by K. N. Casper
“LIKE HELL you will,” Taggart said, when Renn told him the following Wednesday he was preempting his sports analysis show Sunday evening for Marlee’s special. “You’re not taking my airtime so she can blow her own horn.” Taggart stalked out of the room and headed directly for the stairs.
Renn understood Taggart’s outrage, even if he didn’t sympathize with it. Part of it was his losing his time slot, if only for one night, but the bigger issue was professional pride. A dozen reporters and journalists had tried for weeks after the bus tragedy to wrangle an interview with the grieving coach. Hillman had adamantly turned them all down. According to Renn’s sources, the coach had been particularly caustic in rejecting Taggart’s request. Something about when hell froze over. Which was understandable, since Taggart had made some scathing remarks in the past about Hillman’s coaching style.
Three whole minutes elapsed before Renn’s phone rang and he was summoned to the vice president’s office. He was torqued as he climbed the stairs but was careful not to let his anger show when he stepped over the threshold.
“What’s this about pulling Going Overtime with Tag Taggart this Sunday?”
Renn described the interview Marlee had conducted. “It’s first-rate,” he stated unequivocally. “There won’t be a dry eye in the city when we show it.”
“Let them cry on somebody else’s time,” Taggart snarled. “Not on mine.”
Faye regarded him critically, probably willing him to calm down. The famous Taggart temper had lost him one job. Throwing a tantrum now wouldn’t serve him well, even with her to defend him.
“Why can’t she do it in installments next week during her regular sports segment?” she asked.
“This interview is much too special to be frittered away in sound bites,” Renn said.
She eyed Taggart. Renn was convinced that if it were anyone else she wouldn’t hesitate to give the go-ahead to use the Sunday-evening time slot, but she seemed to be blinded by this guy. Did she really believe Taggart was as important to the station as she claimed, or were there more personal reasons for wanting him to stay around?
Renn moved to her desk, picked up the phone and called downstairs to ask Wayne Prentice to deliver a copy of the edited tape.
“Once you see it,” he told Faye, “you’ll understand what I mean.”
She frowned at his taking over but could hardly counter the order. A minute later Maxine opened the door and Prentice walked in. He went directly to the VCR in the television across from Faye’s desk and installed the cassette. Renn thanked Wayne and dismissed him, then cued it himself.
Twenty-two minutes later there was no question that Marlee had done a magnificent job blending information, humor and poignancy in a well-balanced presentation.
“One thing she’s certainly established,” Taggart commented, “is that she’s not a team player.”
Were the man not so vain, Renn mused, he’d realize he had an opportunity to make points with his associates and the public if he’d graciously cede his time and offer to personally introduce Marlee’s interview. Renn had planned to recommend just that but now changed his mind. Under the circumstances, he didn’t want Taggart anywhere near Marlee’s triumph.
“What are you talking about?” Renn asked, peeved at the man’s grumpy jealousy.
“As soon as she got the old man to finally agree to an interview,” Taggart replied, “she should have turned it over to me. I’m the senior member here.”
Renn was so astounded by the man’s gall that for a minute he was speechless.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” He had to muster every ounce of self-discipline to maintain a civil tone. “That’s ridiculous. Jim Hillman had already refused your request for an interview, as well as half a dozen others. The only reason he agreed to do this one is that he knew Marlee and Clark were good friends.” He waved his hand toward the blank screen. “She got things out of that man even veteran reporters couldn’t have dragged from him.”
“I’m not talking about the interview itself.”
“Oh. What are you talking about, then?”
Taggart sulked, unable to come right out and say she’d done an outstanding job. “I said she wasn’t a team player. That goes a lot further than one session with a high school coach.”
Renn couldn’t let the statement stand. “Expecting her to set up an exclusive interview, then pass it on to someone who doesn’t even work for the station—” Taggart liked to capitalize on the fact that he was a contractor, not an employee “—is utterly preposterous. No reporter would ever do that, and I would never ask her to.”
He turned to Faye, who’d remained remarkably quiet. “Instead of castigating Marlee for succeeding, you ought to be praising her. It’s obvious the only reason Hillman agreed to talk to her is that he felt comfortable with her.”
“Because she’s a woman,” Taggart added bitterly.
The sexist remark drew a scowl from a tight-lipped Faye.
“You’re probably right,” Renn admitted. “So what’s your point?” He again appealed to Faye. “The subject was an intensely personal one. Men aren’t comfortable showing that kind of emotion with other men. It’s easier with a woman.”
Faye listened pensively, then slowly nodded.
Taggart started to object, but Renn cut him off. “Your bold, brash style is fine in the rough-and-tumble world of contact sports. You’ve proven that repeatedly.” He watched the other man’s chest expand and nearly laughed. “But it just isn’t suited to the more…uh, sensitive, human-interest stories, not in this particular case, anyway.”
The chest deflated. “I can be very sensitive.”
Renn struggled to control his facial muscles. Faye was observing him, not with amusement. She seemed afraid of what he might say next. Renn decided to take pity on her.
“I’m sure you can,” he agreed without an ounce of sincerity in his tone. “I suspect, though, that you would have been uneasy handling this interview. Some kinds of intimacy make a man uncomfortable. I imagine that’s why you never do interviews with women athletes.”
Zing.
Everybody knew Taggart looked down his patrician nose at women in sports. As far as he was concerned, they were all amateurs who didn’t deserve serious attention as athletes.
“Marlee should have let Tag know she’d set up this interview with Hillman,” Faye finally said.
Renn was ready to explode, but one hothead in the room was enough. Besides, he didn’t want to give either of them the satisfaction of getting to him.
“Why?” he asked with a calm voice and a raised brow. “She doesn’t work for him.”
He didn’t point out that Marlee hadn’t informed him, either. Which bothered him, though it shouldn’t. She didn’t need his permission to develop stories or set up interviews. It wasn’t as if she were his protégé, though she could have clued him in as a professional courtesy. She would have conferred with Clark about this beforehand and sought his guidance.
Renn mentally sighed. Had she asked his advice, he would have told her to do exactly what she’d done. Unlike the locker room incident. She was savvy enough to realize asking forgiveness was easier than asking permission. Besides, in spite of all Taggart’s snide comments and Faye’s umbrage, Marlee had pulled the interview off like a pro.
“Tell me,” he asked Faye now, “would you have expected Tag to inform her if he’d snagged the meeting?”
“That’s different. He’s the senior sports person.” She didn’t sound nearly as convincing as she’d probably intended.
“I could have given her some pointers and a few questions to ask the coach,” Taggart persisted, a beat behind the discussion.
Disgusted, Renn shook his head. “Like what?”
When Taggart failed to reply, he turned to his boss, the businesswoman.
“You saw the tape. We’ll get top ratings with this interview. I’m nominating her for an Affiliated Press Award. That’ll reflect very well on KNCS-TV. In the meantime,
I’m willing to bet this human-interest piece will be picked up by the Dallas market and maybe carried across Texas. You can’t ask for better publicity than that.”
Faye reclined into her seat, clearly unhappy with the dilemma she found herself in. She wanted to champion Taggart, but Marlee had pulled off a coup. There wasn’t much she could do but applaud it.
“I’m not questioning the quality of the work, Renn,” she said evenly. He noted that she didn’t offer to endorse the nomination package. That was all right. The piece would stand on its own, and Sal Bufano would be happy to support it. “But I am concerned that she’s a loose cannon. She handled this situation well, I’ll grant you—”
“That publicity stunt she pulled at TUCS was a disaster,” Taggart jeered.
“Like hell it was,” Renn snapped too sharply. “It was very effective….”
Taggart tilted an eyebrow, pleased at Renn’s slip in composure. “So you think it’ll be all right if I barged into the girls’ locker room after their next basketball game?”
Girls, Renn noted, not women.
He smiled. “I tell you what, Tag. You try it and we’ll see.”
Faye raised her hand. “It’s one thing, Renn, for our viewers to wonder what surprises are coming. It’s another when the people she works for don’t know what to expect.”
“She works for me, Faye, and I know exactly what to expect. Bold, aggressive, accurate reporting of high quality, delivered professionally and on time. As for another locker room incident, there won’t be any.” She’d already made her point and captured her audience, which Renn suspected was going to remain very faithful for quite a while.
“I hope not,” she said with a dismissive downturn of her mouth.
Renn resented her grudging acceptance when she should be enthusiastically approving Marlee’s achievements. Marlee Reid wasn’t a good reporter for a woman. She was a good reporter. She wasn’t un-deserving of the sports director job because she was a woman. She merited it because she was the best qualified person for it, not just in competition with Taggart, but with any outsider they might bring in. He’d been a fool up until now not to see that, but he wouldn’t be anymore.
“I’m putting the Hillman interview on Sunday in place of Taggart’s analysis,” he told Faye. He didn’t say, If you don’t like it, you can fire me, but his tone implied it.
“That’s unacceptable.” Taggart’s perfectly tanned face turned an unpleasant shade of mauve.
“It’s not your call, Taggart. It’s mine.” Renn glared at him. “Let’s get something straight. You don’t run the newsroom. I do. If you don’t like the way things are being done around here, you can quit. You would also be well advised to remember that if you get the sports anchor job, you’ll be working for me, so I suggest you learn to control your mouth and your temper. I’m an easy guy to get along with, but I don’t tolerate insubordination. The next time you have a problem with one of my decisions, you discuss it with me, not run to my boss.”
He stabbed each of them with a penetrating glance. They seemed equally shocked by his outburst, though he hadn’t raised his voice. In truth, it surprised him, too, but it also felt good. “I hope I’ve made myself clear.”
Neither of them said a word as he strode out of the office.
His jaw was still clenched by the time he reached his office downstairs. He’d thrown down the gauntlet. He wondered how long it would be before his phone rang and he was summoned back upstairs to be reprimanded or even fired. After an hour, he decided the crisis had passed, but he had no illusions it was over.
Sunday, March 23
“HAND ME THAT bag of bonemeal, please.” Audrey scooped out another trowelful of topsoil from the flower bed she’d been preparing in the far corner of the backyard.
Marlee brought it over and knelt beside her.
“Sounds like you had an eventful week and that you’re getting good support from Renn.”
“He can’t stand Taggart, which helps.”
“Yeah, it does.” Audrey wondered if the younger woman was missing the obvious. “I don’t think that’s the sole reason he fought so hard to get you airtime on Sunday, though. Do you?”
She didn’t like gossip. It was so unreliable. “If what Maxine told you she heard at Faye Warren’s door is true, the exchange between the two men was pretty heated.”
“Taggart has a temper. It cost him one job and was probably the reason he left the coaching staff at TUCS.”
“I’ll take those lily bulbs now. Clark loved cannas. Especially the orange.” She placed one in the hole and started covering it with soil. “What about Renn? Does he have a temper?”
Marlee shrugged. “Everybody does, I guess.”
“But you haven’t seen his?”
“He’s pretty cool.”
Audrey planted another bulb. “He likes you, you know.”
“That’s good to hear,” Marlee replied with a chuckle, “since we have to work together.”
“I don’t mean just work.”
Marlee paused before handing over the next tuber. “What do you mean?”
“The way he looks at you.” Audrey had seen it. Clark had noticed it even earlier.
“Yeah, like an incompetent who can’t figure out which end of a cassette goes in a VCR.”
Audrey chuckled good-naturedly. “He really has been trying to help you.”
“Humph.”
Audrey threw back her head and laughed. “I bet you’ve noticed a few things about him, too.”
“Like what?” Marlee was getting irritated and trying very hard not to show it, which only confirmed what Audrey already suspected: that she found the news director attractive and didn’t want to admit it, even to herself.
“What color is his hair?”
“Dark brown. Why?”
“Wavy or straight?”
Marlee cocked her head to one side. “More wavy than straight, but definitely not curly.”
“What color are his eyes?”
“Blue.” No hesitation.
“Dark or light?”
“I’d probably say cobalt.”
“Very striking.” Audrey divided the next tuber. “How tall would you say he is?”
“Six-one.”
“Weight?”
“Probably around 175.”
“Skinny?”
“Lean, muscular.”
“What’s his favorite color?”
“Either blue or green—I haven’t decided yet. He wears a lot of both.”
Audrey grinned. “Still think you haven’t noticed anything about him?”
Marlee jumped to her feet and went over for the new bag of bonemeal. “Doesn’t mean a thing,” she called back. “I could probably answer those questions about anyone at the station.”
“Really?” When Audrey asked for the same information about Mickey Grimes, Marlee wasn’t sure, and she actually got Taggart’s eye color wrong. His were hazel-green, not brown.
“Close enough,” Marlee insisted.
“Yeah,” Audrey agreed. “Almost.” She brushed off her hands and climbed slowly to her feet. “Anyway, it’s nice to know you have someone you can trust in your corner.”
Monday, March 24
ON MONDAY AFTERNOON Marlee was stunned when she arrived at work to find a huge plant sitting on the receptionist’s desk with her name on it.
“Delivered around ten,” Peggy said, with a big smile on her face. “Wonder who sent it.”
The card wasn’t sealed and looked a bit crumpled, making her suspect Peggy already knew. With her fingers shaking, she opened it. The signature under the “Thank you” surprised and disappointed her. She was happy that Jim Hillman was pleased with the interview and was thoughtful enough to send a gift, which definitely wasn’t necessary, but she was also a little let down that it wasn’t from Renn. After what Audrey had said over the weekend, she thought maybe he…
Silly notion. Even if Audrey was right and Renn was interested in her beyond the purel
y professional, he wouldn’t send a potted plant. Cut flowers, maybe. But she had no right to expect anything from him, and having a gift delivered to the station would be embarrassing for both of them.
“Where are you going to put it?” Peggy asked.
The pink wax begonia was too big for her already crowded desk, and the light there wasn’t very good. Besides, she had a decidedly brown thumb, which meant it would be dead within a month.
“It’s so pretty,” she said. “It’d be a shame to keep it all to myself. Do you think I could leave it out here for everyone to enjoy?”
“You bet,” Peggy said, her face lighting up. “It’ll fit perfectly on the end table by the couch. I can pick up a grow light to put in the lamp.”
“Good idea, but let me pay for it,” Marlee told her.
“I’ll water the plant for you, too, if you like,” Peggy volunteered. “I know how busy you are.”
Over the next few days the station received an unprecedented number of cards, letters and phone calls praising Marlee for the interview with the high school coach. She continued to present the sports segment of the evening news from the Live Center, while Clark’s regular place on the news set remained vacant, and Taggart gave his analysis from the visitor’s chair next to it.
The following Thursday afternoon she was in one of the editing booths, reviewing a tape she and Wayne Prentice had shot of the TUCS track team doing wind sprints for the upcoming state finals, when Renn stopped by—the fourth time this week.
Prior to Clark’s death, she’d seen little of the news director except on the set; lately, he never seemed to be far away. She’d taken umbrage at his close presence initially, as if she were some rookie who needed close supervision—before she understood he wasn’t checking on her work, just lending moral support.
She wanted to tell him it wasn’t necessary, until she realized she kinda liked him hanging around.
Maybe Audrey was right. Maybe he really was interested in getting her the anchor job. These past six weeks had brought out a different side of him. Was it possible she’d misjudged him, that she’d read into his remarks a negativism that wasn’t there? She’d regarded him as nitpicking and petty. She realized now that he’d actually helped her improve her presentations. Just because he didn’t sandwich his criticism between positive strokes didn’t mean he didn’t mean well. Touchy-feely just wasn’t his style; he went for the direct approach.