Scoop (41 page)

“So he made you come here?”

“He told me he wanted me to disappear for a week. One week. He said he would make all the arrangements and that I was to leave no evidence that I’d left in a planned manner. He just wanted it to appear that I’d vanished. After the week was up, I was to explain that I’d had a nervous breakdown and had gone to seek help.”

“Let me guess,” Mack said. “You were under the impression that the boss was sending you to some resort in California.”

Gilda nodded. “I thought I was going somewhere nice. And you have to understand what kind of mental state I was in. I wasn’t thinking clearly.
After Chad rejected my story, I felt useless. That’s when I went to get the Botox, and we all know how that went. So I thought it might be good for me to take a nice little vacation.”

“Why did you think Chad concocted this plan?”

“At first I thought he just wanted me out of there, to lay low, so to speak, and let it all pass over. But then I realized he’d planned all along for this to be a big story. He saw an opportunity to create buzz for sweeps week at my expense, and now, unfortunately, at the expense of others.”

“So he was going to ride the wave of publicity through sweeps week,” Mack said, “then use you and your supposed mental breakdown as a scapegoat. Who cares how the story ends, right? As long as it was after sweeps week.”

“Exactly,” Gilda sighed. “I’ve been sitting in this dungeon, hating myself for what I’ve done. But I couldn’t bear to show my face either. Watching your sister made me realize maybe it’s time for me to step down.” She glanced at the books on the bed. “I’ve been reading a lot of Dr. Phil.”

Mack stood. “Well, Gilda, there’s a new story to tell, and it’s time you told it, starting with the police. There’s an innocent man behind bars who would probably stay there if he thought it would help you in any way.”

Gilda’s lip trembled. “I’ll go to the police. But first, I want to settle a score. Let’s go pay Chad Arbus a little visit, shall we?” She walked to the door. “I’m glad I have my frown back.”

M
r. Talley?”

Hugo stopped clicking the Send-Receive button, which he’d been hitting every minute for the last hour, and waved Tate Franklin in. Still no reply from Jane. He had so much to do—scripts to write, loose ends to tie up—but he was waiting for a single e-mail.

“Look, Tate, I’m working on the script. I’ll get it to you as soon as I can. I realize everyone’s really stressed, and I can appreciate your concern, but we’re just going to have to be a little flexible. Okay?”

Tate sat down in the chair across from his desk. “The thing is, Mr. Talley, I don’t think this is for me.”

“What isn’t?” Hugo asked, reaching over to hit the Send-Receive button again. Nothing. His heart sank.

“I just need something more, I think. I’m not really sure.” His hands opened up like he was searching for words, and Hugo tugged his attention away from his computer.

Hugo wasn’t really following. “Tate, you’re going to have to be more specific. You need more airtime? More lighting? What?”

“No,” Tate said, laughing a little. “I’m talking about my life, Mr. Talley. This whole TV thing; it was cool for a while, you know. I mean, who doesn’t want to be on television every day and have your face really big on a billboard? But I’m kind of”—Tate drew his eyes upward, then back to Hugo—“bored, I guess.”

“I hate to break it to you, but this is about as exciting as it gets around here. We don’t often get to cover our own news.”
And thank goodness for that

Tate smiled awkwardly. Smiled, not smirked. Where had that been all this time? “I’m saying that I think I’m done.”

“What does that mean?”

Tate glanced down like he was embarrassed. “I’m sorry. If my mother heard me say, ‘I’m done,’ she would pinch my cheek and tell me I’m not a roast. What I meant to say is, I’m finished.”

Hugo’s hands moved around his desk for no reason, except to find some sort of sharp object. He kept his eyes locked on Tate. “You’re finished.”

“I think so. It’s been fun. Really. You’ve been great, and everyone here is amazing. But last night, during the broadcast, I was thinking about how much I miss skydiving, and I thought maybe I’d go out to New Mexico and start a skydiving company.”

That would come in handy for him when Hugo pushed him off a cliff. Hugo stood, pacing behind his desk. “Tate, that is the most immature thing I’ve ever heard. First of all, why would you be thinking about that
during
the broadcast? Shouldn’t you be thinking about
the broadcast?”
He sucked in a breath and a few choice words that nearly escaped. “Second, do you know how many people would give their right arm for your position? Son, I don’t think you know how good you have it.”

Tate looked humble but unashamed. “I know, Mr. Talley. And that’s another reason I think my time’s over. There are a lot of people who want to do this, but I don’t. So why not move on?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Hugo said, “we’re in the middle of sweeps week! This isn’t really a good time to be talking about this! Not to mention your contract—have you looked at that lately? You can’t just drop everything and walk out.”

“I don’t think I have another show in me.”

Hugo marched around his desk and grabbed Tate by the shirt, pulling him to his feet, pushing his face within inches of Tate’s. “What do you mean by that?” Hugo realized how nice it felt to be able to do this. He wondered how red his face was. This felt really, really good. Had he not been so angry, he would have smiled about it.

Tate’s eyes flew wide open. “Mr. Talley, you’re hurting me.”

“I’m hurting your fancy shirt, Tate, not you.” Hugo let go of him and he fell back into his chair. “Are you saying that you’re quitting? Right now?”

Tate barely nodded.

“How can you do that? Don’t you feel any sense of responsibility? Don’t you understand the consequences of your actions? That’s the problem with your generation! It’s all about you, isn’t it?” The tension in Hugo’s voice climbed with every word. “Your mother didn’t spank you, did she? This is what has happened to the entire generation of children who weren’t spanked.”

Tate’s eyes widened. “Are you going to spank me?”

Hugo laughed, and then started laughing harder. He couldn’t stop himself. He knew this was the kind of laugh that probably echoed through the corridors of every mental hospital in the country, but he didn’t care. Tate felt like quitting? Hugo felt like laughing.

Tate smiled a little. “It’s kind of freeing, you know.”

Hugo teared up with laughter now.

“To be able to just walk away from something.”

“My wife knows exactly what you mean,” Hugo said. The laughter settled a little, and Hugo wiped the tears from his eyes.

Tate stood and stuck out his hand like he was some kind of gentleman. “I want to thank you for the honor, sir.”

Hugo’s smile had yet to fade. “It’s three hours before we go on air. You don’t see anything wrong with this picture?”

Tate kept his arm stuck straight out and pressed his lips firmly together.

And then Hugo saw her through his glass wall. She was walking across the newsroom, her stride swift, determined. Tate’s arm was still sticking out when Hugo maneuvered around it and out the door of his office. Hugo thought he was seeing things, because upon first glance it looked like she was wrapped in a white, heavenly light. But then he realized she was
wearing a white bathrobe. Hugo stood with his mouth open, watching her petite figure beeline toward Chad’s office.

“Gilda?” he whispered, his voice hoarse with shock. He glanced around, hoping everyone else was taking notice, that he wasn’t just seeing things. Everyone saw it. A few people stood. One person was clapping. Most everyone else was frozen. A few feet behind her, Ray followed. He looked at Hugo and smiled a little, then gave him a thumbs-up. Hugo had no idea what that meant, but it had to be good.

Of course it was good. Gilda was back.

Hugo raced forward and fell behind Gilda’s quick stride and next to Ray, who said, “You’re not going to believe this.”

Gilda carried herself clear across the newsroom in a way that would not indicate she had any problems being seen in her bathrobe. It made Hugo wonder why, with that kind of confidence, she ever considered Botox. But that thought could wait.

“What’s going on?” Hugo whispered.

But before Ray could answer, Gilda was in Chad’s office, and Ray and Hugo were right behind her. The newsroom fell into complete silence.

Judging by Chad’s expression, he wasn’t expecting to see Gilda either. And then suddenly, he opened his arms and cried, “Gilda! You’re back!”

“Give it up,” Gilda said calmly. “Nobody’s going to be fooled.”

“Fooled?” Chad asked.

“I’m going to tell the entire story,” she said. “On air.”

Chad tried to hide his shocked expression with an uneasy smile. “Oh really.”

“Yes.”

“And what story would that be?”

“That you made a mistake telling me that my investigation into the wastewater treatment plant wasn’t relevant, when, in fact, a week later the plant exploded. Then, to cover up your mistake, you blackmailed me, first by stealing all the e-mails detailing our discussion on the matter,
and second, by claiming that I would take the fall if the station were sued. So you convinced me I should leave for a week until all this blew over and then come back claiming some sort of nervous breakdown. You said you would pay for it all, and that it was the best thing for everyone involved.”

Chad glanced at Hugo, then at Ray, then back at Gilda. He looked speechless.

“But instead of letting it blow over, you decided to use it to your advantage by making it look like I disappeared. And besides that, you’re a cheapskate. You could’ve afforded to send me to some nice resort. You sent me to a ratty old hotel!”

Chad now looked amused. “Gilda, who is going to believe a has-been like you?”

“I will,” Ray said.

“Me too,” Hugo said.

The rest of the newsroom agreed.

Chad didn’t look deterred. “You’re going to bring the entire news station down, Gilda. Don’t you get it? Look around at all these people,” he said, gesturing toward his office door. “You’re sure you want to put their jobs in jeopardy too?” Chad walked around his desk and out the door, causing Gilda, Ray, and Hugo to step aside. Gilda’s arms remained crossed and her face determined as she watched Chad walk by. “Our ratings are at an all-time high, people,” Chad said, addressing the entire crowd. “Everyone wants to know where Gilda is and what has happened to her. We ride this one more day, and we have sweeps week sealed. Not only that, we’ll take our rightful place as the number-one news station in the city. What we’ve all worked for. You’re not going to let one woman’s foolish accusations take that away from you, are you?”

Hugo stepped forward. “What, exactly, are you suggesting?”

“We’re going to spin this thing.”

“Spin what?” Hugo asked. “Pretend Gilda didn’t show up?”

Chad smiled. “Now, Hugo, that would be misleading, wouldn’t it?”
He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m simply suggesting we air some video of Gilda standing here in her…her bathrobe. Maybe we can gather some footage off the security camera of her walking into the station. We call it ‘breaking news’ and there you have it.”

“You mean, don’t tell the whole story,” Ray said. “That’s misleading.”

“Suddenly everyone has a conscience, do they? Well, let me offer a little refresher course for you people. Every time you air a story, you’re giving the story you want to give. You pick a sound bite here, a sound bite there, show an image here, show an image there. And what do you have? A story exactly the way you want to tell it. Everyone in this room knows how to do it. We know what image to show and when. We know what music to play under what sound bite. Give me a break!” Chad was nearly shouting now. “You expect me to believe that you’re suddenly worried you’re not telling the entire side of the story?” Chad gestured to Ray. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Ray, but wasn’t it last year that you covered that drunk-driving story? Where the quarterback of the football team struck and killed an eighty-six-year-old woman?”

Ray nodded.

“And did you not interview his mother, his father, and all his friends? Did you not show pictures of him winning awards and making touchdowns and being crowned homecoming king?”

Ray nodded again.

“In fact, you gained special access to the prison and interviewed the young man yourself, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“If I remember, we ran that story for an entire week. And how much footage did we show of the woman’s family or her funeral or that her three poodles wondered where she was?”

“What’s your point?” Ray asked.

“Okay. I’ll answer for you. Thirty-eight seconds. That’s how much coverage that old lady got. Our quarterback, however, came across looking
like a young man who had a lot going for him but made a terrible mistake. All because of airtime, visuals, and sound bites.”

“We both know.”

“Know what?” Chad asked.

“There’s fact, and then there’s truth. You can report the facts all you want, but it doesn’t always tell the truth. The truth is the story I told, and it was supported by fact.”

Chad smiled slightly. “But you didn’t tell the whole truth, did you?” Chad looked at Hugo. “And Hugo, you and I both know that we had three hours of footage on that old woman, from interviews with her children to the sunset burial. You made the call how to air it. It sort of tugged at your heart, didn’t it? You could see your own daughter, in a few years, possibly making the same kind of mistake.”

“That was the story,” Hugo said firmly. “The story behind the story was that a young man’s life, and countless others’, was forever changed by one mistake. We aired it the way we did hoping that it would have an impact on other kids and maybe they wouldn’t make the same kind of mistake.”

“Fair enough,” Chad said mildly. “If you want to paint it as a noble endeavor, go ahead. But you didn’t tell
the
story, you told
a
story, and it was a story that fit the need of the viewers and the station. Period.” He paused for a moment. “Don’t you see? It’s bits and pieces, and following the same formula, we can save our station. I’ve got a report due on my desk any day now. And it’s going to
assess
the weaknesses of this station. What’s it going to tell me? Who’s gutsy? Who’s willing to take a risk, to lay it all on the line for success? This is your moment, people, to prove you’ve got what it takes to be in this business. To prove you’re more than glorified tattletales. Gilda, this is your moment to prove you’re a team player. That it’s not all about you. You can talk all you want about justice and the right thing to do, but at the end of the day, we’re all working our butts off to keep our heads above water because of you. You should’ve
stepped down a long time ago, but instead, you just keep on keeping on. Well, its cost us a lot. Now its time to pay me and all these nice people back by giving us three more hours.”