“Yeah, that’s good,” she said. “And can you grab me a soda?”
“Where you ladies headed on your getaway?” the clerk at the cash register asked.
“Surprise!” I said to him, then elbowed Laurie.
He looked confused. “Is it a surprise for her?” he asked. “Or you want me to guess?”
“No. That’s where we’re going. Surprise, Arizona.”
“For real?” the clerk said. “What’s there?”
“Nothing,” Laurie said quickly. “My parents live there, sooo, just getting away for the weekend.”
“Sounds fun, ladies,” he said, handing over the plastic bag with our snacks.
“Stop talking,” Laurie said to me under her breath as we left the store. “Do not say anything more to anyone about where we’re going. We’ve waited too long for this for you to blow it now.”
“Shit. Sorry,” I said, hit with panic that since I’d been off the air I’d gotten rusty and forgotten how to cover sensitive, top-secret things. Even the freelance Phoenix camera crew couldn’t know what we were up to. I’d instructed them to be on location this afternoon, and wait for us outside, away from the house.
I slid down into the big leather business-class seat. Laurie dropped her heavy black bag with a thud, fished out a Vanity Fair, then collapsed into her seat, lowering big sunglasses from the top of her head down over her eyes.
I watched the slow line of passengers with expressionless faces sift by us and tried to think of a cover story if by chance someone we knew also happened to be bound for Phoenix. That’s when a handsome older woman in a caramel-colored mohair coat, matching cashmere sweater, and expensive blond hair stopped at our row.
“Hey, I know you,” she said.
I looked over at Laurie, slumped down in her seat, hiding behind her shades, and waited for her to acknowledge the connection, probably someone she had once interviewed.
“Amanda Gallo, right?”
“Oh,” I said, surprised.
“I love watching you in the morning. Love your energy. But I haven’t seen you. Have you been off?”
“Uh, yes,” I said, startled that someone other than me and Frank in Fresno had noted my absence. “I’ve been on assignment. But I’ll be back on very soon,” I told her.
“I’ll be watching,” she said. “And I looove that very cute cohost of yours. Lucky girl.” She gave a flirty smile as she and her bag rolled on.
“My God, these FAIR News watchers are everywhere,” Laurie said, shaking her head. “How can she like that cohost, Ron, Rob, whatever his name is?”
“Cause he is cute,” I said, though I felt a little queasy saying it out loud. “I mean, he looks like a movie star, for God’s sake.”
“I guess,” Laurie muttered, turning the page of her magazine. “If you put a bag over his personality.”
“Why, what’s wrong with his personality?” I asked, kind of wanting to hear why Laurie thought he was so bad, to remind myself.
Laurie lowered her sunglasses and narrowed her eyes at me. “Oh, no,” she said.
“What?”
“Are you having a thing with that guy?”
I froze, not wanting to say yes to Laurie or no to myself.
“For real?” Laurie said, leaning toward me. “Is that why you and Charlie broke up?”
“No,” I said. “No, not really. I don’t know. It’s been a confusing time.”
“Go on,” Laurie said, training her unblinking laser eyes on my face. So this is how she extracts scoops from unwilling subjects.
“Don’t Prodder me,” I told her. “Your eyes are burning holes in my face.”
“How was the sex?” she asked. “Cause that guy looks like he’d be good.”
“Ladies, can I get you something once we’ve taken off?” The flight attendant smiled down on us.
“Two vodka and sodas please,” Laurie answered. “Extra limes.”
“Oh, no, I can’t,” I said. “I don’t want to drink before our meeting.”
“Those are for me,” Laurie said. “Hair of the dog. I was up way too late last night at some sports bar with a college friend of Fluke’s trying to find out whether Fluke did drugs in college.”
I sighed. “And what would that prove? So did you.”
“I’m not running for president,” she said. “And I’m not a sanctimonious dick. So do you like that guy?”
I looked down and exhaled slowly. “Yeah, I do. Did. He’s different than he seems on the air. But I don’t know. Maybe I was wrong. Anyway, I realized I liked him a little too late.”
“What happens when we get Martina? And you’re back on the show with him?”
“I think he’s moved on.”
“Don’t worry,” Laurie said, putting her glasses back over her eyes. “I’m sure when you’re back on the show, you’ll rekindle your studioship. Or is it a sofaship?”
I turned away and forced open the window shade in time to see us racing down the runway. Then I felt the lift and watched the ground sink away, the nose tilting toward the sky.
“Can you shut that window?” Laurie groused. “It’s too bright.”
“Okay, let me get out my notebook,” I said, turning to focus on the task at hand. “Let’s strategize on how we’re going to tackle the Martina interview.” I clicked my pen into ready position as Laurie reclined her seat into the rest position. I could see her eyes close through her sunglasses. “So, Laur, what’s our plan to get her to talk? I mean, when we first go in, do we just let her talk or right away press her to go on camera? Should we good cop, bad cop her? Or maybe we should both play the empathy card, cause when I talk to her, I think she really wants to be heard. Or what are you thinking?”
“You know,” Laurie said, talking but not opening her eyes, “I don’t really have a plan. I just go in knowing that I’m not leaving till I get her to talk.”
“Well, that makes it simple,” I said, wondering how in Laurie’s world things always worked out. Maybe that was the secret to success: trust that it will happen and don’t leave till it does. I put my notebook down and tugged on the window shade, leaving a small opening at the bottom so I could watch the clouds float by.
Chapter 34
The Scoop
It took two hours to drive from Phoenix to Surprise, Laurie behind the wheel, me navigating. When we got to Martina’s street, Laurie crept the rental car up the block until I saw a mailbox with the number 27 in front of a neat Spanish bungalow. “That’s it,” I told her.
At the sight of the short brick path and small cactus garden, my pulse quickened. This was it. This was the moment, more than any other, that my entire future hung on—the exclusive that could change the course of history, and definitely get my job back. I thought of all the other times I’d imagined some story was make or break, and shook my head at my naïveté. All those other stories, in those other towns, at other stations, felt like a lifetime ago. This one mattered most.
I saw the unmarked van, a couple of doors away, and knew it was the freelance crew. The driver rolled down the window when he saw me walking up in his side mirror.
“Hey, guys,” I said, not bothering with introductions, since if this didn’t work out, I knew we’d never see one another again.
“So, whadda we got here?” the fotog asked. “We doin’ this inside or out? Cause if it’s in, you gotta give us time to set up some lights. These little houses can be dark. What about mics? We only brought two. Do both of you need to be mic’d? Cause it might be better to boom it.”
“Not sure yet,” I said, having learned my lesson from the store clerk not to say too much. “Give us a few minutes and hopefully we’ll be right back and then you can bring all the equipment in.”
“Okay. We’ll stand by to stand by,” the sound guy said, then reclined his seat back again.
I t
ook a deep breath and started up the walkway to the front door. I looked at Laurie to make sure she was ready, then knocked. For a solid minute there was no response, and I chewed the inside of my cheek, shooting a worried glance at Laurie and listening for footsteps.
“I hope she hasn’t changed—”
At that, the door opened, just wide enough for half a woman’s face to show.
“Martina?” I said, and I could tell she was considering saying, “No. No Martina here,” but instead, after a pause she said, “Yes?” like she didn’t know what this was about.
“I’m Amanda,” I said. “Thank you for letting us come.”
“I thought you’d get here earlier,” she said. “I forgot I have to be somewhere at four.” She gestured to the watch on her wrist that read 3:30. “So maybe come back tomorrow?”
No! I wanted to cry, until I heard Laurie say, “No problem at all. This won’t take long.”
There was a momentary stillness. “May we?” Laurie asked and took a small step toward her. Martina reflexively stepped back, opening the door for us.
Martina was a petite woman with dark skin, round brown eyes, and wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was not beautiful, nor was she unattractive. Her smooth skin made it hard to peg her age. Forty, maybe forty-five. She wore a solid blue tunic with pretty embroidering that looked hand sewn. A glossy image of Fluke’s wife flashed in my head. A former Dallas Cowboy cheerleader who had worked her way up to becoming an NFL scout, known for her tough negotiating skills—and legs. Looking at Martina, I thought of Fluke and what this contradiction said about him.
“Thank you for letting us come,” Laurie said, handing Martina the bouquet of flowers Laurie insisted we stop and buy. Part of the Prodder handbook.
The living room was spotless and generic, neatly furnished with a neutral sofa and an armchair. The only hint of Martina’s island background was a hutch displaying some colorful pottery and masks. Martina accepted the flowers and disappeared for a second into the kitchen. She came back with a ceramic vase that she set in the middle of the coffee table.
“How about we put them right . . . here,” Laurie said lightly, moving the vase to the side table and positioning the flowers petals forward. She might as well have plugged in a key light while she was at it, and I made serious eye contact with her to stop being so bald-faced about setting up a good shot for the fotog. Besides, she was distracting me from my effort to identify some good B-roll opportunities. I’d spotted a photo on the wall that looked like it could work. It showed a small house, painted canary yellow, with a roof of orange clay tiles, surrounded by lush green palm trees with what looked like a teenage girl standing in front of it, not smiling but giving off an air of comfort with her surroundings.
“Who’s this?” I asked Martina, pointing to it.
“Me,” she said.
“Oh, that’s nice,” I said. “Was that your house?”
“Yes,” she nodded, “in Cap Haitien.”
“It looks nice,” I said, as if I were looking at a travel brochure. “Is that where your family lives?”
She shook her head no. “They were killed.”
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.” That wasn’t the icebreaker I was hoping for. I was afraid to ask more, but she was looking at me, so I said, “What happened?”
“The hurricane.”
“Hurricane Katrina?”
“No. Hurricane Georges. My parents died.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” This was not going well, but I couldn’t help myself. “How old were you?”
“I was twenty-two. The house was washed away.”
“And then where did you go?”
“It was very dangerous. There were armed robbers. So I took the boat to the U.S.”
I could feel Laurie giving me the side-eye from the coffee table. She had one hand digging in her massive black bag, and gave me a circular wrap-up-this-convo gesture with the other.
“So, Martina, I hope you don’t mind if we sit,” Laurie said. “I know you want to do this quickly. Can you tell us how you met Victor Fluke?”
Martina’s voice was so quiet, it was almost inaudible. “I was working at a restaurant in Miami and he came in.”
“Right. And you got to know him there. And eventually, he asked you to move to Los Angeles to work as his housekeeper. So . . . what can you tell us about Victor Fluke and how he treated you?”
I thought Martina could probably use a little more warming up before we launched right into Fluke, but hey, Laurie was the expert in this department.
Martina cleared her throat. “He treated me well. He was very nice. Very good to me. Good to all of us who worked there. He paid very well.”
“And he paid you off the books, yes?”
“Oh, yes, always off the books. He paid most of us in cash.”
Laurie turned and nodded at me, like, strike one against Fluke.
“Right, because you did not have a work visa. And he was not paying taxes for you?” Laurie said.
“I cleaned the house,” she went on, “took care of the laundry, watched the kids sometimes.” Martina was fidgeting while talking and I noticed her hands trembling.
Laurie leaned in. “And what was your relationship exactly with Fluke?”
“It was fine,” she answered quickly. “Mr. Fluke appreciated the work I did.”
“Well, if it was all fine and normal, then why did you leave? And why did you move here? Did he buy you this house?”
I took a deep breath. Laurie was getting agitated and moving too quickly.
“It was fine. He was a good boss,” Martina said, ignoring the question. “I don’t like the things he says now. The ‘sponges’ and the ‘illegal leeches’ nonsense. This man is crazy now. It’s not him.”
“And that,” I told her, “is what is so important for the country to hear and understand. That Fluke is being hypocritical and unnecessarily cruel. So if I can get our camera crew in here, they can set up very quickly—”
“Oh, no,” Martina said. “I don’t want any cameras. I don’t want to talk to any cameras.”
“But that’s why we’re here,” Laurie said, looking over at me with disgust, like Martina’s cold feet were my fault.
“No, no. I didn’t know there’d be any cameras,” she said, turning to me with an imploring stare.
“Well,” I said as gently as possible, “when you and I talked on the phone, you said you wanted to tell your story.”
“Yes, but just to you. Not to any camera.”
Oh, for the love of God. Not another one of these. I couldn’t count how many times I’d had to explain to a reluctant interview subject that if a tree falls in the forest, and there’s no camera there, NO ONE CAN HEAR THE STORY! It has to be ON CAMERA. That’s what we do in TV news!
“See, Martina,” Laurie started, in her TV News for Dummies voice, “people won’t trust us if we tell your story without you. They need to hear it from you.” Laurie might as well have said, Hey lady, I flew all the way out here with a hangover, now stop dicking around.
“I’m sorry, I have to go now,” Martina said. “I have a doctor’s appointment.”
“No problem,” Laurie said. “We can shoot this outside your doctor’s office. On a bench or something. It doesn’t have to be in your house.”
“One more minute, Martina,” I said, leaning in and placing my elbows on my knees, which suddenly put me lower than Martina’s eye level, and felt right. “When you and I spoke on the phone, you were mad at Victor. Can you tell us why?”
“Because he say he don’t know me.”
“But he does know you.”
“Yes, yes. Very well. And I didn’t like that.”
“And can you tell us what your relationship was like with him back then?” I asked gently. “What was special about it?”
Martina shut her mouth and looked off to the left. I could see her biting her lip, like her mouth was fighting her brain over whether to talk. Then I saw her eyes start to water.
“We say, espwa mal papay. In my country, the pawpaw tree, it will flower, but it will never bear fruit. Do you understand? I loved him,” she said. “I know it was wrong but I fell in love. I hoped . . .” She trailed off and looked someplace over my shoulder.
“And you had a romantic relationship?” I asked.
“I know it wasn’t right. I know that,” she said. “I’m not like that, but I fell in love with him. But not now. Now he says all this foolishness. That’s not the person I knew.”
“It’s okay,” I said, nodding at her, trying to ignore Laurie’s restless foot, moving back and forth, back and forth, like it was itching to jump up and fetch the fotog.
“And then when I heard him say he don’t know me . . .” Martina shook her head and looked off again as the tears spilled down her cheeks.
Laurie looked over at me, widened her eyes, and used them to point at the door and, I knew, the crew waiting outside in the van.
“Martina,” I said, “I think the American public needs to hear your story. You know Victor better than most anyone.”
“You mean on the camera?” she asked.
“Yes. On camera.”
“Oh, no. I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can,” I told her. “I promise we can take it slow. I won’t let you say anything you don’t want to. If you say too much, we can edit that part out. We’ll only use what you’re comfortable with.”
Martina sat still for several moments, looking down at her folded hands in her lap. “Excuse me,” she finally said. She got up and disappeared through a door just off the kitchen into what I assumed was a bathroom. Laurie and I exchanged nervous glances.
“Let me see what time it is,” Laurie said, getting up and going to her bag to retrieve her phone. “Okay, it’s three fifty-five. I think she’s gonna bail. Maybe we should get the crew in here right now.”
Amanda Wakes Up Page 31