It Girl

by Nic Tatano

  Oh, shit, another sleepless night.

  ***

  I tried to act casual as I entered the newsroom Monday morning but my heart was a triphammer. Gavin was talking with Scott, who spotted me and shot me a worried look that told me something wasn't going well. Gavin smiled as he noticed me. "Come with me to the green room," he said.

  "What's in the green room?"

  "You'll see in a minute."

  He led me across the hall to the lavish waiting room. When he opened the door and I saw who was inside, my jaw dropped.

  Senator Sydney Dixon.

  And her husband.

  "I'll leave you to chat for a minute," said Gavin, "then get over to makeup."

  "Sure," I said, as he left and closed the door.

  "Hi Veronica," said the Senator, with very little life in her voice. Her face was drawn, eyes bloodshot. Her husband sat next to her, holding her hand while looking like someone who was in mourning. "This is my husband, Francis."

  I nodded and said nothing to him, as, "Nice to meet you" would have made no sense. "I must say, I'm surprised to find you here," I said.

  "I needed to come clean," she said. "And you're the most unbiased journalist I know."

  "So you wanna do a Bill and Hillary thing on the couch, like 60 Minutes?"

  She nodded. He looked at the floor.

  "Fine," I said. "Just know I'm not throwing softballs this morning."

  "Wouldn't expect you to," she said. But her eyes begged me to do the opposite.

  While you don't kick someone when they're down, that rule doesn't apply to journalism. Besides, she made her own bed. Literally.

  ***

  After getting made up I pulled Scott into his office and shut the door. "I can't believe she picked our show for this," he said.

  "When did you find out?"

  "About two minutes before you walked in. Gavin obviously knew about it yesterday."

  "Why didn't the network promote the hell out of it?"

  "He said he didn't want the competition to know they were in town and be waiting outside the door with a limo for them to make the morning show rounds. And the Senator insisted it be kept quiet because she only wants to do this once. Let's face it, the other networks are going to hammer her anyway."

  "Good point. How do you think I should handle this?"

  "Well, it's not like you're breaking the story, so women aren't going to blame you for taking her down. I'd be tough but fair. But don't hold anything back."

  "Wasn't planning to."

  "You do realize this is probably the most important interview you'll ever do. So do it like you're the next main anchor. Gravitas."

  ***

  Senator Dixon was doing her best to put on a brave face as she sat next to her husband on the couch opposite me. Scott had opened the show with the announcement that they were the guests, then he tossed it to me.

  "Thank you, Scott. Senator Sydney Dixon and her husband Francis join us this morning. Thank you both for coming by."

  "Thank you for giving us the opportunity," she said. Her husband said nothing.

  "Let's get right to it. How long has this affair with Bill Recker been going on?"

  She bit her lower lip. "About three years."

  "Francis, did you have any idea this was happening?"

  He shook his head. "No," he said softly.

  "Have you two been having marital problems?"

  "I didn't think so," said Francis, his eyes filled with hurt. "But obviously she had a different point of view."

  "Senator?"

  "I love Francis a great deal," she said. "I'm away from home a lot and … well, I made an error in judgment."

  I wanted to roll my eyes at this standard mea culpa from a cheating politician, but resisted. "Senator, with all due respect, an error in judgment is painting the kitchen the wrong color. You cheated on your husband. That's not an error in judgment. It's breaking a sacred vow, and judging by the look on your husband's face, something that has hurt him a great deal."

  Her eyes widened and began to grow misty, as she obviously expected me to buy the "error in judgment" thing. "I don't know what else to say," she said. "It was a terrible thing to do. You don't have to tell me that I've hurt my husband, I already know that."

  "And considering you had an affair with a very influential member of the media, I have to ask … what was the motive? You've already been accused of doing this to curry favorable coverage during the campaign."

  "It was … uh … just two people who made a huge mistake. It had nothing to do with bias. There was no motive to get favorable coverage from him during the campaign."

  "Francis, are you two planning to stay together?"

  He nodded. "We'll get through this." But his eyes told me he was lying and probably had agreed to stay with her through the campaign, if she still had one.

  "Do you still love her?"

  Short pause. "Of course."

  "What about the campaign, Senator?" I asked. "Are you still running for President?"

  "The campaign is suspended for the time being," she said. "We plan to take time to fix our marriage and then we'll see what happens."

  "If you do still run, do you think the American people will trust you?"

  "Americans believe in second chances," she said. "History has proven that with politics."

  "But we've never before had a female politician who's been unfaithful. Do you think there will be a double standard?"

  She paused a moment, looked down, then back up at me. "I can't answer that."

  “One more question. You seemed to have the world by the tail and were a slam dunk to be the next President of the United States. Women all over the country were excited about the prospect of the first female President. And you seemed to have the perfect family. I hate to be blunt, but this is the question everyone wants answered. How could you jeopardize all of that by doing something so incredibly stupid?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  VERONICA SUMMER: CROSSING THE LINE OR SIMPLY ASKING THE OBVIOUS?

  By Jen Harlen

  When The Morning Show host Veronica Summer asked unfaithful wife Sydney Dixon what is now known as "the question" many of us were taken aback as much as the Senator, whose face jerked like she'd been hit with a blow dart.

  But was Ms. Summer simply asking the question we all were thinking?

  "How could you jeopardize all of that by doing something so incredibly stupid?"

  The general protocol among journalists when asking a pointed question is to preface it with, "With all due respect." (Which we all know actually means, "You're full of it, but I'm trying to be classy and not say it.") In this case, Ms. Summer threw high heat at the politician, instead of the usual softballs lobbed by many so-called journalists.

  The response was almost as surprising as the question. The Senator, obviously shocked at the blunt nature of the question, said nothing for a full five seconds until her husband finally ended the pregnant pause by saying, "We all make mistakes." (The guy gets newly minted Tammy Wynette "Stand By Your Woman" award.)

  The reaction to the interview brought a lot of strong opinions. Some politicians in the Senator's party seemed to think Ms. Summer crossed the line, while viewers overwhelmingly supported her style of holding nothing back.

  "I don't tell my anchors or reporters what questions to ask or how to ask them," said The Morning Show's Executive Producer Gavin Karlson. "Every politician should know Veronica Summer is a tough journalist, and if they're looking for softballs they need to join a beer league. I think she asked what we all were thinking. And for those who think we give politicians questions in advance, I think the Senator's reaction told you we don't do that at this network."

  Sources say the Senator stormed off the set and out the back door after the live interview. We're told she selected The Morning Show figuring she'd get a fair shake instead of other network offerings which have traditionally supported the other party.

  Ms. Summer was not availa
ble for comment, but her co-anchor Scott Winter chimed in. "Any politician who thinks they're going to get special treatment from Veronica should think twice. She's always been a tough reporter but a fair one. And what she asked was a tough but fair question."

  So, had I passed the gravitas test? Time will tell. Scott spent the rest of the morning using his private bathroom snooping device and found out the network is planning to give the current sub a month to see how the ratings play out. Interesting timing, since that's the same amount of time I have left on Dance Off.

  Which means the decision may be out of my hands, and in those of the viewers.

  But he did say the network's old boys club was impressed with my interview.

  Meanwhile, back to my dancing shoes.

  ***

  After three days of rehearsal with Dexter, I felt like a professional tonight as I prepared for the competition. Not a professional like my sister, but a professional dancer.

  I couldn't believe how he'd taken my dancing to the next level. Working with him was so easy, so natural, with a fluidity that usually only comes with someone you've known a long time. He seemed to know my moves perfectly, and how to guide me through them flawlessly.

  Still, he hadn't said anything that would even hint he was interested in me.

  Though I'd gotten the look every day when he dipped me at the end of the routine.

  During our last rehearsal this afternoon he'd held me longer than normal, maybe five seconds. I found myself not saying anything, just staring into his spectacular eyes. Then he broke the trance, blushed, shook his head as if to clear it, and said, "Uh … excellent rehearsal, Veronica."

  Had he asked me out, I doubt if I could have remembered a snappy comeback.

  Layla's wave was lapping the shore, and I felt myself being pulled in.

  I couldn't get the look out of my head as I took one final glance in the dressing room mirror. The emerald green sequined halter dress was flashy and showed a good deal of leg when I twirled, but nothing approaching skimpy. I looked at the clock, saw that we just had a few minutes left and headed for the green room, where I found Dexter waiting with another couple.

  He smiled as I entered. "You look stunning," he said.

  "So do you," I said, admiring his outfit. An open collared pale green shirt and dark slacks.

  A production assistant entered and called out the other couple, leaving us alone in the room. We were to be last in the competition.

  "You should know," he said, "that viewers are licking their chops waiting to get even with me for all the snarky comments over the years. So if we're eliminated, it's nothing you've done. It's not you, it's me."

  "We're not going to be eliminated," I said. "They like me more than they dislike you." I shot him a wicked smile.

  "You certainly have a unique way of looking at things. Though I would surmise you're probably right."

  "We're also the best dancers."

  "Excellent point."

  We turned our attention to the monitor as the other couple started their routine. They were good, but not great, and I knew we could beat them. Hell, our rehearsals had been better than all the couples I'd seen. It was just a matter of not screwing up.

  For whatever reason, I knew that was impossible.

  If I simply let myself go.

  ***

  The first three minutes of the dance went flawlessly. I never looked at my feet once, didn't have a single misstep, and glided around the floor as Dexter guided my moves. We were incredibly fluid. I'd even managed a sultry expression, which he said was essential to conveying the meaning of the dance. Even the viewers who hated Dexter would have to admit we'd blown away the competition.

  With thirty seconds to go we were a slam dunk to not only avoid elimination, but to get the highest score of the night.

  It went off without a hitch.

  He dipped me, held me there.

  The music stopped.

  Again with the look.

  Suddenly, something happened to me that had never happened before.

  Everything disappeared. The studio, the crowd, the judges … the rest of the world did not exist.

  My God, those eyes …

  I felt my head raise up, our eyes still locked, my lips parting slightly to meet his—

  "Earth to Veronica and Dexter!"

  The judge's words snapped us out of the trance. The rest of the world flooded back as we whipped our heads toward the judges, who were all smiling. The crowd was delirious, on its feet. Dexter raised me up to a standing position and we headed toward the judges.

  I couldn't be sure, but I'm guessing my face matched my hair.

  ***

  This time I beat Dexter to the alley at the back door. I leaned against the brick, much as he had done, my heart skipping a beat each time the door opened, then downshifting when I saw it was someone else.

  I had to know. And I had to know right now. Suddenly I was a reporter on a major story, needing the one piece of information that served as confirmation. And I was ready to let the story take me wherever it wanted to go.

  Finally, he stepped out into the night, dressed in his usual suit and tie.

  "Mind telling me what just happened out there?" I asked.

  He turned his head and offered a soft, shy smile as he walked in my direction. "I could ask you the same thing."

  "I asked you first."

  He moved forward until he was standing before me. I moved slightly closer, dipping my head and looking up at him through my eyelashes, giving him my bad little girl look. "Don't you ever let a woman take the lead?"

  "On the dance floor, no."

  "How about off the dance floor?"

  He shrugged. "Depends on the woman."

  "Oh, really? And what sort of woman would be the type that would be allowed to lead?"

  "Hmmm. Well, she would have to have a combination of qualities. Obviously she'd have to be very confident, because she would need the resolve to take the lead. It would be nice if she were independent, and smart. Able to take care of herself but not minding if a man offered to play a traditional role. She would have a career, one that she was passionate about. Generally women who are passionate about their work are the same about love. And she would have a life force that is off the charts, with a fire in her eyes that could never be put out."

  "I see. You didn't mention anything about the woman's appearance. About what your type might be."

  "There's the problem. You see, Veronica, some women are so incredibly beautiful that I find myself unable to think straight."

  "You seemed to think straight around Savannah, and she blows me away in the looks department. I'm not even in her league."

  "Ah, Veronica, but the overall beauty is more than just physical. It's the total package, with all the qualities I just outlined. And in that case, it is actually preferable if the woman would take the lead."

  So if this was going to happen, it had to be my decision.

  I had to know.

  I moved closer, ran my hands under his jacket and up his chest. I heard him inhale quickly. "So, you're telling me certain women can render you powerless? As if they're made of some sort of sexual Kryptonite?"

  "That's … uh … quite a good analogy."

  I snaked my arms around his neck and locked my fingers. "And turn the great Dexter Bishop into a shy high school boy afraid to make the first move?"

  He gulped. "There you go again. Trying to lead."

  "Damn straight." I grabbed his necktie with one hand, gently pulled him toward me, leaned up and kissed him, long and hard, not caring if the paparazzi or anyone saw us, because just as it had been on the dance floor, the world around us disappeared.

  I broke the embrace and looked around. Dead silence. No one was watching.

  I turned back to Dexter and got the look again.

  "So," I said. "Let's mambo. My place … or mine?"

  ***

  I woke up from what seemed to have been the best sleep of my life.
The sun was already sending fingers of light into my bedroom while the clock told me it was almost nine. No big deal, I had the day off.

  I rolled over and saw the other side of the bed was empty.

  Oh, you've gotta be kidding.

  Typical man.

  They're all the same. Well, nice while it lasted.

  I shook my head, got up, grabbed my robe, wrapped it around me and headed for the kitchen.

  The smell of frying bacon greeted me as I opened the bedroom door.

  I quickly moved down the hall and saw Dexter, clad in only boxer shorts, busy cooking in my kitchen.

  He looked up and smiled. "Good morning. I didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful."

  "You're here."

  He shrugged. "Where else would I be?"

  "And you're cooking breakfast."

  "Well, I was starving. I've had to get a little creative since your cupboard was a bit bare, but I think this will suffice."

  I moved toward the cooking island and saw he had several pots and pans going. "What are you making?"

  "Crepes. Bacon. A few other goodies." He noticed a little flour on his chest and brushed it off. "Oh, I couldn't find an apron."

  Yeah, like I wanna cover him up. "I have one, but I'm not giving it to you."

  He actually blushed a bit. "Leading again, I see."

  "You seemed to like it last night."

  He offered a soft smile as the buzzer on the oven went off. He turned, opened it, pulled out a cookie sheet, and set it on the counter.

  My eyes went wide. "You made biscuits? From scratch?"

  "They're not very difficult. I would have made croissants but you were out of butter."

  "So, is there anything you can't do?"

  "As I said last evening, I am rather powerless around a certain woman."

  I smiled, quickly moved forward and wrapped my arms around him, laying my head on his chest. He put one arm around my shoulders. "So, were you ever gonna make the first move?"

  "Probably not. Fear of rejection, which I was reasonably sure of in your case."

  I leaned back and looked up at him. "You're afraid of rejection? You can have any woman on the planet."

  "Veronica, underneath it all I'm like any other man. And I didn't want any woman on the planet. I wanted a specific woman."