A Reason to Stay (2 page)

F
rom the expensive Santoni loafers and the rich leather Michael Kors tote slung over the woman's shoulder, Faith figured Lynna Scowcroft's career choice must be lucrative. That, or she had a rich daddy subsidizing her expensive tastes. Either way, chalk up one more reason she distrusted the size 2 jackhammer who would spend the next days pounding her image into something young viewers would find palatable.

As they made their way across the parking lot, she pointed to her designated spot. “We'll take my car.”

Lynna glanced around. “Where are the news trucks?”

Faith clicked the doors unlocked. Had this one even been on a remote before? Everyone in the business knew the equipment guys always tried to arrive early to set up. “The crew left twenty minutes ago.”

Lynna nodded and pulled her buzzing phone from her bag. Inside the car, she again apologized while her thumbs worked the face, tapping out a message. “Sorry, lots going on back in my office.”

Faith pulled from the station's parking lot and headed for the on-ramp to the Southwest Freeway. “Where is that? The office, I mean,” she asked with an edge in her voice, knowing how often
media consultants worked incognito. At least this girl wasn't trying to hide under the guise of being an intern, unlike the last one.

Lynna brushed her fingers through the side of her cropped hair. “Look, we're on the same team, metaphorically speaking of course.”

“Of course.” Faith merged into traffic and accelerated.

“So let's, like, try to dispel any tension that might exist. We both know what my job is here. I'm a senior branding consultant from Preston Media Group. We're located in the San Fernando Valley but have offices in New York and Chicago.” She flipped the visor down and checked her face. A face that barely wore—or needed—makeup.

Faith took a deep breath. Preston Media Group. Those folks upstairs had hired the big guns. She glanced across the seat and tried to sound friendly. “And you?”

“I live in LA.” Lynna snapped the visor closed and leaned back in her seat. “Our company philosophy is different from most, but fairly simple, really. We assess everything from a completely customer-obsessed brand persuasion mind-set.”

Faith found herself gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Oh?”

Lynna riffled through her bag and pulled out a pack of gum. “Yeah, we try to look at things without wearing rose-colored glasses.” She offered the pack up to Faith.

“No thanks.” What did she mean,
rose-
colored glasses
?

As if Lynna could read her thoughts, she unwrapped a stick of gum and explained. “A news station's personnel, owners, and particularly on-air talent can be too close to the situation to dispassionately evaluate the connection programming is making with consumers. I applaud KIAM-TV's recognition of this fact, and for taking proactive measures to retain a competitive edge.” She slid the gum into her mouth and continued while chewing. “Preston Media Group will provide unbiased, good honest feedback and guide you back to soaring consumer confidence.”

“Back? I wasn't aware we'd gone off course.” The savior-like attitude of this marketing twit was beginning to grind on her nerves. “I'm unsure what reports you've been given, but KIAM-TV morning news and my show
Faith on Air
both rank high in year-over-year growth in viewers.”

“Don't get defensive. I agree, but both shows were down several percentage points during last quarter's sweeps. I'm here to help you freshen up appeal to those consumers who are drifting over to online venues to get their hard news. If we want people to tune in to a live broadcast, we have to offer fare not otherwise available. In order to retain your credibility with this new generation of viewers, I'm going to show you ways to deepen your emotional connection on air, and how to make programming more appealing. Especially to my generation.”

Faith internally grunted. There couldn't be more than a few years between them—okay, maybe, but not that many.

She merged into the exit lane heading to the Sam Houston Tollway. “I don't think we're as broken as you're projecting,” she tried to argue, even though at times she worried the producers overteased a segment. “Fast-food hamburgers are appealing, especially to the younger crowd. But eat too much and your body will pay the consequences. Likewise, we need to care about what we feed our viewers.”

Lynna laughed. “You've just likened your programming to broccoli. That alone makes my case.”

Faith adjusted the air-conditioning, realizing this argument couldn't be won. No doubt this California girl's mind-set was aligned with her job security. She had to make the case for the need to revamp everything, or she'd be unable to afford her
emotional connection
to those expensive wardrobe accessories.

They rode in silence past a freeway sign announcing the exit to I-45 was less than a mile ahead. When she could stand it no longer, she turned to Lynna. She didn't want to sound insecure,
but something she'd heard plagued her. “When you mentioned the emotional connection thing earlier, you—did you mean the station, or—”

Lynna's iPhone buzzed from inside her bag—again. This time she muted it. “Look, in large measure, you are the face of the station. Sure, you have a male cohost on the morning news and other anchors, but viewers in those daytime slots are primarily women. Women who do most of the purchasing for their households. Like it or not, these key viewers assess everything about you—what you wear, your hairstyle, even whether or not you wear too much lip gloss.”

Instinctively, Faith knew that. She'd learned to build a pretty façade, no matter the turmoil in her private life. It was how the game was played, in life and certainly on television.

The consultant tossed her phone back in her bag. “For years, Katie Couric carried
The Today Show
. ABC's Diane Sawyer tested far more credible when it came to intellect and serious reporting, but she and Charlie Gibson sank under the weight of Matt and Katie, especially after Katie tragically lost her husband. Every woman in America tuned in to follow the grieving young widow.”

Faith maneuvered south onto the freeway. “So, I just need to tragically lose my husband then?” she asked, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

Death they'd get behind. She doubted very much viewers would embrace the fact her marriage was circling the porcelain and about to be flushed.

“Uh, yeah. About that husband—we'll need to talk.”

Faith scowled as she drove in the direction of the Johnson Space Center. “Talk? What do you mean?”

Lynna Scowcroft gave her a disingenuous smile. Insincere people only smile with their mouths, not their eyes. “We'll have to carefully manage any divorce.”

Faith's head whipped around. “How did you know—?”

“It's my job to know everything about you.”

An angry tremor ran down Faith's spine as she considered the implication. What else did Lynna Scowcroft and her Preston Media Group know? Had they learned about her mother, and her brother? Her family situation was not pretty. And her crippled marriage was definitely off-limits.

The consultant must have understood she'd hit a nerve. She busied herself on her iPad for the remainder of the drive.

Faith took the exit to NASA Parkway, and when the bright blue space center sign came into view, she pulled behind a line of cars, determined she was never going to discuss her personal life with this stranger.

Maybe her marriage couldn't be resurrected. But that was no one else's business. When—
if
—she filed for divorce, she'd deal with the hit her career would take then.

Sure, things didn't look good right now. They'd both made mistakes, but she wasn't quite ready to seal the fate of her relationship with Geary. Even if at the moment it looked like she might not have any other option.

Using her Bluetooth, she called ahead to the crew. “Where are we at?”

Production engineer Scott Bingham's voice came through. “Drive past the visitor's center and take a left on Saturn. We've set up in front of the Johnson Space Center sign at the entrance. You'll have to proceed through the security kiosk, and the guard will immediately direct you into the lot adjacent to the Rocket Park building.”

“Got it.”

Minutes later, Faith stood in front of a small crowd to record her intro. Lynna Scowcroft stood nearby studying the process and making notes on her iPad.

Faith cleared her throat and watched for Scott's signal.

“Empty restaurants, a struggling floral shop, and a transition center packed daily with job seekers are among the lingering effects of the loss of thousands of aerospace jobs over this past year. While the area's economy is benefiting from a surge in the oil, gas, and chemical industries, the impact of the job cuts associated with the end of the space shuttle program clearly remains evident.”

She stopped, finished her count, and gave Scott a nod. He raised his forearm and sliced the air, signaling to the cameraman to stop filming. By this time, Senator Libby Heekin Rohny had climbed from her town car and her handlers were miking her. After testing the sound system, a woman in black slacks and a light blue sweater positioned the senator in front of the sign.

In addition to several other news crews, a crowd of about fifty people gathered to listen to Senator Rohny's announcement, including a little boy holding on to the hand of his mother. Despite the urgency of the moment, Faith dug for one of the KIAM-TV Junior Anchor stickers she always carried in her pocket. “Do you mind?” she asked the mother.

The woman smiled. “Not at all.”

Faith bent and secured the emblem on his Thomas the Train T-shirt. He beamed in response. “Fank you.”

She gave the little guy a final grin, then scurried into place. Against the heat of the late-morning sun, she secured her earpiece and adjusted the volume on her battery pack. “Testing . . . one, two.”

“You're clear,” she heard Scott report back.

Lynna stepped next to her. “Nice move.”

She turned to the consultant. “What?”

“The sticker. That was a nice gesture.”

Faith gave her a distracted nod and directed her attention to the senator, waiting for her to begin.

“Good morning, everyone. Thank you so much for being here.”

Senator Libby Heekin Rohny was an attractive woman Faith
guessed to be in her early sixties. A staunch conservative, Rohny was in her third term as US senator from Texas after easily challenging the sitting liberal incumbent in a landslide election.

Rohny served on the United States Senate Committee on Finance and held an influential seat on the appropriations committee that set the funding levels for NASA. While the senator enjoyed immense popularity among Houstonians, she definitely had vocal detractors who claimed she'd not done enough to maintain funding for the JSC, which had put many out of jobs and hurt the local economy. No doubt she was here to soften the blow of what was rumored to be on the horizon.

“At its peak in 1966, NASA funding amounted to 4.4 percent of the entire federal budget. In 2012, that decreased to 0.48 percent. And now in 2014, despite my personal efforts, we're bracing for another proposed $200 million cut. As you can imagine, ensuring NASA and in particular the Johnson Space Center budgets are protected is a demanding job in a fiscal environment where space exploration is seen as a nonessential and the competition for funding is fierce.”

Faith jotted several notes on a pad of paper, planning how best to approach the senator for an exclusive interview. Despite what people like Lynna Scowcroft claimed, her
Faith on Air
viewers were intelligent, thoughtful women who cared about politics and how these decisions affected their lives.

POP! POP!

Lynna grabbed Faith's arm, her eyes wide. “What was that?”

A scream interrupted the senator's speech. Faith felt more than saw people start running.

POP! POP! POP!

Her heart froze in terror. A shooter!

Instinctively, she dropped her notepad and ran. Where, she wasn't sure. She only knew she had to get away.

More screams. Chaos.

Her way was blocked. Someone nearby shouted, “He's got a gun!”

In horror, she watched a man wearing a khaki-green jacket step out of the crowd armed with what looked like a semiautomatic rifle. He aimed at the senator and shot a round of bullets.

The woman crumpled.

More shots and several of the senator's team went down as well.

Out of nowhere, she heard Scott Bingham's voice in her earpiece. “Faith, get down!” Dazed, she looked in the direction of the news truck and saw him running toward her. The motion caused her to stumble and she fell, twisting her ankle in the heels she wore. Pain shot through her leg.

A voice near her begged, “Please—no—please no.”

Terrified, Faith dared a look in that direction. The man with the gun stood over the mother she'd seen earlier. The frantic woman was on the ground huddled on top of her son, trying to protect the little boy.

Despite her pleas, the man shot anyway.

Faith squeezed her eyes shut against the nightmare happening around her. Suddenly, an image formed in her mind—that of her estranged husband. Who would tell Geary if . . .

She dropped to the ground and went to cover her head, but not before two booted feet moved within her view. Her heart pounded. She glanced up to find the gun pointed in her direction. She heard another loud scream.

She couldn't help it. She wet herself.

POP! POP!

A body crumpled to the ground next to her.

Faith held her breath and watched as dark red blood pooled beneath Lynna Scowcroft's short blonde hair. Lifeless eyes stared back at her.

She struggled to breathe—to comprehend it all.