by Nic Tatano
Then there's the biggie; what words to choose that will let us sway the jury, while still telling the truth. Personally I think we should bring some politicians in as consultants for that one, as they've mastered the art.
The "courtroom" was part of the law firm's office, and is a scaled-down version of the real thing. And, of course, everything isn't a hundred years old like most courthouses in the Northeast. There's an oak bench for the judge, a jury box, two long cherry tables for the attorneys, with one on each side of the courtroom, a dozen or so nice leather seats behind them for us, three stationary video cameras, and a small video set-up off to the left where the lawyers can see how all of it plays out on camera. The only thing missing was a jury, but otherwise this is a full dress rehearsal. The judge, a portly man in his early sixties with snow white hair and wire-rimmed glasses, even had a robe and a gavel. Two attractive middle-aged female lawyers were seated at one table, while Stacy was at the one directly in front of the jury box. The other lawyers will "represent" the plaintiff, while Stacy will "defend" us. The two male lawyers were seated behind the young video guy and were keeping an eye on the monitors. We were dressed in the outfits approved by Stacy, Neely had her Sarah Palin thing going, and Rica had switched to decaf in an effort to "draw the curtain on her anger" which is, as she puts it, "A nice way of telling me to keep my Brooklyn temper in check and shut the hell up."
The bad thing was that the thermostat had been turned down to sixty-five degrees to keep us "alert" during all this. Great for bringing out the party hats, but I'm not sure I saw the point. It won't be that cold in the real courtroom, and I'm certainly not going to nod off during rehearsal. But I'm sure there's a method to the madness.
I hate having to go first, but rank apparently has its privileges. I must admit my pulse was a little quick as I walked to the jury box, and I was hoping to dial that down when we got to the real thing. Like many television people who have always worked behind the scenes, being on camera makes me uncomfortable. It always feels unnatural to me, which can perhaps be traced back to the "Chorus Line" debacle in high school. (That may also account for the fact that whenever I see a gingham dress, I break out in hives. Thankfully, the T&A song is never played on the radio.) At least we won't have to rehearse dealing with the media, as Stacy has asked us not to speak to anyone about the lawsuit, as she will do all the talking on our behalf. I sure don't want to be on the other side of all the reporter's tricks we've used over the years, so the gag order is welcome.
The judge swore me in and I took a seat as my heartbeat kicked up a notch. I folded my arms in front of my waist.
"Body language," shouted one of the cute male lawyers before Stacy even said a word.
"Yes," said Stacy, as she approached me and pointed at my hands. "Don't fold your arms. That says you're closed, you're hiding something. Arms apart, on your knees or the arms of the chair. Be open, inviting. Sit up straight. You're happy to tell your story. You have nothing to hide."
"Okay," I said, and put my hands on the arms of the chair and held on for dear life.
"White knuckles," shouted the other male lawyer.
Geez! I can't even get out of the gate.
"You've got a death grip on the chair, Syd," said Stacy. "For now, just put your hands on your knees."
"Sorry," I said, and moved my hands.
"You're not used to this, that's all," she said. "Okay, we're going to start the questioning phase now and we're going to skip the preliminaries like your background and your official title and get to the good stuff. You ready?"
I wasn't, but I wanted to get it over with and hit a liquor cabinet. "Sure. Let's do it."
"Ms. Hack, would you please take us through the hiring process at your network?"
"Well, it all starts when we place ads in all the trade magazines and job-hunting sites that list openings in the news business—"
Buzz! Stacy fired the little green box at me.
"What'd I do?" I asked.
"You said the word news. That word, for our sake, doesn't exist in this trial. It is… taboo." She held up the box and hit the buzzer again. "Use words like television, program, broadcasting, entertainment, information… anything but news."
"Got it," I said.
"Continue…"
"After we run ads in the… television trades, job applicants send us what are known as resume tapes, which contain samples of their best on-camera work. We review the tapes—"
Buzz!
"You first review the applications, then move on to the tapes of those qualified to meet the job description," said Stacy.
"But the job description is looking hot."
"We'll deal with that later," she said. "Remember, you didn't look at all the tapes. Never volunteer anything more than they need to know."
"Got it." I paused a moment, formed the thought in my head, and started again. "After we run advertisements, we look at the applications and choose the ones we think will best fit the criteria for the job. Then we review the tapes that have made the first cut…" I stopped, looking for approval.
"You're doing fine," said Stacy, nodding. "Keep going."
I felt like I was choosing my words while walking on eggshells with a few landmines sprinkled in, ready to explode. I spoke slowly. "After we've reviewed the tapes we narrow it down to those we feel are the right fit for the jobs. We then bring those people in for interviews, and eventually hire the ones we think are best suited for the positions."
"Is that how you filled all the anchoring slots for CGR?"
"Yes."
"What would you say are some of the most important factors?"
"Well, it being television, the anchors have to be attractive. But sometimes even the most attractive people don't communicate well on camera. So it's a combination of appearance and the ability to communicate well in a conversational manner that makes the viewer feel comfortable."
"What would happen if you put unattractive people on your network, even if they communicated well?"
"The same thing that would happen if we put attractive people on who couldn't communicate. No one would watch. It's all about ratings. Anchors have to have those two qualities if you're going to attract viewers. They need the right personality to go along with the looks. If they didn't we could just put a bunch of robots on the set."
"And if you don't attract those viewers?"
"You're either out of business or out of a job. The higher your ratings, the more you can charge for advertising. If you don't have strong ratings, sponsors won't want to advertise with your station."
"Thank you, Ms. Hack. Nothing further. Pass the witness." Stacy moved back to her desk and took a seat. I was beginning to relax a bit when one of the female attorneys got up from the other table and moved toward me. She was perhaps forty, very tall, and though she was a brunette, was a pretty good stand-in for Big Red, though not nearly as attractive. Horn-rimmed glasses perched on her pointed nose and no make-up, while her stern look conveyed a lack of personality. I wasn't sure if she was playing the part or if that was her true demeanor as she looked at me with small dark eyes.
"Ms. Hack, my name is Jocelyn Dix. I represent the plaintiff. Now let's get back to this… hiring process you talked about. I'd like to skip the part about running ads and go right to the selection process. After you've reviewed all the applications, looked at the tapes and interviewed the people, what happens next?"
"We present offers to those we want to hire."
"Hmmm. Nothing between that interview process and the offer?"
I looked to Stacy for a lifeline. How the hell was I supposed to answer?
"Don't ever look at me for help," she said. "It has to be your own answer."
"Okay," I said, then turned back to the other attorney. "The answer is no."
"Let me rephrase," said the attorney. "What happens during the interview process?"
Well, we talk a bit, but just like men we really don't listen and give them the bobblehead. Then we drag the guy
s up to a hotel room by their Johnson, tie them to the bedposts and screw their brains out. The ones who make us scream and leave claw marks on the headboard get hired. The others get thrown back into the pool like little fish.
"Well, we do a standard interview—"
She cut me off with a wave. "No, Ms. Hack, I want to know what happens after you're done talking." She moved closer and leaned on the witness box. "Isn't there part of this job application that takes place in a horizontal position away from the office? Something physical?"
I looked at Stacy again as I could feel beads of sweat running down my sides. She pointed me back to the other attorney. I didn't turn back to the attorney, instead looking at the floor. "We… uh… sleep with the applicants."
"I'm sorry, Ms. Hack. I didn't hear you. Could you repeat your answer?"
"We sleep with the applicants," I said, a little louder, still with my head down.
"Sleep… or have sex?"
"We… have sex with them."
"And the ones who give you the most pleasure get hired, is that about right?"
"Uh… basically."
"Way too apologetic," yelled one of the male lawyers.
Stacy got up and moved to the jury box as the other attorney stepped aside. "Syd, if you sound like you're apologizing for your actions you're admitting guilt. Don't look down, either. In your mind you did nothing wrong and you must convey that in court. And stop looking at me for an answer. When a jury sees that they'll think you're looking for a legal way to get around the question. When you even give a hint that you're trying to avoid the truth, everything they hear will be a lie in their minds."
"How the hell do I answer questions like that without looking like a total sleaze?" I asked.
"Answer truthfully. Hide nothing. As a manager, you've been acting like a man," she said. "Remember, they've been doing this for years. You're just following their playbook. Keep that in the back of your mind at all times."
"Okay," I said. "I think I'm getting it."
Well, as they say, the truth needs no rehearsal.
The other attorney continued her questioning as Stacy returned to her seat. "So, once again, take me through the interview process, from the questions and answers till the time you get a goodnight kiss from these… job applicants."
I sat up straight and looked at Rica, suddenly getting an infusion of confidence. I needed her screw it attitude.
"Well," I said, leaning on one arm of the chair and looking straight at the lawyer. "We've pretty much made up our minds by looking at the tapes. The actual interview is just a chance to get acquainted and to make sure they look the same as they do on the video. We have a suite at the Plaza and we take the job applicants there and have sex with them. If we enjoy it, if they know how to treat a woman, and we want more, we hire them."
"If not?" asked the attorney.
"We don't."
"Is this consensual?"
"Of course. What young single man is going to turn down sex, especially with a woman who takes the initiative? Every man's fantasy, right?"
"So that's it?" asked the attorney. "That's your criteria for hiring an anchor?"
"We can't sell a product if we haven't sampled it ourselves, can we?"
"Excellent!" shouted the male attorney. "Much more confident."
"You really want it that way?" I asked. "That sounded awfully arrogant."
"It's the only way we can win," said Stacy.
I exhaled and began to relax as the other attorneys peppered me with more questions for about thirty minutes. The waterworks under my arms turned off. I was beginning to see the justice system was not at all about right and wrong, but winning and losing.
Only in America. Yes, your honor. We're a bunch of sexually aggressive women and we chase younger men around desks at work. So sue me!
Jillian picked up the ball after me and did very well. Once again, tough to find any anger for a blue-eyed strawberry blonde even when she talks about an employee being asked to lick whipped cream from her body after removing her Wonder Woman costume. I did note the male attorneys turned away from the monitors when Jillian walked to and from the jury box, their eyes following her legs. I also noted that at the mention of said Wonder Woman costume, they both looked at each other with raised eyebrows. You could tell they wanted to be wrapped up in her magic lariat.
Rica, on the other hand, might need more practice with her answers and have to tone down the Brooklyn, even though her confidence in the jury box is unrivaled. She took Stacy's call for honesty a little too literally. Here's a typical exchange:
Attorney: "Would you explain the term checking references?"
Rica: "Yeah, I jump their bones until they beg for mercy. If the gum falls out of my mouth, they're hired."
Neely, meanwhile, had no trouble with anything. Her on-camera background came in handy as she knew how to play to both the camera and the audience while turning on the Southern belle thing.
Attorney: "Would you explain the term checking references?"
Neely: "Well, you know, y'all don't buy a brand of baking powder if another woman tells you it won't make your biscuits rise. So we're just making sure the recipe works before we tell other people out there in TV land to try it."
Then, as she left the jury box, she debuted what is now known as "the drop" as she removed the glasses and let her hair down. This was followed by an audible "whoa" in stereo from the two male attorneys as she (and there's really no other word to describe it) sashayed back to her seat while her hair bounced gently off her shoulders. I swear to God the woman has mastered the art of moving in slow motion and that there are unseen electric fans scattered around the universe that blow wisps of her hair back.
"That…uh…works," said one of the men, voice cracking. Neely shot him the cat that ate the canary look as all the women in the room laughed.
"We'll do this a few more times," said Stacy. "But I think we're off to a good start."
I thanked everyone as we left, noting that the two men were playing back the hair drop over and over.
YouTube, here we come.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I was really glad when Stacy put the gag order on us regarding the trial.
Now, with just a few weeks to go, I'm wondering if she should put one on herself.
Because tonight she's a guest, along with Big Red, on cable's most popular evening news talk show, Up Close. Honestly, I don't see how anything good can come out of this, but I'm not a lawyer. The host of the show, Vince Gallo, is a solid, tough, pit bull journalist in the Mike Wallace mode. He also goes for the kill when he has someone backed into a corner. Gallo, incredibly in this day and age, doesn't skew left or right politically. He may be the last truly objective guy in the news business.
I'm just worried about which way he skews sexually. I don't mean if he's gay, because he isn't, but where his morals lie regarding what we're doing here at CGR. I mean, if he's a guy who has sex the same way with his wife in the same position every Friday night and the raciest magazine in his home is Redbook, we're in trouble. If, since he's in his late fifties, he's one of those guys who chased women around the news ticker and nailed a cute intern or two in an editing booth while tying her up with videotape, we might be okay.
Stacy contends that since the story has taken on a life of its own in the papers lately, television coverage couldn't hurt. After all, we're gonna have cameras in our faces for God knows how long in just a few days.
So we're at my place tonight, sitting down with wine and some killer Brie around the television, like we're getting ready for the Super Bowl.
"I wish they'd let us go on," said Rica. "I'm not wild about this gag order."
"Problem is, you'd tell him what you really think," said Neely.
"Your point being?" asked Rica, as she popped a cracker loaded with cheese.
Jillian turned up the sound as the commercial ended and the craggy face of Vince Gallo filled the screen. "Here we go."
Gallo was one
of those guys who looked like he'd closed down a few bars in his day. The bulbous red nose with the tiny visible veins is always a dead giveaway. Despite the extensive wrinkles around the deep-set olive green eyes and across his forehead, he still maintained a strong jaw and looked fit. Thirty years ago he might have even qualified for the doable category, but it was hard to imagine now, since he had so many miles on his face. His thick black hair didn't have a hint of gray, though he could be doing the Grecian Formula thing and could really be on his way to the gold chains, white chest hair and black socks club of Boca Raton.
"Welcome back," said Gallo, as the camera did a slow zoom.
"Check out the graphic," said Neely, as she pointed to the screen. Sitting brightly over Gallo's shoulder was a still-frame of a woman perching on the edge of the desk, taken from the CGR promo we'd run at the Upfront.
"One of the hot legal stories these days is sex discrimination," said Gallo, "though it's not the kind of sex discrimination you're used to hearing about. This case isn't about hiring men or women, but whether a person is good looking enough to have sex with a boss. And the bosses in this case, are women. Incredible? Well, that sounded pretty strange to us, so we invited the two lawyers involved in this bizarre lawsuit to our show." The shot went to a split screen, with Stacy on the right and Big Red on the left.
"Stacy looks good in red," said Neely.
Gallo continued. "With me tonight are Stacy Heller, the attorney representing the CGR network, and Kate O'Hara, the lawyer for the plaintiff who is suing CGR for discrimination. I'm going to start with you, Ms. O'Hara. So let me get this straight. Your guy contends he wasn't hired as an anchor because he's too unattractive to have sex with the women who run this network? I mean, I know this trial is in New Jersey, but is this for real?"
"Absolutely, Vince," said Big Red. "My client is forty-five, bald and stocky. And apparently not sexually desirable by the women who run the new CGR network. Those are the reasons he wasn't hired."
