren’t you?”
“No to the former, yes to the latter.” He returned Gabe’s smile with his trademark grin. “Give it some thought; talk to your wife. Just remember I need you because you’re the best at what you do, plus you’re unflappable. Remember when we got shot at near city hall by the ‘suicide-by-cop’?”
“Of course.”
“You and I, we just kept on rolling and calling it like we saw it. We were the only network to get live video footage of the gunman because we were ballsy enough to be up close and personal. There aren’t many guys like that.” The compliments and admiration did the trick and sealed the deal.
Without directly coming out and saying “yes,” Gabe answered, “Let me talk to Lisa and the kids, and I’ll get back to you.”
As much as he wanted to continue the sales pitch, Rich knew when to shut his trap. “Since we leave tomorrow, anything you want to do tonight? I’m thinking the tiki-bar with the hot bartender behind the hotel is a good choice.”
Gabe laughed out loud. “Always thinking with your dick.”
“Nah, I hear she makes a fabulous piña colada,” Rich said in his best gay voice, gesturing with his pinkie finger.
“The female bartender you’re so hot over is a dude, you know.”
“Hey, I never said I was picky,” Rich replied. He unraveled his dry bag, fished out his iPhone, and turned it on. The menu displayed fifteen new text messages and voicemails, mostly from friends. Sarah Kinney’s email titled Is she for real? made him pause and wonder. He tapped the message and read it. “Hey, Gabe, get this.” Gabe leaned over to listen closely. “Our own Shantell Cogan is officially running for President. She says she’ll outline a program called the Moral Compass Initiative making the following constitutional amendments: a ban on all abortions, gay marriage, repeal the wet-foot-dry-foot clause, and make English the official language,” Rich said cynically.
“These people are the same people who call themselves strict constitutionalists, yet they’re willing to modify the amendments to fit their agenda?”
“Come on, Gabe, Cogan doesn’t give a damn about these policies. These are wedge issues just to get people wound up to go vote.
I’ve met people like her, and all she’s doing is pandering to her constituents. If she doesn’t take a stand, people won’t care; she’ll be just another politician to make fun of. Hell, I promise you if someone told her that to become President all she’d have to do is tell people that if elected the gas prices would fall to a dollar, she’d do it. The Democrats spout the same wedge issues. Look at my interview with Senator Pat Cook from Nebraska. He’s a Democrat. I asked him about the new stadium being built with taxpayers’ money, yet the average taxpayer can’t afford to go to a game. He dodged and said the project would create a thousand new jobs in the community. It’s all spin—from both sides.”
CHAPTER 10
The school day moved at a glacial pace. The clock on the classroom wall couldn’t have gone any slower. Tyler’s bladder felt like it would rupture. As much as he enjoyed Mr. Johnson’s math class, his mind was preoccupied with bodily functions.
The lunch bell finally rang, and Tyler sprinted for the door, making it out first. An orgy of students began to fill the hallways as he made his way to the men’s bathroom. He flung the door open, found a stall, and let it rip. Just as he finished, a group of guys came in.
“Well, if it ain’t chocolate,” Deon said cruelly as he and his posse surrounded him.
Tyler spun around to face his tormenters and sized them up. Four on one could be done if you’re a fighter and have a weapon and escape route; Tyler had none of those tools.
“Not feeling so tough today without your sissy boyfriend, are ya?” Deon said as he shoved Tyler into the urinal.
“If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to drop you,” Tyler said with his voice quivering. It was the first time he’d ever threatened someone. “I’m not your chocolate, and I’m certainly not your bitch like these guys are.”
Deon’s face expressed surprise at the accusation. He leaned in until they were almost nose-to-nose. “Who you calling bitch, bit—”
Raw Vengeance (The Rich Fordham Series) Page 5
