“George, Debbie. Do you hear me? George?”
“Go ahead, Debbie,” answered Tony Santella.
“We’ve got a shot,” she said, careful with her words. Every newsroom monitored every other newsroom’s frequency. If they figured out where they were, an army of reporters and photographers would soon be pounding up the stairs.
“Good.” Tony’s voice was calm. “Find someplace to go live. We want to do a cut-in.”
She didn’t answer as she stared at the windows. How could Cappy see so far? Suddenly, she gasped. She could see a man, not his face but the shadow of him. She believed she could see a rifle in his arms.
“Debbie, did you hear me?”
“Oh wow,” she laughed nervously.
“We need a live shot. Get some place where we can set up,” he ordered.
“I’ll be back.” She clicked off.
“Did you hear that?” she gave a hoarse call to Cappy.
The door slammed behind her. She jumped in terror.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” the man shouted and waved a gun at her.
“Reporter,” she shouted back, her arms raised. “Television reporter.”
“Damn it.” He shoved the gun back in his shoulder holster. “Get the hell out of here now.”
“Hey, wait a second,” she moved toward him. “We’re okay up here. Come on.”
She could hear the whirr of the recorder. Cappy was shooting and would not stop until he had what he needed.
The man hesitated. She saw the indecision.
“Please,” she said. “We’ll move back but let us stay up here.”
“Cappy,” she called, “move back.”
Cappy waved one hand but never took his eye from the eyepiece.
Feet pounded on the stairs. The door slammed open. Behind it, other feet pounded upward.
“What the shit’s going on here?” one of two uniformed officers shouted.
“Television,” the first man said. “They are leaving.”
“You get out of here now or I swear to God, we’ll take you in,” hissed one officer.
Cappy looked up and gave her a quick smile. He had it.
“No problem, officers,” he said and moved toward them, still in a crouch.
“I should arrest your ass,” someone shouted as they went out the door. “Arrest your sorry ass.”
Twenty minutes later, the station broke into regular programming with a live report on the sniper. Debbie stood in a parking lot near the hospital. As she spoke and helicopters whirred, they rolled the tape fed to the station only minutes before with its grainy shot of the man at the window.
They had an hour before the six o’clock. Tony told her to come back in.
“We’ve got Burton out there now, talking to the cops. We’ll go live with him at six. We need you and Cappy back here.”
“It’s my story,” she argued.
“No, we want you in-set. It’s going to be tight, so get back now.”
“Shit, shit,” she shouted at Cappy. “Do you believe that?”
“They want me too?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” he said. “If that’s what they want.”
It was also what he wanted. This thing could last for hours. Going back in was fine by him.
“Good story,” Richard Ferguson called to her when she came into the newsroom.
“Yeah, but damn it, it’s my story. They shouldn’t have brought me in.”
“They got him. They got him,” Tony yelled from his position beneath the scanners. “Somebody find out who the hell he is. Get Benton. Debbie, get that copy into editing.”
Jack Benton kicked it off, going live from the scene with the cop lights flashing behind him. Debbie followed, reporting from the set. They used Cappy’s shots in the newscast intro and in Debbie’s voice-over along with other shots from the scene.
“Tight,” Tony sighed with pleasure during the commercial break.
“Woo,” Jim Brown exhaled. “Fantastic. We beat all of them.”
“Good work,” they all said to her.
*
That night she asked Ellen what she thought.
“It was a good story. Nice tape. I don’t think anybody else had anything like it. And, your in-set worked. I didn’t think it was going to, but it did. That one shot of Cappy’s of the sniper, that was something else. You were lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“Yeah, lucky to have that shot,” Ellen concluded.
“Well, I think it was more than luck,” Debbie stated.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I think I did a real good job, both of us did.”
“You did,” Ellen agreed.
“You didn’t say that. You said I was lucky.”
Ellen sighed.
“No, Debbie, I meant the shot Cappy got was lucky, that’s all.”
“I know, I know,” Debbie sniffed. “I guess I wanted you to tell me how good I was.”
“You were,” Ellen laughed.
“You know, I felt proud of myself, like I was on top of everything. I felt like this is what we are supposed to be doing. Get the story, tell the people the truth. That’s the reason I got into television.”
She heard the click of Ellen’s lighter and waited for the exhale.
“I thought television news was the one place where I could tell the truth. You are paid to find out the truth and report it and help people understand what’s going on.”
“I know, Debbie. You’ve told me that.”
“All right, but that’s how I felt tonight, like I did my job.”
“You done good.”
“You really think so?”
“Yes, Debbie, I do.”
“Okay, then, well, I better go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, you will,” Ellen answered.
Two minutes later Ellen’s phone rang.
“It’s me again.”
“Yeah?”
“I wanted to say thinks, thanks for everything, listening to me and all that. I know I can be a pain.”
“No problem.”
“Okay then,” Debbie said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ellen stared at the phone, wondering, with a head shake of exasperation, how anyone could get so churned up over what actually amounted to about an hour of real work.
33
She told the group about her story with a shy pride.
“So what?” the younger woman asked. “So you’re a big television star. So what? Does that make you better than the rest of us?”
“No,” Debbie tried to explain, “that isn’t what I meant. I meant it was a good day for me. That’s all.”
“You know,” the younger woman went on with a toss of her head, “I don’t know why you are here. You’re so happy with your job and everything, why do you need therapy?”
“Yes, I sort of wondered that too,” said the older woman. I still don’t know what your problem is.”
Bob nodded his agreement.
Because I need to be here,” Debbie responded. “Because I need to find out why I get so depressed.”
Now she called her sadness depression because the others in the room used that word to describe their own weekly conditions.
“You never seem depressed to me,” said the older woman.
“Maybe that’s good?” Dr. Waddell offered.
“You mean she feels good when she’s here with us? Is that what you mean?” she asked.
“Yes, Maynell, I think that’s what I mean. Debbie doesn’t feel sad when she’s with us and that’s good, isn’t it? Isn’t it, Debbie?”
“I guess so,” she said and smiled, but she felt the fear begin. “I hope I am getting better. No,” she corrected herself, “I am getting better.” She smiled at them. They would like that.
“Well, I don’t know why any of us are here,” the older woman said. “I mean, what are we supposed to be doing here?”
The younger woman ignored t
he question and went back to Debbie.
“You are unbelievable,” she told her. “The only thing we’ve talked about since you came here is you. You’re depressed. Big fucking deal. Could we please talk about something else?” She flung herself back in her chair.
Bob looked at his hands. The older woman folded her arms across her chest. Dark glasses hid Terry’s eyes.
“You asked me the questions,” Debbie said plaintively.
“Because you never stop whining about being so fucking sad,” the younger woman yelled, her face swollen with anger. “I’ve got no job. Terry’s an addict. Maynell,” she nodded toward the older woman, “has two kids who live off of her. We don’t know what he’s here for,” she nodded over at Bob. “Who cares about your shitty little problems?”
“Why does this make you so angry, Carol?” the doctor cut in.
“Why can’t she be angry?” the older woman asked. “Aren’t we supposed to talk about how we feel?”
Debbie was fighting back the tears. She didn’t know how to be part of them. She didn’t know what they wanted her to be. She didn’t fit in anywhere, not anywhere, not even this room. They would be happy if she left. Yes, they would. What was wrong with her?
“I don’t care what we talk about,” the younger woman stated, “as long as it’s not about her.”
Bob shook his head.
“How’s Terry?” the older woman asked, her voice like a chirp from a bird.
“Well, man,” he pulled out of his couch slouch, “I guess it’s okay. Yeah, everything is going fine.”
“You trying to convince us or yourself?” Bob asked.
“Hey, man, no. I mean, you ask how I am and I’m tell you I’m fine.” He gave a quick smile. “But, hey, I don’t want to talk about it. Okay? I don’t feel like talking today. That okay?” He looked at Debbie. She tried to smile.
“Let’s talk about something else,” he said.
They all seemed to nod, to smile back at him. That is what Debbie saw. She looked down at the floor. She would not let them see her cry.
34
“You talk to Debbie much?” Clifford asked Ellen “I mean, in the past couple of weeks?”
“We talk in the station and on the phone. Not that much.”
“I think she’s in trouble,” he said, not talking his eyes off the road.
Ellen shook her head. She was tired of the phone calls, tired of the little-girl voice pleading for reassurance. She was keeping those late night calls short. Sometimes she didn’t bother to answer the phone.
“Remember when she first got here she was having all those dinners and things?” Clifford asked.
“Uh huh.”
“Well, I went by there last night and a couple of times last week and I knew she was in there, but she wouldn’t answer the door.” He turned to Ellen, his eyes wide.
“You don’t know for sure she was in there.”
“I know,” he stated firmly. “I know because of that peephole. I know because I see a light in that peephole and then somebody was looking through it, blocking it. That’s how I know she was in there. And, her car’s there.”
“So what?” Ellen snapped in annoyance. “She’s okay. I’ve talked to her. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Whatever you want.”
After a moment of silence, he commented, “Sure is nice today.”
“Only one more month and we turn on the air conditioners,” Ellen reminded him.
“Not me. Uh uh. I ain’t staying in this sweat hole one more summer.”
A Greyhound bus pulled alongside them.
“I once traveled across the country on a bus,” Ellen said, looking up at the bus windows. “It was an interesting trip.”
“Ain’t no way I get on a bus,” he said. “Eating my kneecaps all the way to Philly? No way.”
“I went all the way from Boston to Albuquerque on a bus,” she went on. “I wanted to see the country instead of flying over it. I did get nervous once, in Washington D.C. Wouldn’t you know, the nation’s capital.”
“What happened?”
“There were some mean-looking people in that bus station.”
“Brothers?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, remembering the pointed black faces, the skinny bodies leaning against the walls, the slick suits. They were waiting for young girls, the runaways, waiting for somebody who didn’t look like they knew the scene.
“We are a mean bunch of motherfuckers,” Clifford said with a laugh.
“You know,” she said as they drove, “Debbie’s okay. She gets too involved in things, that’s all.”
“She’s had some bad times,” Clifford said cautiously.
“I know she’s had bad times,’” Ellen said. “And, I know about the latest one. She told me.”
“You know about the abortion?” he blurted it out.
“Yeah,” she nodded.
“Man,” he sighed with the relief of finally being able to talk about it. “It was bad. There wasn’t any blood or anything. I would have died right there. Still, it was bad, man, and there I was, my big, black self hanging around this place, thinking she’s inside half-dead with some coat hanger or something.”
Ellen broke into laughter. “Oh, Clifford.”
“Go ahead, you can laugh. You weren’t there. I was there and the whole time I’m thinking what am I going to do if this girl dies. Who’s going to believe me with some dead white girl in her bedroom?” He shook his head.
“I ain’t never been through anything like that before and I ain’t never doing it again.”
“She’s okay now,” Ellen said.
“I guess so,” he said but he sounded doubtful.
*
He never told anyone, not anyone. That’s what he promised her and he kept his promises. But, man, did he want to call Jason and tell him to get his white ass over there. He was the one who should be taking care of her. It was his mess. And where was he, Mr. Wonder Bread boy? Not taking care of his mess, that’s where.
All Debbie said when he brought her home was that she wanted to sleep and he should go home. No way he was leaving her alone. She could die, they did sometimes, he knew that. He checked on her, every hour or so. He tiptoed into her bedroom and held his breath, and listened for the sound of her breathing. He watched the body beneath the sheet for the rise and fall that meant she was alive. Each time it came, he exhaled in relief and tiptoed from the room.
“What are you doing here?” Debbie asked the next morning, standing over the couch.
He hurried to button his pants.
“I thought it would be a good idea if I stayed, in case you might need something.” His words were as rushed as his fingers.
“I’ll make us some breakfast,” she said, rubbing at her eyes.
“No, no, I gotta get home.” He fumbled with the laces on his sneakers.
“I think you should stay in bed,” he told her. “That might be best if you stayed in bed.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. He had to get out of there.
“You gonna be okay?” he asked.
“I think so. But, you need breakfast, Clifford. Let me make you something to eat.”
*
“Yeah, it’s gonna be hot soon,” he grumbled to Ellen. “It’s gonna be hot and stinky and this is one brother who ain’t gonna be here.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to New York,” he pronounced. “I’m going up there to NBC and I’m going to sit there until somebody looks at my tape and gives me a job. And, I ain’t leaving until I got that job.”
“It gets cold up there,” she said.
He shook his head. That’s what they all said. All he had to do was mention New York and they all started flapping their lips about the cold and the snow.
“Shit, I can buy me a goddamn mink coat,” he yelled. “I can stay warm in New York with a goddamn coat, but I can’t stay cool here, no way.”
“So, go,” she said, her head bowed over her notes.
“I will, you can bet on that. I’m going.”
35
Debbie didn’t tell the group about the abortion. She didn’t tell them anything. She only listened and smiled when they spoke. She nodded and agreed and helped them, she believed, by being positive about them and what they were doing.
At one session she did cry out when Bob suggested they all go out for a drink after the meeting.
“No, no,” she protested. “That’s not right.”
“Why not?” the older woman asked. “That would be fun.”
“That’s not why we are here,” Debbie said. “We didn’t come here for instant friendships, did we?” she pleaded to the doctor. “We are here to work, to get better, right?”
“Well,” he paused to light a cigarette.
“What are you afraid of?” the younger woman sneered.
“I’m not afraid,” she said, although she felt sick with fear. “I just don’t think it’s right.”
The nurse named Jane who had come to a few meeting wearing her clean white slacks and crisp flowered top, opened her hands wide.
“I don’t have time for a drink. I barely have time to be here. This time is terrible. Couldn’t we change it?”
Debbie could feel her fear of these people and this room growing. She was afraid they would reach out and physically touch her. Why? Why was the fear getting worse?
She could call her doctor back home and tell him about the room and these people and her fear, couldn’t she? No. He would tell her there was nothing wrong with them, that she needed a tune-up, that’s all. She needed a tune-up.
She had to fight the fear. The fear was wrong. These people weren’t bad people. They wouldn’t hurt her. That’s what she told herself over and over again, until she heard the voice.
“You should be afraid,” the voice told her. “You must get out of this room.”
How could that be true? Coming here was the only thing that could help her. But what if the voice was her instinct? Isn’t that what the doctor told her after Baja? The voice was her instinct, warning her.
She looked at Terry. It helped calm the fear, seeing him there in his dark glasses, but it did not make her feel safe. The only time she felt completely safe was when she was alone in her apartment. She would sit in the dark, holding onto herself and ignoring the ringing of the phone or doorbell. She knew it was Clifford. She knew he was watching her.
The Best in the West Page 19