by Nic Tatano
Stacy then turned Jillian over to Big Red.
The attorney moved toward the witness stand.
"Ms. Charles, you were in charge of screening the applications when they first came in, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And how did you narrow things down?"
"We sat down one evening and literally looked at hundreds of tapes. The ones we didn't like were eliminated, the others were divided into three piles."
"Why three piles?"
"Well, the applicants were at different levels."
"So, was there a pile for men with more experience, those with none—"
"No, we divided them up according to their on-camera appearance and personality. One group was called hot damn, another exponentially cute, and the third was doable."
Big Red's eyebrows went up and the jury leaned forward as if on cue. This was going to be good. "Would you explain those terms for the jury?"
"Well, a hot damn is a guy who is just incredibly good looking, someone who will stop all the conversation when he walks into a room. A chiseled face and a body like a Greek god."
"How could you tell about their bodies by watching tapes of newscasts?"
"That's why we have reference checking." Snickers from the crowd. "Sometimes a guy has a great face but the body of the Pillsbury doughboy."
"What about those other two terms?"
"Well, exponentially cute is the boy next door taken to a new level. He has one of those faces that is both sexy and kind, just warm and inviting. And, of course, he has a body that's warm and inviting as well. Again, references must be checked."
"I see a pattern here," said Big Red. "I'm almost afraid to ask what doable means."
"It means exactly what it says. A man is doable if there are no hot damns or exponentially cutes laying around. If you desperately wanted to have sex and needed a vehicle that would serve the purpose."
"So doable would describe my client."
"No," said Jillian, her face tightening. "He wouldn't make any of those three categories."
"What category would you put him in?"
"I don't know. Maybe last call for Duracell."
"Excuse me?"
"As in if that's all that's left when the bar shuts down, I'd better buy a pack of batteries for my vibrator, cause I'm sure not sleeping with this guy."
(That sound you heard was the headline writers running for their keyboards.)
"Is there any way at all you would have considered him for an anchor position?"
"I hate to be harsh, but you said your client could take it. Television is a visual medium and we're trying to attract female viewers, not scare them away."
"Do you think your hiring practices were fair toward my client?"
"Hey, life isn't fair. Lots of guys with more talent than him didn't get hired either."
"Probably because you didn't want to have sex with them."
"If we didn't find them attractive, chances are the viewers wouldn't want to watch them. We are, in a way, selling a fantasy that is actually attainable. The women who watch need to know there are guys out there who look like our anchors and are interested in older women. And believe me, they're out there."
"Okay, let's move on. You mentioned you don't care for the age appropriate concept," said the attorney. "Does that account for your outfit today?"
Jillian crossed her legs, left over right, so that the jury saw her skirt ride up her thigh. "It accounts for my entire wardrobe."
"You don't think your skirt is too short for the business world?"
"I don't hear any men complaining. Hey, I was blessed with nice legs and I like showing them off. It may not be considered appropriate in a traditional business sense, but I can tell you it gives me an advantage when dealing with men. Both in business and after hours. Every woman has something special, and she should not be shy about accentuating her best features." Jillian looked Big Red up and down. "You know, as tall and slender as you are, you'd probably look great in a short skirt. Lose the stern look and smile once in a while. You oughta give it a try. You'd make a great cougar."
Big Red never saw it coming. She was left absolutely speechless.
* * *
Finally, after all the testimony about nothing but sex, we were going to hear from the guy who started this whole mess.
Monopoly Guy, a/k/a Todd Jones, waddled his way toward the witness stand as Stacy stood next to the jury box. Dressed in an ill-fitting light gray suit, white shirt with collars badly in need of starch, and a red tie with a too-big knot, he didn't exactly project the image of a network anchorman.
What the hell is Big Red thinking? She couldn't have sent him to a tailor?
"Nice outfit," whispered Rica. "He looks like two pounds of shit in a one pound bag."
I kicked her under the table and tried not to laugh as the guy took the oath and sat down, having to unbutton his jacket as it bunched up around his shoulders.
"So, Mister Jones," said Stacy, casually leaning against the jury box, "you wanna be a network anchor."
"That's right," he said.
"Why don't you tell us your qualifications and why you think they should hire you at CGR."
"Well, I've worked in television news for eleven years. I got a job right out of college as a reporter, then was promoted to Monday through Friday anchor."
"Where were you employed?"
"I was working in West Virginia."
"Small town?"
"Very."
"Work anywhere else, Mister Jones?"
"No, I spent my entire career at the same station."
"Pretty unusual for a television person. I mean, you people generally move around a lot. So how come you stayed in one place for so long?"
"I just liked it there."
"How long did it take them to promote you to the anchor desk?"
"Ten years. I spent one year as an anchor."
Stacy stood up and slowly moved toward him. "And yet, they fired you after eleven years of service."
He shook his head. "No, they didn't renew my contract. Big difference."
"Okay, but bottom line, they didn't want you working there. Do you recall the reason they didn't renew your contract?"
"It was twelve years ago, I don't really remember—"
Then Stacy moved closer to the witness stand. "You're let go one time in your life and you don't remember? If you like, Mister Jones, I can have your old news director flown in and he can tell us why he let you go. He can be here by tomorrow. Think, now, what did he say when he told you he wasn't renewing your contract?"
Monopoly Guy bit his lip, looked at the floor, and said, "Because of my ratings."
"Be more specific, Mister Jones. What did he say about your ratings?"
He looked away from the jury. "That the ratings for my newscast were lower than whale shit."
Stacy waited for the laughter to die down, then moved in for the kill. "So after you were let go, what did you do?"
"I sent out resume tapes looking for another job."
"Did you find one?"
"No."
"Any interviews?"
"No."
"Phone calls? Nibbles of any kind?"
"I didn't get any response."
"So what have you been doing the past twelve years?"
"Selling real estate, among other things."
"So let me get this straight. You spent eleven years in the middle of nowhere in West Virginia, couldn't find a job anywhere in television for the next twelve years, applied for a job with CGR, and you're suing because they didn't hire you. Doesn't that seem a little ridiculous?"
"They didn't consider me because the women who run that place didn't want to sleep with me."
"Sounds like a lot of other television station managers didn't want to sleep with you either."
Big Red jumped up. "Objection!"
"Sustained," said the judge, who glared at Stacy.
"I apologize, your honor," said Stacy. "Mister Jones, i
f you're not qualified to work at any other station in the entire United States, what makes you think you could do the job at CGR?"
"I'm a good writer, I'm smart…"
"Then maybe you should work behind the scenes."
"I wanted to be an anchor."
"Mister Jones, I hate to be blunt, but do you really think you have the looks for television?"
"It shouldn't matter. They should be hiring on merit and credibility, not on who they want to have sex with. They hired a bunch of guys who had never even been on television."
"And their ratings are going up every day. How do you explain that, Mister Jones, when after eleven years your own ratings were lower than—"
"It's just not fair, that's all."
"Guess what, Mister Jones. Here's a newsflash for you. Life isn't fair."
* * *
He walked with a purpose toward the witness stand, a hint of his now familiar cologne wafting by our table. His thousand dollar dark gray ventless windowpane suit hung perfectly, his burgundy wingtips shone like mirrors. The bold, red-striped necktie was perfectly knotted with a little dimple. The round, black and silver harlequin cufflinks peeked out of his cuffs, adding a little sparkle to a man who didn't really need any. The face was a perfect combination of authority, sex appeal, and warmth.
The Snack took the stand, sitting up straight and head held high with all the assurance of a CEO or head of state.
I got a lump in my throat. Damn, he's so attractive I need a seat belt on my chair.
The Snack was sworn in, upon which he became Shawn Carlyle. The man we hoped would save us all, or at least give the trial the send off it needed before closing arguments.
Stacy moved toward the witness stand. "Mister Carlyle, before you became an anchor for CGR, what did you do for a living?"
"I was working as a commodities trader on Wall Street for three years."
"Not exactly the traditional training ground for a career in broadcasting, is it?"
"Well, no, but both jobs come with a lot of pressure and require you to think on your feet. They're more alike than you might think."
"Why don't you tell us how you got the job?"
"Well, I was out one night and my boss had given me two tickets to a Broadway show he couldn't attend. I didn't have a steady girlfriend at the time and I didn't want to go alone. I spotted Ms. Charles, approached her and asked her if she'd like to accompany me to the theater."
"What happened then?"
"We went to the play, and on the way she told me about her job and the opportunities at CGR. They were looking for attractive men who communicated well, and they didn't need to have any television experience since it wasn't a real newscast. Anyway, the play wasn't very good, so we left at intermission and went to a restaurant for coffee and dessert. Then she invited me back to her townhouse. One thing led to another, and I ended up spending the night."
"You had sex with her?"
"Yes."
"And then she hired you?"
"Yes. It was the best sex I'd ever had."
Annnnnd…. cue Jillian's freckles!
"Does it bother you that you are under the direction of a woman both at work and after hours?"
"Not at all. These are a terrific bunch of women."
"They're all much older than you, Mister Carlyle. What exactly do you have in common with them?"
"It's more of what I don't have in common with the women my own age, which is twenty-five. The women I used to date were very superficial. All they seemed to care about was shopping and going to the hottest clubs and getting falling-down drunk. The women at CGR are all past that. They've experienced life, they know what they want, and they go for it. They're past playing games. For society to say they've reached their sexual expiration date is ridiculous when they have so much to offer."
I like that expiration date thing. Wonder where the stamp is?
Stacy moved toward our table and gestured toward us. "These four woman are all your superiors, but when we entered the courtroom this morning, I noticed that you held the door for them. Why did you do that?"
A boy-next-door grin grew across Shawn's face. "Well, I mean, a gentleman always holds a door for a woman."
"But doesn't that fly in the face of all this role reversal stuff? They're your bosses, right. In that role they aren't men or women."
"You don't understand. These women may be tough when it comes to business, but at the end of the day they're still women. And underneath all the corporate dealings and high-powered network meetings, there are four women who still appreciate the little things that make them different from men."
"Can you be more specific?"
"Well, Neely loves flowers, particularly tulips. Send her a vase filled with red ones and she melts like any woman in love. Rica is a fantastic cook; she can lose herself in the kitchen and taught me how to make fettuccine alfredo. Sydney is a chocoholic; give her a box of imported stuff and she just lights up… then she'll sit in her office like a kid on Christmas morning trying to pick out the ones with nuts. And Jillian is just an old-fashioned girl at heart; leave a Hallmark card on her pillow and she'll put it in her scrapbook. They may be my bosses, but underneath they're still women who want the same thing every woman in America does."
The jury, had they been permitted to speak, would have all uttered a group "awwww" at this point. I turned around to look at the crowd.
The women all looked as though they were in a trance, heads cocked to the side while wearing thoughtful smiles. Kind of the same look Jillian had the night she spotted The Snack for the first time.
"And what would that be, Mister Carlyle? What does every woman in America want?"
"To be loved and respected for who they are, not for the date on their birth certificate. To be treated as an equal, and not be frowned upon if they take charge in the office or the bedroom. Or if they want to spend time with younger men."
"Thank you, Mister Carlyle."
Big Red got up and moved quickly to the witness stand. "Best sex you've ever had, Mister Carlyle?"
He nodded. "Well, I am under oath." The crowd chuckled. "And, amazingly, it keeps getting better."
"But yet you have sex with your co-anchor, Jennifer Darlen, on a weekly basis under the terms of your employment, isn't that right?"
"No. Jennifer and I are just friends."
"So let me get this straight. You spend one night per week with Ms. Charles."
"Well, not exactly," he said.
Okay…. Where is he going with this?
"What part did I get wrong?"
"I spend one night each week having dinner with my co-anchor… you know, to develop anchor chemistry … and the other six nights with Ms. Charles."
Rica, Neely and I all slowly turned our heads in unison to look at Jillian, who was biting her lower lip for all it was worth as she tried to avoid a smile.
"Six nights a week? Sounds like Ms. Charles has you working overtime."
"Believe me, it's not work," said The Snack.
"Well, if she's forcing you to have sex six nights a week—"
"She's not forcing me to do anything. We've developed a relationship and we enjoy spending time together. Sometimes we just sit and talk, sometimes we watch movies."
"I can only imagine what kinds of movies—"
"Objection!" said Stacy.
"Sustained," said the judge.
Then Big Red hit him with one out of the blue.
"So, Mister Carlyle… one more question. Are you just sleeping with the boss a few extra nights to get ahead in the business, or are you in love with Jillian Charles?"
Oh. My.
He turned to Jillian and gave her a look that left no doubt as to the answer. "Well, you can find me in contempt for not answering a direct question if you want, but if I'm going to say that for the first time to her, it's not going to be in open court. It will be on a beach under a full moon, or over a candlelight dinner, or riding in a hansom cab through Central Park while we're s
nuggling under a blanket. But I will tell you that I care for her a great deal, that we respect each other, and that she's taught me so much."
"Taught you about sex?"
"About life, Ms. O'Hara. About life."
And right then it hit me. What we're doing isn't about sex at all.
It’s about relationships.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"Bring the girls to the conference room right away," said Madison, with urgency in her voice.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Don't know. But Amanda said she needed to see all of us right away."
Oh, shit. I knew that tone and it didn't sound good. "Okay, be right there."
I rounded up the girls and we headed down the hall as my pulse went up.
We found Madison already seated at the head of the table and Stacy next to her, while Amanda stood by the door. "Have a seat," she said. Her face offered no clue as to whether this was good news or bad.
Amanda closed the door as soon as we grabbed a chair. "I have big news about the trial," she said, a smile suddenly growing across her face. "The lawsuit has been dropped."
Stacy sat up straight with a puzzled look. "I wasn't made aware of this."
"That's because it hasn't happened yet. Officially. But it will before the end of the day."
"You settled this without my being present?" asked Stacy, eyes filled with concern. "That's not a good idea—"
"No," said Amanda, shaking her head while still smiling. "We didn't have to settle. The plaintiff is dropping the suit."
"I'm sorry," I said, "but I'm confused. How do you know the suit will be dropped?"
"It's easier if I just show you," said Amanda. She opened the door, looked outside, and said, "Come on in."
And then the Monopoly Guy walked into the conference room. Our jaws all dropped as Amanda quickly shut the door behind him.
"Are you friggin' kiddin' me?" asked Rica. "What the hell is he doing here?"
"Ladies," said Amanda, trying to hold back a smile. "I'd like you to officially introduce you to Bryan Carswell."
What the hell?
"Now I'm really confused," said Jillian. "I thought his name was Todd Jones?"
