On the Record- the Complete Collection

by Lee Winter

  Lauren almost choked on her drink. “What? Ayers’s date? How do you know?”

  “Well, when Tad was on his knees, unzipping my pants, I had a pretty good idea.”

  This time she did choke. “Fuck! You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t!”

  “Relax, I didn’t. I asked him, straight out, ‘Isn’t Catherine Ayers your date tonight? Doesn’t she, like, love you or something?’ And he said, ‘sure,’ and ‘of course,’ like he was implying ‘Duh, who wouldn’t love me?’ So I told him he was a no-go and to pocket those rubbers. What a douche. Who does that to someone? I swear this town…”

  “God,” Lauren stared at her friend, shocked. Poor Ayers crossed her mind before she could stop herself. She was dimly aware of Josh still speaking.

  “Turns out Taddy boy’s a wannabe actor, and it looks pretty much like he’s using the Caustic Queen’s contacts to get his big break. He says he wants to be an A-lister someday, not a Gay-lister, which is why he prowls the big parties with her on his arm. She’s pleasant enough company, he says, and super smart, but he’s not interested in her.”

  “That bastard!”

  “Why so outraged? He’s not your closet-job boyfriend.”

  “Still, just, ugh.” Lauren shook her head. Her eyes trailed over to Ayers as the attractive young man in question placed a proprietary arm around his date’s waist and gave her a big smile. Ayers raised an eyebrow back at him, the corners of her lips curling slightly. The affection she held for him was clear.

  “Crap,” Lauren said with a frown. “I think I really hate you for this.”

  “For what? I told you I didn’t lay a paw on him. I have standards.”

  “I hate you for making me feel sorry for her. God, do you think I should tell her? I mean, someone should, right?”

  “Ah, no, you abso-fucking-lutely shouldn’t get involved in this. She’s a big girl. He’s playing safe when he plays. Trust me. It’s for them to work out.”

  “Maybe if I did it anonymously…”

  “Maybe if we stop talking about her entirely. Tell me, what’s your news? Why did you come in here suddenly looking all dreamy and post-coital? Don’t tell me.” He suddenly gasped. “Did you get laid? A quickie in the bathroom?”

  “Better.” Lauren gave him a huge smile. “Much, much better. I found a story.”

  “Oh sweetie.” Joshua sighed. “If you think that’s better, you’re past help.”

  “Ha ha. Now, let me tell you what the bus from Nevada dragged in.”

  Chapter 4 –

  A Real Reporter

  Monday, May 13

  Jonathan Sands was an ordinary man. The sort of beige underling you’d forget moments after glancing at the thin wire glasses, sandy, floppy hair, and the sickly, pale skin of a man who never sees the sun. His brown, off-the-rack suit was ordinary, too, as if designed to fade him into the background of his borrowed surroundings at the state of California’s teak-filled offices.

  A perfectly even pile of technical manuals sat on his left, arranged by color. Sands leaned slightly forward, aligned his elbows on his temporary desk, and steepled his fingers, giving Lauren a steady stare. Polite insolence. She was getting pretty annoyed by that look. But then options were pretty thin on the ground.

  First thing Monday, she’d called Mariella to find out who was still in town from the Nevada contingent of the SmartPay USA launch.

  “Only one left, hon,” she’d reported after scanning her master list. “My assistants have seen everyone off to the airport except for a Jonathan Sands. He’s down as a systems analyst from Carson City, Nevada. Sounds important?”

  And now Lauren sat, facing a lean, owlish man in his early forties who looked anything but important. His wary brown eyes watched her closely. She’d charmed her way into the building with her press pass and then invited herself into his office, and Sands’s annoyance at her interruption wasn’t even remotely disguised.

  Okay so maybe that had been a little rude, and she was surprised he hadn’t kicked her out immediately. After all, everyone else she’d tried higher up had ignored her calls, hung up on her, or told to her bother someone else.

  “As I was saying,” Sands droned on, “I do payroll tech support and special IT projects implementation. I helped roll out SmartPay USA for all the government employees in Nevada, and they’ve loaned me out to help do it for the state workers here.”

  “So what’s the deal with SmartPay anyway?”

  “It simplifies payroll,” Sands said blandly.

  She almost rolled her eyes. No shit. “Thank you. How?”

  “Instead of an employer—in this case, the government—having to pay wages into many dozens of accounts run by all the different financial institutions, which is an administrative pain, they pay it all into employee accounts run by SmartPay’s own bank.

  “The employee can then automatically shift their funds into banks of their own choosing or keep their funds with SmartPay and take advantage of high interest and other member benefits.”

  “It’s a bank?” Lauren said, perplexed. “All this fuss over a new bank?”

  “No. It’s a streamlined payroll system with its own linked bank that offers some financial benefits should employees choose to make use of them. Some users do; some don’t.”

  “Do you?” Lauren asked.

  He blinked at her. “I’m a state employee. I get paid through SmartPay like everyone else.”

  “I meant do you keep your money with them after payday and use all the member perks of its bank?”

  “An interesting question. And none of your business.”

  Well, that was true. She tried again. “It’s gotten a lot of hype. Is it really as good all that?”

  “If my employer tells me to put in new payroll systems, that’s what I do. If they tell me to move to California for six months and do the same thing here, I do that too. But I’m not paid to have an opinion on it.”

  “That bad, huh?” Lauren fished, offering him a lazy grin.

  “SmartPay does what it says on the label. Now is that why you came here? I have the number for the SmartPay marketing manager who can take you through all its features in detail if you prefer.”

  “No. I actually came to talk to you about Saturday’s SmartPay launch.”

  “Me? I’m just the IT guy.”

  “Look, here’s the thing—no one’s returning my calls,” Lauren admitted. “You’re the only member of the Nevada governor’s team still in California, so you’re pretty much it. And since you were at the launch, I thought you might have some thoughts on what took place. Off the record is fine.”

  “I can’t make a comment. I’ve already told you that.”

  “I know,” she said. “I was looking more for background. Since you’re from Nevada. The governor’s from Nevada. Hoping you can help me out since the, er, special guests were from Nevada, too.”

  He looked at her blankly. Then twitched.

  “I really can’t comment on anything.” He pulled his spectacles off, gave them a vigorous wipe, and returned them to his face.

  She offered him a small smile.

  “Did you know prostitution is legal in Nevada?” she asked pleasantly.

  “Although only operating in eight counties,” he replied evenly.

  “But who’s counting?”

  “You appear to be. Is there a point?”

  “The point is it’d therefore not be illegal to hire a busload of women from one of these legal brothels and drive them to California for a party.”

  “I can’t see why you’re asking me that, Ms. King.”

  “Well, given you’re on Governor Freeman’s team, and you’re the only one left behind in the state who is—just tell me; does he make a point of doing this? Is that, you know, his thing? To jazz up a party with Nevada’s working girls? I’m not suggesting
anyone’s having sex with them, but I just mean, maybe, enjoying the view? And given it’s all perfectly legal, no harm no foul, right?”

  He shot her an appalled look. “Are you serious? It is definitely not the governor’s thing. For a start, he’s a happily married man. He has four children! A scandal like that would cost a politician his job, legal or not!”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too,” Lauren said thoughtfully. “It really wouldn’t be a smart thing for a politician. And yet someone in the Nevada governor’s office did, in fact, hire thirty-four hookers and send them to the SmartPay USA launch. As well as buying a bunch of pink champagne and sending that somewhere else, and I really can’t figure out why.”

  He stared at her. After an interminable pause, he finally said, “Why?”

  “Yeah,” Lauren said in frustration. “Exactly. Why?”

  “No. Why do you care? If this is such a big story, why did they send you?” He read the business card she’d given him. “An entertainment reporter? Why isn’t there a real journalist sitting here?”

  Lauren bit back her first retort. And the second. “I am a real journalist,” she said carefully.

  “Your card begs to differ,” he said. “This has been somewhat diverting, but I am busy.”

  He swivelled to face his computer and began to type.

  “Okay—fine, yes, I know I’m an entertainment reporter. I know how this must look. But I’m also a political writer-in-waiting, looking for my break, and here I am following a lead. Exactly like any other real journalist.”

  The rattle of keys paused. “So you, an entertainment writer—with what? No actual experience—plan to pursue this so-called story all by yourself?” He examined her over his glasses. “You.”

  She stared him down. “Me, yeah.”

  He snorted. “Okay. Good luck with that.”

  “You doubt my sincerity?” Lauren asked, indignation leaking out.

  “No, Ms. King, your ability. The way I see it, dozens of reporters were at that event. So, are they all blind? Perhaps they’re secretly corrupt? Asleep? Incompetent? Do I just pick one?”

  Lauren opened her mouth to answer, but he lifted a finger, stalling her.

  “Or, could it be that the rest of the media ignored what you claim happened because it didn’t.” He paused. “It’s one or the other. And either way, this is a joke.”

  He flicked her business card across the table at her.

  Lauren rose to her feet, leaned forward, and put her hands on the desk.

  “Give me a break,” she said with a scowl. “Where’s your patriotism at least? Anyone with even the faintest concern for the state of the country would give a damn about taxpayer money being blown on party girls. Now I get that it might not be worth your job to help me here, and if that’s the case, just say so. But don’t mock the media in one breath and then act like I’m an idiot for investigating the blatant misuse of our taxes.”

  There was silence as Lauren caught her breath. She sat back down again with a less than elegant thud.

  Sands had barely moved.

  “Patriotism,” he repeated, turning the word over carefully. He studied her closely. “You news people toss that term around far too easily. Along with words like hero and brave. You want to know what a real patriot is? Not ambitious journalists digging for dirt to further their careers. It’s people who put their lives on the line. Men like my father, who I lost in Vietnam. And soldiers like Jeremiah Denton who fought for our way of life.”

  Lauren stared at him. How on earth had her questions about party hookers ended up with a war in the ’70s?

  “A patriot is certainly not someone chasing her tail over alleged spending on legal prostitutes,” he continued. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m on a tight deadline. I’m sure you know where the door is. You found it easily enough on the way in. Goodbye.”

  He then swung back to his laptop and proceeded to ignore her. As she left, she watched him tap away furiously and was even more baffled than she had been when she arrived.

  Wednesday, May 15

  It had been two days, and Lauren had gone through every name on Mariella’s list of who had been with the Nevada team at that ball. She’d called some of them several times, such as Freeman’s press secretary and chief of staff. No one had given her the time of day. And given she was less than a nobody—and in a different state as well—she probably shouldn’t have been that surprised.

  She’d tried to contact the bus driver from that night, too. She still had the picture of the vehicle—and its license number—in her phone, so she’d looked up his company, Carson City Coach Rental.

  But driver David Fels had apparently quit abruptly. No notice. Just didn’t turn up for his next shift. And when his boss called him, he wasn’t even in the same country any more.

  “Who moves to Mexico?” the boss had grumbled to Lauren. “You find him, you tell that asshole I want the keys back to the No. 44.” And then he’d hung up.

  Okay, so that had been weird. Lauren stretched her legs out under her desk and yawned. She was tempted to take an early lunch just so she had something productive to do. Instead she grabbed her notebook and yet again flicked through the dog-eared notes she’d made after leaving Sands’s office.

  His ramblings about heroes and patriots were as off center as he was. Not to mention irrelevant as hell. She was about to slap her notepad closed again in annoyance when she spotted a scribbled name.

  Well, she supposed it was worth a shot. She typed Jeremiah Denton’s name into a search engine and wondered what some random soldier had done to earn the dour Sands’s fawning respect when a shadow fell across her desk.

  “I suppose I should say thank you.”

  “Why break the drought now?” Lauren kept typing. Ayers. She sighed internally.

  Lauren had avoided her since their last acerbic exchange on Saturday had ended so well. Not to mention she now knew a little too much about Ayers’s boyfriend to keep her stomach settled. So, yep, avoidance seemed like a good strategy.

  At the silence and lack of usual smug comeback, Lauren glanced up. Ayers was studying the computer screen over Lauren’s shoulder.

  “Wait, you’re actually thanking me?” Lauren said, fully registering her words. She tilted the screen away.

  “For calling off the craigslist dogs—even though you did fail to extort parking ticket money out of me in the process. You’re a dreadful negotiator. Always get something out of your opponent in return.”

  She waited expectantly. Lauren wondered what to say. The truth was she’d taken down the hoax ad after Josh’s appalling revelation about Tad.

  It wasn’t something a person could just blurt out. What the hell was the etiquette here, anyway? Should she tell Ayers her down-low boyfriend was picking up casual fucks at work functions? Was this like spotting spinach in someone’s teeth? Did she have to say something?

  She bit her lip.

  “So quiet, King, not like you,” Ayers drawled. She leaned forward. “What are you working on?” Her gaze darted again to the screen.

  Lauren immediately gave an indignant squawk and minimized the window. “Do you mind? Important—and private—research here.”

  “Jeremiah Denton?” Ayers’s eyebrows rose. “Why are you looking into him? That’s a story I haven’t heard in years.”

  Lauren blinked in surprise. “You’ve heard of him?”

  “You haven’t?”

  “Of course,” Lauren lied. “Now is that it? You just came to say thanks?”

  “You’ll note I did no such thing,” Ayers retorted, although her eyes sparkled with amusement.

  Lauren waited for some parting dig and Ayers’s exit. Except she didn’t move. She flicked invisible lint off her navy pencil skirt. Glanced around the room. Then back at Lauren.

  “Something else?”

 
Ayers looked at her and moistened her lips, hesitating.

  Oh shit. Tad? That’s what this was about? Did she maybe see him disappear with Josh? Was this a fact-finding visit?

  Bracing herself for the world’s most awkward conversation, Lauren attempted a relaxed expression.

  “What is wrong with your face?” Ayers asked. “Look, there was something I wanted to know about the SmartPay function.”

  She paused as she appeared to be finding the right words. Oh shit, shit, shit.

  “Why did you follow all those escorts outside?” Ayers perched on the edge of the desk. “The ones with the big hair and Walmart cocktail dresses?”

  Not Tad? Lauren sagged in relief. Hang on—Ayers noticed them, too? “Escorts?” Lauren repeated innocently. “Is that what you think they were?”

  Ayers hesitated. “Perhaps. Do you think they were escorts? Because they weren’t from the usual LA catalog.”

  “They did seem to be from out of town,” Lauren said neutrally.

  “I counted at least twenty,” Ayers murmured. “But there were likely more, am I right?” She pinned Lauren with a sharp look. “At one point, you interviewed one of them. So who were they?”

  Lauren weighed how much to tell her. It’s not like she had a story yet. And although they were sort of rivals, they weren’t really. Both their paychecks came with a Daily Sentinel stamp on them. She could use a more seasoned insight into this. On the other hand, she’d only just been down the path of trusting a colleague. She wasn’t in the mood for another Smug Daley.

  She regarded Ayers coolly. “So,” she said, “I tell you everything and you steal my story? That how this works?”

  A flash of anger seared across Ayers’s face. “Do I look like Doug Daley to you? I don’t have to steal to get a story.”

  “You knew?”

  Ayers rolled her eyes. “Please. The moment I saw that page one I knew Daley hadn’t done the research. Aside from the fact many of the parking officer bribes took place on your street, that man can barely be bothered to get off his bar stool.”

  “Wait—you know where I live?”