Boss Girl

by Nic Tatano

  He said it so convincingly, like a prosecutor from hell, that the police officer gently took my mother's other arm and led her toward the door. "Let's go, ma'am."

  Mother yanked her arm away. "Take your hands off of me!"

  "Ma'am, don't resist and make a scene or I will place you under arrest. You're lucky this guy's not pressing charges, and he'd win because I saw the whole thing." He grabbed her arm again, more forcefully this time.

  "And if you return to this courtroom I'll get a restraining order," said Shawn.

  Mother turned back one last time and glared at me as the officer led her out of the room.

  I shot her a smile that I'd been saving up for years. All the hurt, all the pain she'd put me through, suddenly gave me the energy to give it back.

  Then Shawn looked at me, still in faux lawyer mode. "You okay, Syd?" he asked.

  "How the hell did you do that?"

  "My sister's a psychiatrist, remember? Everyone's buttons can be pushed, even if they're the ones who always do the pushing," he said, with a little twinkle in his eye, as one corner of his mouth curled up.

  I wanted to give him a huge hug but there were too many cameras. I leaned down and whispered in his ear. "I owe you big time, Mister."

  "You don't owe me a thing," he said. "Just get up there and kick ass like we all know you can."

  Confidence flooded into my veins like never before, as the lifelong anvil on my shoulders magically disappeared. Suddenly the air in the musty old courtroom was pure oxygen. My headache disappeared and my heart downshifted as I turned and walked confidently down the center aisle, head high and wearing a smile that told anyone who noticed that I hadn't done anything wrong and was probably going to hit the loft during the lunch recess. All the tension of the past twenty-four hours was gone. In less than sixty seconds Shawn had turned me from a terrified defendant back into Neutron Syd.

  I slid into my chair as Shawn took a seat in the first row. I leaned over to Jillian and whispered in her ear. "You know that really cute guy sitting behind me, the one you like a whole lot?"

  She turned, spotted Shawn, smiled at him, then turned back to me. "Yeah. What about him?"

  "If you don't ask him to marry you one of these days, I'll do it for you."

  * * *

  Neely's vodka something-or-other ran down my throat and started a badly needed internal massage of my body. It had been a fifteen round fight, a six-hour courtroom battle that didn't leave an external mark, thanks to Shawn. Anytime I felt any sort of anxiety coming on, I simply looked at him for an infusion of confidence.

  But inside, I was seared like a piece of frozen chicken thrown into a deep fryer. All the emotions, stress and feelings toward my mother poured out of my body as I dumped the Russian alcohol in. I needed Harrell Karr tonight, but not now.

  Not until I came down from the tightrope I'd been walking.

  Rica turned on the DVR as we all settled down to watch the coverage. "I'd pay good money for some video of Shawn getting your mother tossed," she said.

  "I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall of the train she took home," said Jillian. "I'll bet the conductor disconnected the car she was riding in around Mamaroneck and it's still sitting on the tracks."

  I downed the rest of my drink and Neely was on me faster than a cruise ship waiter, pouring me a refill. "Take your medicine," she said, like a doting nurse. I stretched out on the loveseat, propping my feet up on one arm while my head rested on the other. "You were great today, Syd."

  "Well, let's see how it looked on camera first," I said. "That's the true test. Fire it up."

  Rica hit the button on the remote and the DVR rolled into action. "This looks like the clash of the redheads," said the male commentator as I was sworn in with Big Red hovering nearby.

  "It will be interesting to see how Sydney Hack responds after yesterday's eye-opening testimony from Scott Harry," said the female anchor. "And the newspapers weren't too kind to her this morning. Well, here we go."

  Rica zipped through the preliminary questions about my career and cued things up to the good stuff.

  "You heard testimony from Scott Harry yesterday regarding the manner in which he was hired," said Big Red. "Do you recall his testimony?"

  "Of course," I said. "And the morning papers certainly refreshed my memory."

  I'd smiled a little, looking casual on the stand. The worry I'd had about how I appeared began to dissipate, washed away by the vodka. Hopefully it was performing a surgical strike and killing the brain cells connected to my feelings about my mother.

  "What is your response to Mister Harry's testimony?"

  "It's all true," I said, not showing the slightest bit of remorse. "Every word of it."

  "You really told Scott Harry that you wanted to ride him—"

  "Like Secretariat," I said. Then I shrugged and put my palms up. "It was the only horse I could think of at the time."

  "Great line," said Neely, as the crowd snickered.

  Big Red moved closer. "Would you explain to the jury why you feel it is necessary to conduct business this way?"

  "Well, we hadn't had any ratings success with the standard anchor teams. I knew there was one demographic out there that was not represented, namely, women over thirty who were interested in younger men. And I knew they would appreciate seeing a woman who hadn't just stepped off a pageant runway sitting on the set next to a younger guy."

  "It's nice that you're hiring older women," said Big Red, "but I'm more interested in the men who work at CGR."

  "Well, maybe this is a revelation to much of the country, but older women are still attracted to younger men. But you never see that combination on any kind of television program. I thought that pairing an attractive older woman with a good-looking younger man would have an audience. And judging from the ratings, which are growing every day, we do."

  "That doesn't explain why you feel the need to have sex with job applicants. Couldn't you just hire them without dragging them to your bedroom?"

  "You heard Ms. Carbone the other day. We need to know if the man is the total package, not just a pretty face with a great body. Lots of good-looking people have zero in the personality department."

  "Let's move on to your… apology… to Mister Harry," said Big Red. She raised her eyebrows. "Five times in one night?"

  I watched a smile slowly grow on my face. "Actually it was four times at night and once at breakfast," I said. The courtroom filled with laughter and the judge swung the gavel.

  "So you basically ordered Mister Harry to… service you… five times in a twenty-four hour period?"

  "Well, Scott's like the Energizer Bunny in the sack. And he wasn't exactly complaining. Besides, I was apologizing to him."

  "Why did you feel the need to have sex five times?" asked Big Red.

  "Because I was still horny after four."

  The courtroom exploded in laughter. Rica hit the pause button as the girls joined in. "You sure had a two-hundred IQ ass in court today," she said.

  I smiled, licked one finger, put it on my backside and made a hissing noise.

  "Imagine if you'd thrown your mother out of your life years ago," said Jillian.

  "If she'd been in the courtroom during that line she would have keeled over like a redwood," said Rica.

  "You think she'll be back?" asked Neely.

  "You kidding?" said Rica. "She's like friggin' Rasputin. She'll never die."

  "Yeah, but I haven't heard the theme from Psycho all day," I said. "Both phones have been quiet."

  "She's home licking her wounds," said Rica.

  "Hey, even if it's temporary, I'll take it," I said.

  Neely stood up and raised her glass. "A toast. Ding dong, the witch is dead."

  * * *

  Random thoughts as we head into the defense part of the trial:

  —Looking back, I should have fired Scott before the lawsuit made it into court. He could have been tagged as a hostile witness and perhaps some of what he
said could have been discounted. Too late now. Now every time I step onto the street I hear "giddy-up" from men. Which I suppose is better than the usual come-on from New York guys, which entails banging on the side of the car door while driving by and yelling, "Hey, baby, you wanna (insert sex act here.)"

  —I cannot stop replaying the scene between Mother and The Snack in my head. Every time I do, I get this euphoric feeling that's pretty close to… well, you get the idea. Just for the hell of it, I took an old picture of Mother in which her arms were apart and brought it down to the graphics department. They scanned it into a computer, and Photoshopped a broom into her hands. (It's actually an accessory that, I must say, fits her quite well.) After they printed it out, I framed it, and put it on my nightstand. Pleasant dreams, my pretty. And your little dog too.

  —Rica, despite her tough exterior and the "screw 'em" attitude, is still a little nervous about the trial even though her testimony is out of the way. When she's on edge she starts cooking these giant vats of spaghetti sauce, then invites men over for pasta and sex. She claims the garlic in her sauce gives guys more staying power. When she's in this state and uses the term al dente, she's not talkin' about the linguine.

  —I forgot to mention that some of our new prime-time shows are doing quite well in the ratings, much better than the redneck programming we had in the past. In an inspired bit of casting, Amanda found an actress who is a dead ringer for Stacy to star in "Legal Briefs", that show about the former underwear model who runs a law firm. Then Amanda bought commercials on the court channels to promote the show, figuring that anyone turned on by Stacy in the courtroom would love to see someone who looks exactly like her in a thong. Hell, half the country probably thinks it really is Stacy. So far it's the highest rated prime-time show. You gotta love the American justice system.

  —That men's magazine publisher called again, only this time he wanted Neely for what he termed a "hairstyle pictorial" in which she would pose in Alaska with her hair up and on a beach with her hair down. Neely politely declined, telling the man that salmon fishing in the nude is a bit risky because of all the hooks involved. However, a well-known high-end shampoo company also called about Neely, and that deal is worth considering.

  —If Jillian weren't such a close friend, I'd make a serious play for The Snack. Right now he's the most attractive man I've ever met.

  * * *

  By the way, Big Red didn't even bother to call Amanda or Madison to the stand. Stacy said her thinking was that she'd done enough damage to our defense with Scott and there was nothing either of them could have added to what I said yesterday. Stacy is going to call Neely, then Jillian, then Monopoly Guy, then wrap things up with The Snack.

  Neely led off the morning with a slow, seductive stroll to the witness stand. Hair pinned up, glasses on. Stacy had told her to really go over the top with the Southern belle act, the theory being that Northerners found women with Southern accents charming while men with the same twang came off as backwoods hicks. Stacy figures that anything Neely says, no matter how outlandish, will be lapped up by the jury as long as she remains in character.

  (Oh, I forgot to mention that Neely's YouTube montage has surpassed two million hits. Someone started a video website called www.IwannaletNeelyshairdown.com in which you push a button and her hair drops. You can even select the speed at which it falls, from real time to super slow motion. Stacy went ahead and leaked the fact that Neely would be called this morning, so you know the ratings for today's coverage will be off the charts.)

  Stacy moved quickly to establish Neely's background in the business, asked some basic questions, let her charm the crowd with that baking-powder-rising-biscuits sex analogy, then turned her over to Big Red.

  The tall attorney slowly walked to the witness stand. "Tell me, Ms. Collins, looking at my client, is there any way you would have considered him for an anchor job."

  Neely turned toward the Monopoly guy, looked at him over her glasses, shook her head and said, "I'm sorry. No."

  "Can you tell me why?"

  "Well, I don't want to hurt the little fella's feelings."

  "Trust me, Ms. Collins, he can take it. Tell me why you wouldn't hire him."

  "Well," said Neely, "if y'all insist." She turned to face the jury. "Though as a Southern girl it goes against my principals to be rude." (Most of the jury nodded.) Then she turned back to look at the plaintiff. "I wouldn't consider him because he's bald, he's fat, and he's unattractive. Bless his little heart." (Rica had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.)

  "But he might be a solid anchor," said Big Red.

  "Maybe if you dropped him off the side of a boat," said Neely. Even the judge snorted and had to stifle a laugh at that one. Big Red glared at him.

  "Your female viewers might appreciate someone credible."

  "Our female viewers want to look at attractive men." She nodded toward the plaintiff. "They've already got that at home. That's why CGR's ratings are doing so well with women over thirty, because they're tired of looking at their husbands who have let themselves go and turned into slugs that sit in a recliner."

  "So you'd never even think to… check his references?"

  "Not unless I had some fantasy about being squashed by Mister Clean."

  More laughs, more gavels.

  "You don't see anything wrong with having sex with job applicants, especially given the fact that they'll be your subordinates?"

  "No. I'm an affectionate person and I love cute men." Neely's face turned into that of a little girl who'd been bad. "I'm sorry. I can't help myself."

  The attorney shook her head and walked back to the witness stand, leaned on it, and faced Neely. "I have to ask you, what's the deal with your hair?"

  "I'm sorry, I don't understand y'all's question," said Neely.

  "Well, much has been made of the fact that every morning you arrive in court with your hair up while wearing your glasses, and then, after lunch, you remove the glasses and let your hair down just as the judge comes back. Why do you do that?"

  Neely smiled as she gently patted her upswept hair with one hand. "Well, it's all about business and pleasure."

  Big Red folded her arms. "Now I'm the one who doesn't understand."

  "Well, I thought it was important for the jury and the rest of y'all to see both sides of me. Now this…" she gestured toward her hair with both hands, "is business. And…"

  But this time Neely didn’t use her now patented move of quickly changing her look. She slowly removed her glasses, folded them, and put them in her pocket. “…This…” Then she reached back, turned her head toward the camera that was directly behind the jury, closed her eyes, removed the hairclip, and tilted her head back as her hair fell to her shoulders, then shook it out. She dipped her head, opened her eyes, batted her lashes and finished her thought in her lower whiskey voice that slithered its way through the room. “…is pleasure.” The coverage cut to a shot of the jury, featuring the six men with their jaws hanging open, glazed eyes staring at her. Then it went back to a tight shot of Neely, who wore a seductive smile. “Any questions?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Stacy's strategy is simple. After loosening up the jury with Neely, she'd let Jillian take care of the business side, then go for the kill with Monopoly Guy, and leave things warm and fuzzy with The Snack.

  Big Red, sensing she was fighting a losing battle with Neely, cut things short after the hair drop, since the men on the jury wouldn't have heard a damn thing she'd said anyway. The judge, red in the face at that point, had called for a short recess to presumably, ahem, adjust his robe. The jury looked like they were awfully sorry to see Neely go.

  But Jillian perked them back up, walking to the witness stand in her shortest skirt and highest heels. I glanced at the men in the jury; they were all zeroed in on her legs. In fact, the women were as well. You just don't see gams that perfect very often.

  Stacy took her through some background, then moved on to our philosophy. She was going to
take the questions out of Big Red's hands. "Your network has an agenda, doesn't it?" she asked.

  Jillian nodded. "As do all networks these days. Some skew liberal, others go conservative. If you're programming politically, it's not about information, but affirmation. Make the other side look stupid and your viewers will feel better about themselves. Channels that run science fiction are targeting young men, those who run what we call romance novel movies are going after women. It's called narrowcasting. You pick a niche audience and broadcast things of interest to that demographic."

  "And your demographic would be?"

  "Well, let's be honest here. We're going after women over thirty who dream about relationships with younger men and need to know that kind of lifestyle is possible. We were kind of surprised, though, that we're getting a lot of younger male viewers. Apparently men find our female anchors very desirable. Perhaps, after watching our channel, they're considering a relationship with an older woman."

  "What are some of the components of that… lifestyle?"

  "Well, bottom line, that if you're a woman over thirty your sex life isn't over. You can still date men in their twenties, you can still dress young. You don't have to stop dressing sexy or doing your hair because you assume men aren't looking at you anymore. This age appropriate thing we've been taught is a bunch of bull. If a forty-year-old woman wants to go out in a hot outfit and chase men fifteen years younger, she needs to know that it's okay, and she should go for it. And she should have the same attitude in the business world as well. Men have been doing this for years, and it's accepted. It's our turn now."

  "So you've had sex with job applicants?"

  "That's correct." Jillian smiled.

  "Any reason for that?"

  "Well, we wanted to sample the product. We can't promote the lifestyle if we don't live it ourselves. The women who watch CGR need to know what we're broadcasting isn't fiction, that the women who run the network are in charge, whether it's business or pleasure."