Live on TV3 Palm Springs

by Bill Evans

  One of the very first rules that every broadcaster learned was that a microphone was to be considered “hot” or “live” at all times. Bob forgot while watching the car commercial. And then, it happened.

  The car commercial was a new account to the station, one that Lisa had brought in with a new annual contract. New annual contracts were few and far between. This was new revenue for the station. Bob recognized an old friend in the commercial, the owner of the car dealer.

  “Hey, that’s Randy Rydell. What is Randy Rydell doing on TV? He’s the biggest crook in town.”

  John Miller was at the doctor’s office for a routine checkup when his phone went off.

  “John, we’ve got a problem.” It was Jack, the news director. “Bob Walters just called a client the biggest crook in town. He did it on the air.”

  “What? What do you mean he did it on the air?” The GM rose from his chair in the waiting room and quickly left the doctor’s office. His checkup would have to wait. He knew there was no way anyone would do something like that on the air. “Jack, tell me exactly what happened.”

  Jack talked his general manager through the scenario. Miller didn’t say anything. He only listened, trying to figure out his next move. It wasn’t that hard.

  “Okay, here’s what you do, Jack. You get Bob and put him in my office. I’m on my way back to the station.”

  “John, what about the weather in our six o’clock show? How do you want to handle that?”

  “Have the anchors do it. Do not let Bob back on the air.”

  As John started his car, his phone went off again. This time it was Lisa Addelson.

  “John, this is Lisa.” Lisa was very close to screaming. “Bob Walters just screwed my new client.” It was obvious that she was hot and didn’t even bother calling her sales manager. Instead she went directly to the general manager.

  “Lisa, I already know. I’m on my way to the station to deal with it right now. Have you heard from Rydell?”

  Still almost screaming—”Immediately, as soon as it happened, he called me. Actually, it was his wife. She called me and said she was taking him to the hospital because he was losing his breath. You can tell where this is going.”

  “Lisa, I will take care of this. See if you can’t go see your client and let him know the station is addressing this. We will do whatever we must to make him happy.” John made the quick ten-minute drive back to his station.

  Those who watched the general manager exit his car would claim he got out before the car was fully parked. He didn’t say anything to anyone as he walked in the front door and went directly to his office. The weather anchor was waiting. Jack Router kept him company. No words had been spoken.

  “What the fuck did you do, Bob? You called our new client the biggest crook in town? Really? Randy’s wife has already called me saying she was taking her husband to the hospital with chest pains.”

  This was a slight exaggeration, but only because that conversation happened between Lisa and Mrs. Rydell and not the general manager.

  The weatherman sat in his chair, not saying a word. Jack could only shake his head.

  “Bob, you’re suspended until we can sort this out. Go home until you hear from us.” The general manager stayed standing behind his desk. “Don’t say anything. Just get out of my office. We’ll be in touch.”

  Bob left the general manager’s office and went downstairs to the newsroom. The weatherman picked up his car keys and left the building. He didn’t know it then, but that would be his last time inside TV3.

  “Jack, I need to call our HR attorney and run this scenario by him to make sure we handle it properly. Between you and me, we’re done with Bob. You need to start looking for a new weatherman.” John pulled out his chair and took a seat. “Tell me why the control room potted up Bob’s mic?”

  “It was a colossal fuck-up. No one can explain it. The soundman was trying to get a voice level when Bob made his comment.”

  In all of Jack Router’s years in the newsrooms, he had never experienced this firsthand. He had heard about things like this happening, but now it was his problem to handle.

  John was just about to call the company’s HR attorney when his private line rang. That could only mean one thing. Stewart Simpson, the owner, was on the phone.

  “John, what the hell is going on there? Your weatherman called a client the biggest crook in town, on the air? Seriously? What the hell?”

  “Mr. Simpson, I was just going to call you.” The GM told one of those little white lies. He knew he would have to call Stewart that night, he just wasn’t planning on having the conversation at this particular moment. “How did you hear about this already?” John was starting to feel like his office might be bugged. “I’ve got this handled.”

  “You better. I want a full report on this and what you are doing to correct it. You understand me? First thing in the morning.” The owner hung up on his general manager. He was as pissed as John had ever heard him. Stewart Simpson was a stickler for execution and eliminating stupid mistakes. This was a costly mistake on so many levels.

  John tried not to show his embarrassment about the ass-chewing he just got. “Jack, go ahead and go downstairs for the six o’clock news. I need to call our HR attorney.”

  Jack left his boss’s office without another word.

  Stewart chuckled as he hung up the phone at his country club home. Lisa sat with him on his patio, where she had first taken the call from Mrs. Rydell. She told Stewart the story, and he decided to have some fun with his GM. This was funny to the station owner. It wasn’t so funny to the salesperson who was losing another client through what she would term station stupidity.

  Lisa was beginning to get a strong understanding of this crazy business. She couldn’t believe how many incompetent people were working in local television. Lisa was a very smart girl who had been well educated and, because of Stewart Simpson, introduced to world-class business leaders. She was beginning to think it was time to take her own business plan to the next stage. After all, a person could only take so much incompetence before taking things into their own hands.

  ***

  There was an open gay lifestyle in Palm Springs, but if you were not openly gay, what did you do? Ross Mitchell had discovered the gay underground that very few knew about. Sometimes, it consisted of private parties in very rich homes by invitation only. Ross thought that no one knew his secret except Lisa. He certainly didn’t know that Lisa had told someone who could destroy his life.

  Ross had been at the party for ninety minutes when he saw the handsome but rugged man at the bar looking right at him. It didn’t take Ross very long to walk over and introduce himself. He preferred encounters with partners he would only meet once. His reasoning was that if he didn’t know the person, his image would be protected. Ross still believed that most of his coworkers and business associates thought of him as a true ladies’ man.

  Ross’s new friend handed him a martini. It was a perfect icebreaker.

  “I’m Ted, and I’d like to show you what I can do with those olives.”

  “What does that even mean?” Ross chuckled nervously, excited and scared at the same time.

  “Let’s get out of here and I’ll show you.” Ted touched Ross’s hand. The two walked to the valet to get their cars.

  “Follow me.” The mysterious man got into his sports car and waited for Ross’s car to be brought up before he pulled out of the driveway.

  Ross liked having sex with men he didn’t know because his identity was always safe, meaning no ties and no relationships. AIDs was a huge concern, but Ross couldn’t control his urges. Tonight didn’t feel safe. This was feeling dangerous, daring, and unlike anything he had ever done before. He couldn’t stop himself from following his new friend. Where are we going? What kind of kinky thing am I getting into? Ross’s head swirled with thoughts he hadn’t experienced before.

  They drove down Palm Canyon Drive through downtown Palm Springs. Five miles past downt
own, Ted pulled into the Gene Autry Hotel. Until the year before, this was where Gene Autry held court for ten days every March as his Anaheim Angels played part of their spring training in Palm Springs.

  Ross was puzzled as to why they weren’t going to the valet area. Ted’s car went around the side of the hotel and all the way to the back area. Ross didn’t know what to expect. He parked and followed his new friend into the back entrance of the hotel, then down a short hallway that led them to a private suite.

  What is going on here? The words in his head were loud. His heart beat faster and faster with anticipation. This was the most mysterious encounter Ross had ever had. The thoughts of sex with such a dynamic, mysterious person were driving him crazy.

  No words were spoken as Ted stood at the door to the two-bedroom suite. He placed his hand over Ross’s eyes as he whispered, “Close your eyes.” His voice was soft and his breath warm on Ross’s skin. Ross followed the instructions with complete, blind trust. Ted silently took a black blindfold from his coat pocket and, covering Ross’s eyes, he tied it tight. Ross almost exploded in his pants, and he made an audible noise.

  “Shh, be very quiet. Take my hand.”

  “What is on your hands?” asked Ross. He felt something leather and soft.

  “I’m wearing gloves. Shh,” Ted repeated. “Let me lead you.”

  Never had Ross felt so much sexual tension and excitement. Ted led Ross through the door, and without turning on any lights they walked to the back bedroom.

  “Lie down on the bed,” Ted told Ross. Ross, unquestioning, guided his body down to the bed, still lost in darkness.

  He felt the stranger straddle his stomach. Ted lifted Ross’s left hand up and, without warning, quickly handcuffed it to the headboard. Ross gasped. He felt like he was in a somewhat dangerous position but still thought it was part of a kinky game.

  Then Ross’s right arm was raised above his head and just as quickly handcuffed to the other side of the headboard. Ross wanted to scream, but no words came out.

  Ross felt a sharp prick in his right arm. It was like a shot. A rope dropped around his neck and tightened. Now he couldn’t speak, even though he tried. The effect was swift. Whatever he was injected with caused him to vomit. He didn’t even have time to think before he passed out.

  ***

  The police car pulled up behind the car idling in two parking places at the Bottoms Up gay bar in Cathedral City. What caught the policeman’s eye was the empty whiskey bottle on the ground beside the driver’s door. Officer Patty Singleton approached the car cautiously. Inside was a female driver who was semiconscious. The officer knocked her night stick on the driver’s side window. The lady snapped into consciousness very quickly when the police officer’s flashlight hit her eyes. Shading her eyes from the bright light, the driver used her other hand to push the button and roll down the window.

  “Miss, are you alright?” Officer Singleton repeated the question. “Miss, are you alright?”

  “What?” asked a very male voice. “Who are you calling miss?” The voice was slurred and not very strong.

  “Can I see some identification, please?” After asking for identification, Officer Singleton called for backup. The Cathedral City Police Department was less than a block away from Bottoms Up. Her backup arrived in about three minutes. The second officer to arrive was Bill Ryan, the sergeant of the night.

  Officer Singleton had gotten the license from the driver. “Mr. Mitchell, can you step out of the car please?”

  The occupant of the car was obviously still very intoxicated. It took a few minutes for Ross to exit his vehicle. Officer Singleton reached in to turn the engine off.

  “Mr. Mitchell, have you been drinking tonight?”

  “I had a couple of drinks earlier.” Ross was confused, and as he became more aware of his surroundings, he realized he was dressed as a woman in full makeup and hair. “Look, something is going on here. How did I get into this dress?”

  The officers thought the comment was quite funny.

  “We’d like you to tell us, sir.”

  Ross tried to remember what had taken place earlier. “I don’t know, but I don’t wear women’s clothes.”

  The officers had heard this before from transvestites who weren’t out of the closet yet. Transvestites were part of the Palm Springs scene, and every now and then someone would be outed by getting arrested, usually for drunk driving or drugs.

  “Mr. Mitchell, have you used drugs tonight?”

  “I don’t use drugs,” Ross slurred as he tried to regain control of his speech. “I don’t use drugs, and I really don’t drink. Look, I’m the sales manager for TV3.”

  “And what about the dress, sir?” asked the officer.

  “I am not a transvestite. I swear I don’t wear women’s clothes.”

  “That must have been some party. Where are you coming from tonight?”

  Ross struggled to remember anything at all, but his mind was blank.

  The officers were becoming aware that Ross was honestly confused. The sales manager might be telling the truth.

  “Mr. Mitchell, I’m going to have you blow into a breathalyzer for us. If you refuse, you could lose your license for a year. Do you understand what I’m asking you to do?” Officer Singleton offered up the breathalyzer.

  Ross had trouble blowing hard enough to register on the machine. Finally, after the third time Ross blew a 2.1. That was 1.3 over the legal alcohol level in the state of California.

  “Mr. Mitchell, we are placing you under arrest at this time for operating a vehicle while intoxicated.” When the cuffs were placed on his wrist, Ross had a quick memory flash to earlier that evening, but he still couldn’t remember anything concrete.

  The Cathedral City Police Department took the people they arrested to the Palm Springs Police Station. Officer Singleton walked Ross into the station booking room, where fingerprints and a booking photo were taken. They then requested a blood sample to test for drugs to go with their breathalyzer results. Ross was placed in a holding cell, where he would stay for at least four hours.

  He didn’t request his phone call. Who would he call? No, he needed some time to figure out what happened—how he got in this position and how was he going to get out of it.

  ***

  Stewart answered his phone, “Hello.”

  “Ross Mitchell was arrested tonight. He was wearing women’s clothing.”

  “Thank you for the update.”

  “Right now, Ross is facing operating a vehicle while intoxicated. He was also dressed as a woman. There’ll probably be more charges added later.”

  “Nice touch with the women’s clothing, Dugan. Any chance the police will find out any other interesting things about Mr. Mitchell?”

  “Not anything we don’t want them to find.”

  The next day the Palm Springs police were summoned to the Gene Autry Hotel. Two officers responded to the call not knowing the origin. A maid had entered a room to clean it and found some very disturbing things. There were several used needles, lots of empty whiskey bottles, and some very X-rated sex toys. The room was torn up, with furniture damage as well as a broken mirror. The TV in the room was missing.

  The Cathedral City Police Department had impounded Ross’s car and noted that in the back seat was a TV set. Was this the TV from the Autry Hotel?

  The Cathedral City and Palm Springs police began sharing information. It appeared that Ross might be adding to the list of charges against him. And yet, he still had no clue what had happened.

  ***

  John Miller got the call Sunday afternoon at home.

  “John, it’s Jack. Ross Mitchell was arrested last night.”

  There was a short pause, and then the general manager spoke. “Are you serious? He finally screwed up.”

  “Oh, it gets better. He was dressed as a woman. He was in full drag.” The news director let his words sink in before adding, “There are some other charges as well.”

  “He
was wearing a dress? I thought this guy was kind of a lady’s man. I guess they meant he was a lady.” The general manager wasn’t laughing. And once again he was reminded of his favorite saying, “You can’t make this stuff up.”

  “How bad is it going to be for us?” The GM was now concerned about the station’s reputation.

  “It’ll be pretty bad. The paper will have it tomorrow, and if they use the mug shot that I saw, it’s going to be very embarrassing for Ross and for the station. You know NBC will run the crap out of this just to try and take us down a little. It’ll be bad.”

  “Is he out of jail yet?”

  “Yes. He bailed out before noon.”

  “Okay. Thanks. Let’s see if he calls me.” John Miller hung up and immediately called the station’s HR attorney.

  17

  JACK ROUTER’S PREDICTION that this story was going to be embarrassing for the station was pretty accurate. The Desert Sun ran a small headline on the front page with a tagline sending readers to page three. Then the paper showed Ross Mitchell’s police booking photo, commonly called “mug shot.” The photo had Ross wearing a dress but without his wig. He looked stoned and sullen.

  The NBC station was all over the story, making it the lead on Monday morning. Then they repeated the story in more detail at five, six, and even had the story leading their eleven o’clock. They would do anything to discredit the enormous ratings leader.

  The employees at TV3 were shocked, mainly about the fact that Ross was a cross-dresser. His long-held reputation as a ladies’ man had been shattered. Now colleagues joked he was “more lady than man.” By Monday morning the rumors had exploded around the desert.

  First thing Monday morning, John Miller called his sales manager. At first he got a voice recording, but after Ross heard his boss’s voice he answered. Might as well get it over with, he thought.