Scoop

by Rene Gutteridge

“Gilda called. She said she’s running late, but she’ll be here.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Need more coffee?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Okay.” She shut the door and Hugo yanked open the drawer, but as he peered into the pill bottle, the single pill was not there. Carefully, he took out his stapler, scissors, tape, sticky notes, letter opener, and all the other items in the drawer, until nothing was left but a lonely paperclip. Scooting his chair back, he reached his hand all the way back into its dark corners, but his fingers just came out dusty. He looked on the ground, underneath his desk, on top of his desk, and in his chair, but the pill was not to be found. He went to his door, turned so his back was against it, and quickly unbuttoned his shirt to see if it had fallen in, but there was no Blue Pill.

  Hugo felt the need to guzzle something, but all he had was hot coffee, so he drank it in short sips, fanning his lips with one hand. What was he going to do? His mother had always warned him about procrastination. And now, here he was, down to one misplaced pill. Where could it have gone?

  After one more visual sweep of his desk, he put all the contents back in the drawer and slowly closed it. Something very interesting was happening. He couldn’t explain it, or immediately identify it, but it was a strange feeling of empowerment.

  “I don’t need it,” he whispered to himself as he held the empty bottle in his hand. He already knew this was going to be a good day, an exciting day. Did he really want to be calm and collected? That’s what everyone expected of him, but truthfully, he was an excitable guy when the circumstances were right. And how could the circumstances get any better? This was going to be a groundbreaking day for the news department. Did he really want to miss it because his emotions were perfectly aligned with the planets?

  Hugo screwed the top on the medicine bottle and, with a flick of his wrist, threw it into the trash. A strange sense of liberation came over him. This would be his best day.

  Ray decided to go with Roarke to the station. If he stayed at home to “recuperate,” he would probably drive himself mad. At least at work he would have some control over what was going on.

  Plus—he couldn’t kid himself—he wanted to see Hayden. It shocked him when Roarke had called him out about it, because he wasn’t sure if he even knew it himself. But here he was at work, hoping to run into her in the break room.

  Yet nobody was hanging out in the break room because everyone was preparing for tonight’s newscast, so Ray decided to go to his desk and work. Work on what, he wasn’t sure. He’d watched the newscast from the police department, which was an utter joke. The police captain, an opportunist who could suck fifteen minutes of fame out of a running vacuum, exploited the incident to make the police look good, using phrases like “apprehended this violent man before he could continue his rampage.” The captain failed to mention Petey Green’s only weapons were a disproportionate temper and well-placed left hook.

  Not that Petey Green was a saint. But had it not happened on camera, to a reporter, this wouldn’t have made the news.

  Ray looked up just in time to see Hayden walking directly toward him, studying a piece of paper in her hand. She had the most beautiful hair he’d ever seen—white-blonde and silky, cut just below the shoulders. And her eyes were bright blue, like the sky in the peak of the afternoon. Her skin had a slight olive tone to it, making her look tan without the help of a booth or a lotion. A sweet innocence showed itself every time she smiled.

  She was only twenty feet away now, and Ray felt his heart pound a little. He stood up, wanting to catch her attention but unsure of what he could say that wouldn’t sound like a ridiculous excuse to catch her eye. Maybe the bandage would do the talking.

  He opened his mouth, but another voice replaced his.

  The weatherman (or meteorologist, as Sam Leege liked to be called) had stepped into Hayden’s path.

  “Hey, Hayden.”

  “Hi, Sam,” she said.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Pretty good. Just running around like crazy, trying to get ready for our big night.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “I thought I’d play a little trick on Hugo and tell him severe weather’s moving in. Possible tornadoes.”

  “I don’t think he could handle a joke today. He’s pretty focused.”

  “My weather segment’s been cut by three minutes, and it was only four to begin with.” He shrugged. “But we’re looking at temps in the fifties all week, no chance of rain, so I guess I don’t have much to say. At least about the weather.”

  He’d gotten that right. Sam had an uncanny knack for making the weather dramatic. He hooked viewers regularly with lines like, “Stay tuned. Big weather changes ahead.” If you did stay tuned, you would find out the big weather changes were for Canada. When severe weather struck, move over, because the rest of the news immediately became inconsequential. Ray longed for the day when weathermen just reported the weather and tried to make you smile with a few off-the-cuff jokes. But these days, weathermen—meteorologists—were like local heroes.

  With Doppler radar, satellite tracking, and a gaggle of computers, they could nearly predict a tornado outbreak five days ahead of time. Yet there was no predicting how obnoxious Sam could be on any given day. To his credit, he could make even the dullest things—like the allergy index—seem interesting.

  Ray knew he held a little grudge. More than once, one of Ray’s reports had been scratched because Sam insisted he needed to break into the newscast, commercials, and anything else that got in his way to keep viewers abreast of potentially life-threatening weather situations. And Ray suspected that the computer modules Sam was always quoting were programmed toward doomsday scenarios on purpose. More than once, Sam had stood in front of the camera and said, “Our computers are indicating softball-sized hail is now moving into the metro area.”

  Ray had actually stepped outside once to see if he could find anything that resembled a softball. Nothing more than marbles fell from the sky.

  Ray complained about it to Hugo once, telling him he thought the weather reports were a little overblown. Hugo had agreed but said that weather watching in this part of the country was practically a pastime.

  “I wanted to compliment you on your shoes,” Sam said to Hayden. They both looked down.

  “My shoes?” Hayden looked baffled.

  Ray couldn’t see her shoes from where he was standing. Only Sam would notice a woman’s shoes. Realizing he was standing there, gawking at the two of them, Ray slowly sat down, but it was impossible not to eavesdrop. He could hear every word they were saying.

  “Well, Sam, I better get back to work.”

  “Um, wait. Hayden, there’s something I need—I want—to ask you.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I wondered if you might want to accompany me this weekend to view a sunset that I guarantee will be the most spectacular thing you’ve ever seen.”

  Ray made a gagging noise that he couldn’t begin to control, but he managed to keep from looking suspicious. That was so Sam. He couldn’t just ask the lady out. It had to be the equivalent of a Category-5 pickup line.

  Glancing up, Ray hoped to catch Hayden’s expression, but she was now fully blocked by Sam.

  “I love sunsets,” she said.

  Ray shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Unbelievable. He was too late. The story of his life.

  “You are so kind to think of me,” she continued.

  “Well,” Sam replied, “the truth of the matter is that I think of you a lot.”

  Surely Hayden was blushing, because Ray sure was. This was painful on so many levels.

  He looked up again. Hayden had shifted her weight, and now he could see half of her face. She looked a little shocked. Ray prayed she would see Sam for the Don Juan impressionist that he was.

  “I think we could have fun together. I don’t date much, though.”

  “Why?” Sam asked, true shock in his voice. Ray had to ad
mit, he was curious too.

  “Well, we both have to ask ourselves, could we be equally yoked?”

  Ray was in a full-blown stare now, but neither Sam nor Hayden noticed. He wished he could see Sam’s expression.

  “I love yolks. I eat eggs every morning.”

  “No,” Hayden laughed gently. “By equally yoked, I mean spiritual equals.”

  Ray wanted to jump up and announce that he understood Hayden, but Sam was doing a fine job of digging his own hole.

  “What does being spiritual have to do with a date?”

  “It’s important because then both people know that their guide to the marriage comes from biblical principles.”

  “Whoa now,” Sam said, holding up his hands. “Who said anything about marriage? I just wanted to ask you out.”

  Ray could see Hayden smile, that confident, self-assured smile that made her seem so oblivious to her social shortcomings. “Well, if you’re the kind of man I want to date, then you would only ask a woman on a date if you felt she might have the potential to be your wife and you wanted to get to know her better.”

  Ooh. Zinger. Ray smiled and waited for Sam’s reply.

  Sam held up his hands and said, “You’ve already lost me. I’m not big into the Bible.”

  “Then even if we did go out, we might not have a lot to talk about. But thanks for asking, Sam. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” Hayden turned and walked off. Ray could hardly contain himself as he watched her go.

  But the next thing he knew, Sam was staring at him. The smile fell off Ray’s face like an after-lunch crumb.

  Sam slowly walked toward Ray, a strange sneer on his face. “You’re hot for her, aren’t you?”

  Ray looked down at his keyboard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Hot for whom?” Great. He’d used proper grammar. A sure guilt indicator.

  Sam laughed. “Give me a break. I saw you watching her. Us.”

  Ray looked up. “Doesn’t look like there’s going to be an us.”

  Sam’s tongue appeared to trace his inner cheek. Then he said, “You should ask her out. You really should.”

  Ray avoided Sam’s eyes again. He didn’t know what to say, how much to admit. Sam wasn’t making this statement as a friend. It was almost a taunt.

  “You might want to brush up on your Torah though,” Sam said.

  “I don’t need to. I read it regularly.”

  “No kidding,” Sam said, feigning surprise. “Well, good for you. Say hello to Moses for me.”

  “I will. As soon as I’m finished watching the sunset. I hear the cirrus clouds are going to be perfect this weekend.”

  “I don’t give up that easy.”

  Ray tried to ease up a little. He didn’t want a fight brewing over Hayden. “Look, Sam, it’s not you. She just wants someone who is interested in the same things she is.”

  “I’m not going to let some old fogy with a special talent for parting bodies of water stand between me and a beautiful woman.” Sam grinned. “I’m a fast learner. It won’t be long before I’ll be dishing out some impressive Bible quotes.”

  “Good luck finding the CliffsNotes.”

  Sam didn’t look amused but luckily must have decided the conversation wasn’t worth the effort and left. Ray blew out a relieved sigh. He’d held a good poker face, but the fact of the matter was that he was in real need of brushing up on his Torah and everything else in the Bible. He attended church regularly but rarely cracked open his Bible. Luckily for him, as a child, his parents dragged him to church every Sunday, so he had a basic understanding of it. He could even name the books of the Bible…if he could sing the little jingle that went along with it.

  Ray left his desk and went to find Roarke. He was at the assignment desk, monitoring all the scanners and radios. “This is great,” Roarke said. “Some old lady is giving fits to this police officer for pulling her over. You should hear the chatter. I am cracking up. The officer is asking for backup. The lady is ninety-four years old!”

  Ray leaned on the counter that encircled Roarke. “I’ve got a problem.”

  “What?”

  “Sam just asked Hayden out.”

  “Leege? Are you kidding me? She doesn’t seem his type.”

  “She’s not. But Sam isn’t going to take no for an answer.”

  “She turned the metrosexual down?”

  Ray laughed. “In a big, bad way. She basically told him he wasn’t spiritual enough.”

  “Whoa. Never heard that one before, but that’s gotta sting. Especially since it can’t be purchased at Bloomingdale’s.”

  “You know how competitive Sam is. He’s apparently going to memorize Scripture passages to romance her.”

  Roarke shook his head. “What happened to the old days when a rosebud and a hot fudge sundae were enough?” He sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, dude. I’ve got my own woman problems.”

  “Really? What’s wrong?”

  Roarke turned down the volume on a couple of his scanners. “Something weird’s happened to her.”

  Ray looked around, trying to figure out who was Roarke’s crush.

  “She’s the same, but different. I can’t put my finger on it, dude.”

  “What could’ve changed?”

  “I don’t know. But there’s something off. I won’t lie. I’m worried about her.”

  “Look, Roarke, I told you my crush, now you need to tell me yours.”

  “Dude, people don’t use the word ‘crush’ anymore.”

  Ray couldn’t argue with that. But “hot for her” sounded a little awkward after discussing the spiritual standards he would have to rise to.

  Roarke waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever. She won’t give me the time of day anyway. It’s a pipe dream. I’ll never get a date with this lady.”

  “Don’t give up that easy.” Ray sighed. “At least you don’t have homework.”

  Chapter 8

  Things were getting better and better as the day went on. It started at about six, when Gilda finally made her way into work. There were whispers, then rumors, and then it was the topic of conversation on everyone’s lips. Hugo had tried to remain neutrally uninterested, showing little emotion as each tidbit of information came to him. But inside, he was wiggling with astonishment. His plan had actually worked. At least in reverse. Or something. He wasn’t exactly sure how it all came together, but the important thing was that it had.

  Or at least that’s what he’d heard. He had yet to verify the rumors, which in the news business was one of three sins. Deadly ones, anyway.

  He could see Gilda’s dressing-room door from his glass-encased office, and he had watched her walk in there forty-five minutes ago. From what he could tell, she’d been alone for fifteen minutes now. It was time to see for himself.

  His legs felt a little wobbly as he left his office and circled the newsroom, heading toward her dressing room. Too many people had claimed to see the evidence for it to be just a rumor.

  At her dressing-room door, he took a deep breath before knocking. He didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic, but he also wanted to be complimentary and supportive. This was going to take finesse.

  “Enter,” he heard. Slowly, he opened the door. He could see the back of her hair and a little of her face, but her dressing-room lights were so bright, he was nearly squinting at the reflection in the mirror.

  “Hugo,” she said and turned on her stool.

  Without the glaring lights now, Hugo got a good look at her, and as best he could, he suspended the steadiest, most even-keeled smile on his face. His eyes desperately wanted to widen, but he commanded them to freeze in place. This was better than he could’ve expected. She looked ten, no, fifteen years younger. Instantly. It was like he’d traveled back in time.

  And for the first time in years she looked genuinely happy. Really, really happy.

  “Hi,” Hugo said.

  She drew her hands up to her face. “Satisfied?”

  Hugo p
layed it cool. “With?”

  “Let’s not play games here, Hugo. I know this is what you wanted. What you’ve wanted for a long time.”

  “It’s not what you want?” he asked.

  Gilda seemed to ponder the question. “No. But”—she glanced at herself in the mirror—“I do look good.”

  Hugo cracked a smile. “Gilda, you look amazing. Not that you didn’t before, but I mean…” He was truly speechless and gestured with his hands to try to find a word that meant the impossible had become possible in the most superficial way imaginable.

  Gilda didn’t seem to share the excitement quite as much. She was smiling. At least her mouth was. And there did seem to be a satisfied shimmer within her eyes. But she was not ecstatic like Hugo was trying not to be.

  “We’ve got a big night tonight,” Hugo said. The timing couldn’t have been better. “Ray’s attack is all over the news. They even covered it briefly on the national news. This is our chance, Gilda. It’s our chance to prove that we’ve got what it takes to be the number one news station.”

  Gilda’s expression didn’t change, but she nodded as if she understood. “How is Ray?” she asked.

  “He’s fine. He’s here. Did a great interview with us this morning. It’s going to be a hit. We’re ready to roll, and you’re going to be the star who gets us there. Tate doesn’t have the experience to carry this like you do, Gilda.”

  “I won’t let you down, Hugo. I never have.”

  And it was true. Gilda always came through during tough situations. She was highly dependable and always at her best—which would’ve carried her even farther had she been able to hold her collagen.

  Nearly overwhelmed with emotion, Hugo stuck out his hand for Gilda to shake. She looked at it like she’d just witnessed the Nessie emerge from the loch. Hugo knew people weren’t used to seeing him emote, but sometimes in life, there’s cause for celebration.

  Gilda shook his hand gingerly, as if she were afraid he might lunge forward for a hug. But he minded himself and stepped toward the door.

  “We’ll have the script for you in an hour or so,” he said.

  “Okay.”