It Girl

by Nic Tatano

  The other factor is that movie companies like to advertise their films that are opening on Friday, so they'll pay a premium for Thursday night ads. The higher the ratings, the higher the premium. Hence, you put your best shows on Thursday night.

  Or your highest rated, anyway, since Dance Off is a Thursday night staple.

  On the Friday morning after the first "meet the contestants" show, the media and blogosphere were buzzing. Typical were the comments:

  "Ms. Summer's outfit made one wonder if next week she'll sport a headband and break into Olivia Newton-John's Let Get Physical."

  "While Veronica Summer has always gotten an A for her journalism skills, her previously kept-under-wraps cleavage looks like a DD."

  "This is one hot Summer."

  As I walked into The Morning Show newsroom, the staff was electric.

  "You did great last night!" said Gavin.

  "It was just a rehearsal and a meet the contestants show."

  "Yeah, but I can already tell you'll be terrific once the competition starts."

  I needed to change the subject. "Okay, is our guest ready?"

  "Senator Roper is already in the green room. He wants to talk about that budget bill he introduced. You need to be prepped on that?"

  I shook my head. "My brain isn't wrapped in spandex. I'm going to get gussied up."

  "Great," said Gavin.

  Twenty minutes later with my hair and makeup done, I was going over my questions on the set when I saw the Senator headed toward me, escorted by Gavin.

  A little background on United States Senator Tad Roper. A sixtyish, old money career politician, Roper is a classic Beltway hack who made his name the old fashioned way in Washington; nepotism. Father was a Senator, grandfather was a Congressman. The family money is legendary, rivaling that of the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers. And along with money and power comes that typical bulletproof attitude. The rules don't apply to him. Actions have no consequences. (Actually that's typical of most politicians.)

  One particular batch of rules that doesn't apply pertains to marriage, as his is so transparent you could read a newspaper through it. His wife Bitsie has looked the other way so much you'd think she'd turn to salt. Alas, the woman keeps herself going with credit cards and enough Botox to ensure she could easily get a job in a wax museum. (The media refers to her as "freeze frame" since the expression never changes. If the people with the movie rights to Batman ever wanted to give The Joker a wife, she would be perfect.) Anyway, Senator Roper, a/k/a "Roper the Groper" is legendary for his dalliances, but made of Teflon with the voters, sort of like the Kennedys were. People actually seem to get a kick out of his roving eye, as he's often pictured with hot babes he refers to as "constituents." This despite ears that stick out like a taxicab with its doors open, a nose long enough to rob a pay phone and a face so wrinkled it looks like it was made of wool and accidentally washed on "hot." Bish the Dish he's not, but, as they say, power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

  Over the years we've had some spirited encounters regarding his politics, but I've always thought the guy respected me as a journalist. I've enjoyed going toe-to-toe with a man who's a master at spin. When your interview subject is rehearsed you can often talk the person into a corner by throwing a curve ball.

  The tall Senator, with his shock of snow-white hair, extended his hand as he stepped onto the riser. "Veronica, nice to see you again." He said this while looking at my legs, making the "see you" part of his greeting literal.

  I shook his hand, and then gestured toward the couch, hoping to get a break from the overpowering musky cologne in which he'd no doubt bathed. "You too, Senator. So, you wanna talk budget this morning."

  "It's an important bill," he said, as a production assistant clipped a microphone onto his lapel.

  "Stand by," said the floor director.

  "So, Veronica, do you like the morning shift?"

  "The hours are killer, but I'm having fun."

  "So I've noticed. As has everyone on The Hill. You've got most of Congress watching."

  "You guys get up that early?"

  "Hell, no! That's what DVRs are for."

  "Ten out! Tape is rolling!" yelled the floor director. I sat up straight, as did the Senator who turned on his toothy smile.

  The floor director counted down the seconds and then the red light atop the camera came on. "Welcome back," I said, "and this morning we welcome New York Senator Tad Roper. Senator, thanks for dropping by."

  "Thank you for inviting me, Veronica. I know you're pulling double duty."

  "Not a problem. So, let's get right to it. Your budget bill is somewhat controversial, and some say it is the first step toward abolishing the Internal Revenue Service and establishing a national flat tax. How do you propose—"

  "Before we get to that, I must say I've been very impressed with your versatility. I mean, I don't know a whole lot of journalists who can explain the Middle East in the morning and cut the rug as well as you obviously can."

  Great. Just what I need. "Thank you, but we're not here to talk about my dancing. If we can get back to the budget—"

  "Yes, of course. As you know, the budget is very tight." He paused and started to smile. "You might say as tight as the outfits on Dance Off."

  "Very funny, Senator. Can a flat tax actually work—"

  Pop!

  We both jumped as a studio light blew and one section of the set dimmed.

  "Everybody okay?" asked the floor director.

  "We're fine," I said. "Senator, this will just take a few minutes to get the light replaced, then we'll start over again."

  "Sure." He chuckled a bit. "You know, that last question was amusing, coming from you."

  "What's amusing?"

  "You. Asking about things that are flat." He stared at my chest. "I mean, considering … "

  I pointed at my face. "My eyes are up here, Sir."

  He looked up at me, shooting a greasy smile that would rival a car salesman's. "I simply had no idea you were so … you know." Both eyebrows went up. "Well equipped."

  Okay, this was getting out of hand. "Senator, are you hitting on me? Number one, you're married. Number two, you're my father's age."

  "Hey, I've got the body of a twenty-year-old."

  "Well, you'd better give it back. You're wrinkling it."

  He glared at me as an electrician headed into the studio with a ladder and a replacement bulb. "Now Veronica, there's no need to get ugly."

  "Buddy, if you want ugly, look in the mirror."

  "Young lady, I'm a United States Senator—"

  "Then grow up and start acting like one." I got up, ripped off my microphone, and stormed off the set.

  ***

  I arrived at the dance studio ten minutes early and found several of the professional dancers on the floor gathered around an iPad, laughing hysterically.

  "Play it again," said one of the women.

  "Sure," said Bradley, as he tapped the tablet.

  "You guys are sure having a good time," I said.

  "Thanks to you," said Bradley.

  "What's so funny?"

  He turned the tablet toward me so that I could see. "As if you don't know."

  My eyes bugged out in horror as I watched the off-air altercation between myself and Senator Roper.

  The tape was still rolling after the light blew out.

  And someone had put the whole thing on YouTube.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "We're investigating."

  I didn't need Skype to see the smile on Gavin's face. I could hear it. His seriously lame answer to my question, "How in holy hell did an off-air tape from master control end up on the Internet?" only jacked up my blood pressure.

  Then he added the cherry on top of this ice cream sundae from hell.

  "It's already got half a million hits."

  "That's a good thing? Get it taken down, Gavin."

  "It's gone viral. You can't un-ring a bell on the Internet."

  "You
don't sound terribly concerned."

  "Look, Veronica, I'm upset that it happened but there's nothing I can do. I assure you that when I find out who uploaded the thing appropriate action will be taken."

  "What, you'll give the person a bonus?"

  "Veronica—"

  "You're so full of it, Gavin, I'm surprised your eyes aren't brown. You're happy about this. It's one more little surprise from your bag of tricks."

  "I had nothing to do with this. And you're not the one who looks bad, it's the Senator."

  "Wow, what a consolation. Having a member of Congress hit on me while commenting about my boobs."

  "Veronica—"

  "Go to hell, Gavin."

  I ended the call while wishing I was on a land line so I could slam the phone. Let's face it, hanging up while angry on a cell phone simply doesn't get the message across. You can only push the button so hard.

  Meanwhile, Bradley was tapping his watch. I needed to hurry up and cram said boobs into an outfit that would give me a good idea as to how a sausage felt.

  Ten minutes later I blew open the door to the dressing room and marched onto the dance floor. "So, we doing a waltz, disco, or what?"

  "Right now we're doing Pilates, since you're stressed."

  "I'm not stressed, I'm pissed off!"

  He cocked his head toward the camera, reminding me Dexter was watching and listening. "Best to relax before we dance, don't you think?"

  I took his reminder to shut up. "Right. Pilates."

  ***

  "Okay, we're done." Bradley grabbed a spot on the floor and leaned against the back wall opposite the mirror.

  "We're done? We haven't danced together at all."

  Bradley nodded. "Right. You needed to learn some basic steps on your own." He patted the floor next to him as he jotted down notes on his clipboard. "Relax and let's go over the plan for the next session."

  I shrugged. "Okay, you're the boss." I walked over to him, sat down, and leaned my sore back against the cool concrete.

  "These are some of our goals for next week." He handed me the clipboard.

  I took it and mopped some sweat from my face with a towel. I was expecting to find a rundown of dance routines, but instead I found myself looking at a note.

  The cameras can't see my writing from this spot.

  I thought after what happened today you might enjoy a night out. Would you like to have dinner with me? No strings.

  The anger which I'd maintained all day suddenly downshifted, my clenched jaw relaxed.

  He turned to face me, giving me a look that told me I might be on the dessert menu. "So, Veronica, do you think this is … doable?"

  Do I think this is doable or do I think you're doable? Yes to both. I held back a smile, not wanting the cameras to pick up any hint of sexual interest. "Sure, Bradley, I think it's a plan."

  "Terrific." He got up and extended a hand. I took it and he helped me up. "Okay, then, see you Monday."

  ***

  Years ago celebrities could dine in remote places and not worry about the paparazzi flash bulbs going off. But in the era of cell phone cameras, Big Brother is always watching. And the odds of a network anchor and someone from the most popular reality show in America flying under the radar were pretty slim. The last thing I needed was a shot of us out on a date or him sticking his tongue down my throat when he dropped me off at my apartment.

  So we decided to take a pre-emptive strike. We chose a seriously out-of-the-way place to meet and formulated a strategy to go incognito.

  I shoved my hair into a baseball cap, threw on jeans, an old sweatshirt, a pair of oversized sunglasses and headed for a mom-and-pop pizza joint I knew in Brooklyn. At four in the afternoon I assumed it wouldn't be busy and I was right as I couldn't see a single customer through the window. The smell of fresh bread and spices hit me in the face as I opened the door, which rang a little bell attached to the top. I grabbed a table in the back and faced the wall opposite the window. A very Italian-looking cute waiter came by for an order. I told him I was meeting someone and asked for a diet soda.

  Five minutes later the little bell above the door rang, announcing Bradley's arrival. His disguise was simple but just as good. He'd slicked back his hair and wore a pair of round gold wire-rimmed glasses along with a Giants football jersey.

  We looked like two average people in Brooklyn who wanted a Coke and a slice.

  "I like the casual Friday look," he said, as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

  "Trust me, it feels a lot better than the spandex sausage casing."

  He put up his hands in surrender. "Hey, remember I had nothing to do with that." His smile vanished. "It's … him."

  "Is this a good time for that long story?"

  He shrugged. "Good a time as any. You don't know much about the show, right?"

  "Never seen an episode."

  "Well, what the public doesn't know is that the winning professional dancer gets a sizable bonus. You get a decent payout for second and third as well. So it's to our benefit to do our best."

  "Well, that makes sense. I assume you've finished in the money?"

  He shook his head. "Not once in five years."

  "Seriously?"

  "Because of Dexter. For some reason he always pairs me with a celebrity who has no shot at winning, or even doing well. Last season I got Darlene Zimmer."

  "That woman was on this show?"

  "Yeah. Hard to believe she was once a bikini model. When I got her she was well over two-fifty. And before her he stuck me with Blanche Herrick."

  "She's still alive?"

  "My point exactly. How the hell can I win with a partner who's eighty? If it weren't for you, I would have gotten stuck with rehab girl."

  "Have you ever talked to Dexter about it?"

  "Yeah. He always tells me, 'Do your job.' I don't know what it is about me, but he hates me for some reason. He only keeps me on the show because the public likes me."

  "Well, that doesn't surprise me. Considering—" I caught myself before revealing my inside information about the show.

  He leaned forward. "Considering what?"

  "Uh … you know. His ego."

  "No, that's not it. What aren't you telling me?"

  I exhaled deeply. What the hell, Gavin and Dexter have been lying to me the whole time. Maybe it's time for a little payback. "Okay, but you never heard this from me."

  "Fine. I'm a vault."

  "You're probably going to get a bonus this time. Because the show is fixed."

  ***

  A large double supreme, a pitcher of beer, and a very funny movie later, we were strolling out of the theater like a happy couple. Once we'd spent thirty minutes plotting after my big reveal, the evening turned into a great first date. Bradley's personality was as attractive as his body: a great sense of humor, a dislike of Dexter that matched mine, and a flair for double entendres that made me think he was very interested in coming up to my apartment for more than a cup of coffee.

  As we hit the sidewalk he stuck out his elbow and I slipped my arm through it, resting my hand on his sinewy forearm. No one recognized me for the first time in months, which was a wonderful feeling.

  "So, was that what the doctor ordered?" he asked.

  I nodded. "Yeah, thank you. I really needed to blow off steam after today."

  "Well, you're entitled. And what you told me cleared up a lot of unanswered questions for me."

  We only had a four block walk to my apartment from the subway stop, and I didn't want to stop in front of the building where we could possibly be spotted by a photographer. I wanted to take him directly upstairs. "I have an unanswered question of my own."

  "Shoot."

  "I was wondering if you'd like—"

  His cell phone rang, interrupting my question. "Hang on a second," he said, as he pulled the phone from his pocket. I stole a glance at the screen and saw the face of a spectacular blonde. "I gotta take this."

  "Sure," I said, quickly reass
uring myself that a guy who looks like this surely has some beautiful women in his life. She's probably one of the other dancers.

  Yeah, let's go with that.

  "Hey sweets, what's up?"

  Sweets?

  "Don't worry, I said I'll be there by ten." Short pause. "Of course I'll spend the night. You know I love your breakfasts."

  Annndddd … cue the cold shower.

  "Okay," he said, before twisting the knife. "Love you too." He hung up and turned to me. "Sorry. What were you gonna ask me?"

  Oh, I dunno. I was thinking a guy who'd just taken me out for dinner and a movie might enjoy being ravaged in my apartment, but that was before I found out you were gonna ditch me for a roll in the hay with some other babe. "I … uh … lost my train of thought." We reached the front door of my building. "This is my place."

  "Okay then. Well, see you Monday." He patted me on the shoulder and took a step into the street to hail a cab.

  “Yeah. See ya.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I thought I'd had an easy day of interviews when Gavin met me as I headed off the set. "I've got a story for you to do," he said, as he handed me an assignment sheet.

  "Wow, I get to play reporter today. I could use some hard news."

  "This … isn't exactly hard news, Veronica."

  I looked at the assignment sheet and the first two words hit me like a dart. "You want me to cover a Dance Off event?"

  "It will help promote the show."

  I quickly scanned the sheet for information. "What's the event? All I see is a location." Which happened to be Layla's health club.

  "You'll find out when you get there. Dexter wouldn't tell me when I found out there was something going on. Said it was no big deal and not worth covering. He obviously didn't want cameras. He doesn't know we're covering … whatever this is."

  "So if he doesn't want cameras, why are we doing a story on this mystery event?"

  He pointed at the ceiling. "Orders come from upstairs."