John grew impatient. “Come on, Deanne, just say it!”
Bill observed, “If you want this one, you’ll have to cut the tears and just keep the statement. She takes too long when she’s crying.”
John decided. “Cut the tears, trim back to the statement.”
“Righty-oh.”
Cut. Play. Time.
“2:45.”
“Oh, come on!”
Bill was getting short-tempered. “John, you can’t have everything—you have to accept that!”
“Okay, okay.”
He scanned the script, desperately looking for anything else dispensable.
Bill suggested, “How about this line: ‘Max and Deanne Brewer had their suspicions but were unable to learn anything because of the reproductive privacy laws’?”
“You mean shorten it?”
“I mean cut it.”
John winced. “But it’s an important point! The privacy laws . . . I’ve got to point out—”
“Hey, wait a minute. Doesn’t Max sort of capture that in his sound bite?”
He cued the tape to Max’s sound bite as John consulted the script.
Play.
Max, sitting on the couch next to Deanne: “’s long as your daughter’s alive you got no right to know what she’s doin’, or what somebody’s doin’ to her. Only reason we could find out what happened to Annie was ’cause she was dead, and I think that’s a little late.’”
Bill looked to John for a verdict.
John thought it over quickly and then nodded.
“Okay,” said Bill, “we scratch the whole paragraph about the privacy laws.”
Cut. Play. Time.
“2:38.”
John flopped back in his chair. “Well, we’re getting closer.”
CHAPTER 33
GOVERNOR HIRAM SLATER was ready to call it a day and hopefully forget that this day had ever occurred. The business and the normal routine had been substantially disrupted by that unfortunate encounter with Mad Prophet Junior, leaving the governor shaken, disgruntled, and distracted. Not being able to reach Loren Harris and rake him over the coals left Slater even more shaken and disgruntled. And as for Martin Devin, he was no help at all, disappearing after ousting the prophet and seeming to be busy everywhere except in the governor’s presence.
So now some dirty-laundry story was probably going to run on Channel 6 that night, and all Slater could hope was that Rowen and Hartly would be able to wash it out with a counter-campaign of their own. Wilma Benthoff was already looking into that.
Well, he had to get home. He had to address the Fellowship of Business that night, and he really wanted a nap and a shower first. He knew he’d feel better after that.
He had Miss Rhodes call his chauffeur, grabbed his overcoat, and headed down the long, ornate hallway, saying quick good nights to Miss Rhodes and the female sentry on duty at the main reception desk.
Bryan, a part-time law student, serving as his chauffeur, met him in the main lobby as he emerged from the elevator. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Bryan. Let’s get me home. I’m tired.”
“Very good, sir.”
And then, just as Bryan did every day, he offered the governor his usual cup of coffee in a styrofoam cup with a plastic lid.
The governor stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at the cup of coffee, and then he chuckled, shaking his head.
“Ooohhh, boy . . .”
“Sir?”
“Bryan, now this is going to sound odd . . .”
Bryan chuckled too. Something was funny.
The governor looked across the room at a drinking fountain. “Bryan, why don’t you go over there to that drinking fountain and . . .” He made a slow, deliberate pouring motion with his hand. “. . . pour that coffee down the drain, down that drinking fountain.”
Bryan was bewildered. “Down the drinking fountain, sir?”
The governor laughed and even backed away from the coffee cup. “It’s, uh . . . well, I’ve got a little bet going.”
Bryan shrugged. “Okay. Yes, sir.”
He walked briskly toward the drinking fountain to carry out his orders. Governor Slater stood still, looking all around for any coffee that might float by in the hands of angels or gremlins, and then watched as Bryan slowly and carefully emptied the coffee cup and tossed it into a waste receptacle.
Bryan returned, and the governor released a mock sigh of relief. “Good enough.” He started walking, not looking. “Well, let’s get going—” Oof! Too late, the governor abruptly encountered a wall of gray wool and felt hot drops of liquid striking his face.
“Oh, man! Sorry, Governor!”
Slater backed away from Ron Brennon, the Senate Majority Leader who was wearing a gray wool overcoat and carrying a cup of coffee. The cup had no lid, unfortunately.
Bryan was all over the governor with a handkerchief. Slater beat him off. “Okay, okay, leave me alone!”
Brennon thought it was kind of funny and ventured a little laugh.
Slater didn’t think it was funny at all. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”
Brennon shook his head innocently. “Hey, I wasn’t going at all, Governor! I was just standing here. You walked into me. Sorry . . .”
The governor looked at Brennon, then at Bryan, then at the coffee soaking into his overcoat, and tried to calm himself. “Well,” he struggled to say, “it’s no big deal.”
That’s what he absolutely had to believe.
4:45 P.M.
Mardell the floor director, her long, black hair tied back with a bow and her headset in place, was at her post behind Cameras One, Two, and Three on the news set, as were the camera operators. The lights were coming on, and the robotic camera on the boom was being checked for its nightly dive out of the rafters.
John stood in the makeup room before the huge, illuminated mirror, putting on his best face and having strange, fatalistic thoughts about the future. This must be what it feels like to go to your execution, he thought. Quite honestly, he didn’t feel all that excited about being a martyr. Not for what could turn out to be a nonstory. But it was all in the Lord’s hands now. Whatever would come, would come.
He and Bill had finally finished the package early in the afternoon, and now the cassette was ready and waiting up in the control room. The final script was a mere fraction of the story John started out with, which was a mere fraction of the whole incredible adventure he and the others had been through over the past month or so. It would have taken an hour-long television special to capture even half of it, and all he had for tonight, and maybe forever, was two minutes.
But he had some good feelings as well, especially gratitude. He had to be thankful to God that he’d even gotten this far with the story. It was like getting a second chance, a chance to make things right. And for all the pain he now felt, he also enjoyed a deeper feeling of peace. He just hoped Max and Deanne were watching, not to mention Rachel, Cindy, Shannon, and Mrs. Westfall. And Carl. And Mom.
CARL CAME IN from Grandpa’s shop in time to wash up and get not only the television but also the VCR turned on and a blank tape ready to roll. A thing like this was only going to happen once, and he didn’t want to miss it.
“Grandma, it’s almost 5!”
“Ohh,” came a cry from the kitchen. “Lord Jesus, help my Johnny!”
AT THE HUMAN Life Services Center, Marilyn Westfall set a small portable television on the corner of her desk. She usually went home at 5 o’clock, but if she did this time, she might miss the story while she was out on the road driving, so she’d stick around the Center a little longer, along with her volunteers.
4:50 P.M.
John slipped into his suit jacket and walked around the plywood backdrop and onto the news set just as he had done so many times before. Ali Downs was already there, putting in her earpiece and concealing the cord behind her back and under her jacket. Bing Dingham the sports announcer was ready at his post and fidgeting a
little. Hal Rosen was in his place on the right end of the news desk, his hands folded in front of him, ready for a friendly chat.
In the control room Susan the director sat at the console in front of the wall of monitors, paging through the script with Rush Torrance and Tina Lewis as the syndicated controversial talk show babbled quietly from the On Air monitor.
“So we open with 130, job cutbacks at Benson Dynamics . . .” said Susan.
“And 140’s out,” said Rush.
“140, Car Wash . . .” She chuckled. “Too bad. I liked that one. But okay, where’s Wendell?” She glanced up at one of the black-and-white monitors near the ceiling and saw Wendell Southcott standing in front of the main office of Benson Dynamics, waiting to do his live feed, the camera capturing the company logo on the building over his shoulder.
“Okay, he’s ready.” Susan turned to the console and started setting up the cameras on the set below. “Okay, coming up on the teaser, Camera Two, four-shot, Camera One on Bing, Camera Three on Hal. Stand by.”
RACHEL FRANKLIN GOT off work at 4 and made it home in time to flip on the television. John Barrett was going to do a story on the whole Annie Brewer thing? Well, that remained to be seen.
SHANNON DUPLIESE, NOW back home, sat on the couch with her mother, just waiting for the news to come on. Her father stood behind them, his hand on his wife’s shoulder. Ever since Shannon decided to withdraw from Midwestern and return the scholarship, she and her parents had been talking—really working it through. Of course they had to deal with pain, bewilderment, and disappointment, but there were no longer any secrets.
So far two things were certain in the DuPliese home: Shannon had done the right thing in coming home and opening up about everything, and as for Hiram Slater . . . well, he would have some explaining to do to a family that had once trusted him.
4:56 P.M.
Time for the before-show teaser, right on the tail end of the syndicated controversial talk show.
Rush counted down, “Four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .”
“Up . . .” said Susan, “and . . . cue. Stand by cassette.” The On Air monitor in front of Susan showed Hal, John, Ali, and Bing sitting happily at the news desk, all looking at Camera Two as busy theme music played in the background.
John read the script mirrored over the lens of Camera Two. “Good evening, coming up on NewsSix at Five O’clock . . .”
“Roll cassette,” said Susan.
Video: The main office building of Benson Dynamics. Workers leaving one of Benson’s factories. Big airplanes under construction in a hangar.
John’s voice over the video: “A big cutback in orders could mean a big cutback in jobs at Benson Dynamics.”
Wipe to video: Cops coming out of a small house in a low-rent district. Yellow plastic tape stretched around the house. Flashing red and blue lights. Bags and bags of white powder.
Ali Down’s voice over the video: “Police who thought they were breaking up a local crack house found more than they bargained for . . .”
Wipe to video: Some shots of a red pickup truck, upside-down and mangled.
John’s voice over the video: “And a high-speed chase ends in a spectacular and fatal crash.”
Camera Two, all four.
John intro’d Hal Rosen. “And a cooler but cleaner Tuesday?”
Camera Three, head-on to Hal.
Hal looked chatty enough as he said, “Nice air, clear skies, lower temperatures, beautiful colors, and maybe a touch of rain. Not bad for fall. I’ll tell you all about it.”
Camera Two, showing all four.
Ali intro’d Bing Dingham. “And fall is bringing out the colors on the football field as well . . .”
Camera One, head-on to Bing.
Bing was excited and bubbly. “The Tigers bring home a big win against the Cutters, and second-string quarterback Jeff Bailey played a first-string game. We’ll have highlights.”
Back to Camera Two on all four of them.
John faced Camera Two and closed the teaser. “All that and more coming up on NewsSix at Five, your Premier News Source.”
Commercial. They were off the air.
Hal and Bing took out their earpieces and left the news desk until it was their time to be on again.
John paged through his script, making little marks here and there to remind him, warn him, cue him. Strange how quiet it was on the news set tonight. Normally things were a little more chatty between the techs and the talent.
John found the Slater Cover-up Story, still safe and sound in section five, Number 540. Any minute he expected to hear Rush in his earpiece saying the story was bumped, but so far so good.
MARILYN WESTFALL WAS ready, as were two volunteers from the center, a young mother and a grandmother, seated next to her.
But a special guest joining them for the occasion was Cindy Danforth, who’d found a comfortable perch on the arm of one of the chairs.
“Two minutes?” asked the grandmother.
“That’s all,” said Mrs. Westfall.
“Don’t blink, anybody,” said Cindy.
MAX, DEANNE, AND all three kids were seated in front of the television again, and this time all of them were nervous about it, remembering the ill feelings that had resulted from the last time Deanne had been on TV.
“Are you gonna be on this time, Mommy?” asked young George.
“I don’t know, honey. We’ll just have to see.”
“I’m not gettin’ my hopes up,” Max said quietly.
4:58 P.M.
Susan the director set things up for the Five O’clock. “Camera Two, two-shot of John and Ali. Camera Three, head-on to John—we’ll pan for a Benson box . . . I thought I saw one in there, I don’t know that for sure. Graphics, do you have a Benson box? Cassette One is 130, Benson Cutbacks . . . Camera One, you’ll be shooting the two-shot for the DVE box to John and Ali’s left. Uh . . . no, we’re yanking the Car Wash. Yank 140. 140 is out.”
John and Ali pulled the car wash story from their scripts. John would be opening with the first story on the Benson Dynamics cutbacks, and they would be talking to Wendell Southcott as he appeared in the false frame at the left end of the news desk.
As Rush and Susan chattered away, working against the clock, Tina Lewis stood silently against the back wall of the control room, watching with an intense, brooding interest, a script in her hand.
“Okay,” said Rush, “ten seconds.”
“Here we go, everybody,” said Susan.
“Here we go,” John told the Lord, his eyes closed for a one-second prayer.
“Five . . . four . . .”
“Roll cassette.”
On the Preview Monitor, the Opening Cassette showed the numerals counting down as Rush counted out loud, “Three . . . two . . . one . . .”
On the air.
Music. Big music that sounded like news, rushing along, charging along, sounding the call, News is happening, happening, happening.
Video. Moving, aerial shot of the city, the Adams Tower, downtown. Traffic rushing back and forth, ferries pulling out from the dock.
Deep, sandy, booming voice: “This is Channel 6, The City’s Premier News and Information Station, your number one source for up-to-the-minute news . . .” Pictures, fast pictures: a cameraman runs toward a fast-breaking story, zooming in, focusing; a female reporter stands in front of more news, hair blowing, microphone ready; a male reporter scrambles from a NewsSix car, his eyes locked on an off-screen event; Chopper Six lands with a bump; technicians bang switches in the control room . . .
New video. The city skyline from high above, the picture rocking, dipping a bit with the helicopter as it banks over the skyscrapers, catching the glint of the evening sun off the vast panes of glass . . .
Voice still going: “And now, from the NewsSix newsroom, this is NewsSix at Five, with John Barrett . . .” As the camera flies through the air, circling over the freeway where the traffic flows like blood through an artery, a box appears a
t the upper left. John Barrett flashes a knowing smile at the camera.
“. . . and Ali Downs . . .” Box at lower right. She has a new hairdo, a new look, and delivers a shining smile.
The boxes disappear as the camera drops toward an imposing tower of glass adorned with a big red 6.
“Bing Dingham with sports . . .” A box containing Dingham’s face leaps out from the tower and slams into the upper-right position. Bing Dingham looks at the camera and cracks up as always.
“And Hal Rosen, weather . . .” His box flies out of the tower and comes to rest at the lower left as he looks at the camera and winks.
The boxes disappear. Here comes that tower, closer, closer, we’re coming in for a landing, the BIG RED 6 filling the screen, closer, faster, closer, faster . . .
“The NewsSix News Team. NewsSix at Five!” Crash! We’re inside the building, sailing past rafters, cables, floodlights, and then, like a roller coaster going over the top, we nose over, dropping down past rigging, wires, lights, monitors, into the open expanse of the NewsSix set, heading for the floor and the news desk where John Barrett and Ali Downs are ready and waiting to inform us, accepting with ease that we have fallen from the sky and through their ceiling to get there.
Two-shot: John and Ali at the desk, looking into Camera Two, the false video monitors behind them.
“Good evening,” said Ali, “and welcome to NewsSix at Five.”
Camera Three, head-on to John. The camera pans to the right as a graphics box appears over John’s left shoulder. The graphics box shows the Benson Dynamics logo over a silhouetted airplane and the large word beneath the box: “CUTBACKS.”
John read the copy to lead into Wendell Southcott’s report. “Big news today from Benson Dynamics, one of the city’s biggest employers. Due to canceled airline orders and government contracts, the company will be cutting back its work force.”
The red light atop Camera One lit up, and John looked in that direction, continuing, “Wendell Southcott has been tracking that story . . .” Mardell held out her hand, indicating where the DVE box would appear. John and Ali looked at the wall as if looking at Wendell. “. . . and now has this live report. Wendell?” Camera One captured John and Ali looking at the box with Wendell Southcott looking back at them, microphone in hand, the Benson Dynamics building behind him.
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