The Money Shot

by Glenn Dier

  “You just don’t get it, do you? Something was obviously bothering him. You could have been more empathetic.”

  “I can be as empathetic as the next reporter.”

  “You have no idea what the word means.”

  “I admit that a Cops for Cancer event isn’t an ideal location to ambush a police chief about drunk driving, but it was my only chance to get him. Do you think the chief asks, ‘Is everything okay? Do you mind if I arrest you?’ before he slaps on the cuffs? Come on.”

  “He gets bad guys off the street.”

  “I get bad guys off the street too. Are you saying that it’s okay for a cop to drink and drive?”

  “Of course not. I just wish you hadn’t goaded the chief into crying.”

  Sebastian chafed. “I did not goad the chief into crying.” His peeved voice carried into the restaurant. Even people at the back stared. Roxanne put her hand over her eyes.

  The owner gave an agitated wave to a busboy and pointed at a table tucked away in a nook. The busboy piled dirty dishes into the centre of the plastic tablecloth before tying the four corners into a knot. He wedged the bundle into an already overflowing tub.

  “Sebastian Hunter,” said the owner. “Come, please.”

  Sebastian allowed Roxanne to go first. He glanced back at the lineup.

  “I sure told her.” Only the men laughed.

  •

  “Thank you, Peggy,” said Janice into her phone. “I’ll be over as soon as I’m finished here.” She heard sniffles and a frail goodbye. Janice casually moved to the bulletin board and unpinned a poster.

  A ragtag crowd in white aprons, jackets, and floppy chefs’ hats gathered near the microphone. They were just fifteen minutes from serving their first lunches in the sunshiny café-bistro.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please,” said hospital CEO Carla Gallo as she settled in behind the microphone. “Thank you for coming to the opening of our new café-bistro. It’s a…,” Janice matched the words, “great day for community health.”

  The CEO droned on about a holistic approach to wellness, the banning of deep fryers, and the emphasis on tasty, nutritious food. Not a word about Peggy.

  A chef and a cashier stretched a ribbon in front of the CEO.

  “Three, two, one,” counted down the crowd. Gallo deftly snipped the ribbon with a pair of scissors. There was a flurry of camera flashes. Bruce framed his shot to include the foodservice director rabidly applauding her boss.

  “Any questions?” asked Gallo after the ovation petered out.

  Time to talk about the elephant not in the room.

  “The name over the door says Peggy’s Place,” said Janice. “Where’s Peggy?”

  Scarlett gave the CEO a reassuring nod.

  “I’m afraid Peggy isn’t well today. We had the grand opening booked and couldn’t really delay it. We wish she were here. We named it Peggy’s Place because no one deserves it more. Peggy is a valued employee who’s given us a career of selfless service. We think the world of her.”

  The answer elicited an approving smile from Scarlett.

  Janice unrolled a glossy poster announcing the grand opening of Peggy’s Place. Join Us for an Exciting New Dining Experience. Three pencil-thin women held out plates of food. Janice turned the poster towards the chunky CEO.

  “None of these women is Peggy. Why isn’t she on this poster? It’s her place after all.”

  “I don’t really know. Scarlett, can you explain?”

  Scarlett’s smile vanished. A murmur swayed through the sea of white uniforms. Scarlett stepped forward and stood by her boss.

  “It was designed by an ad agency. By the time I saw the poster, it was too late to ask for changes.” Mary Ann and Betsy hooted at Scarlett’s exaggerated sincerity. Janice rolled up the poster as if she were wringing a neck.

  “Would it have anything to do with the fact that Peggy is, and these are her words not mine, carrying extra pounds?”

  Scarlett pinched her face. A worker on the hot buffet line lifted a pan, steam billowed in the background.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Peggy told me, that you told her, she was fat and she had to lose weight.”

  There was a collective gasp in the café-bistro. The CEO’s face went grave.

  “That’s…not…true,” said Scarlett, punctuating her response with short breaths. “I…never…said…such…a…thing. That’s…a…lie.” She wobbled, then steadied herself by holding the microphone stand. She let go a belch. “Excuse…me.” A nurse rushed to Scarlett’s side and led her away.

  The CEO was paid 425,000 dollars a year to provide stout leadership. Her hand had a perceptible tremble.

  “Ms. Gallo, you have an eating disorder unit in the hospital. Should a woman who struggles to lose weight, who compulsively overeats, be coerced into going on a diet?”

  “No, absolutely not. Ordering someone with an illness to go on a diet is callous and completely unacceptable. We help people with eating disorders. We don’t bully them.”

  “But Peggy says she was bullied. And she received no offer of help. She says she’s sick at home because your foodservice manager browbeat her.”

  The CEO listened with pressed lips and an upturned chin. “I can assure you that I knew nothing of this, and if what you’re saying is true,” she said blackly, “I won’t tolerate it. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  Gallo deserted the microphone. Her getaway left a panorama of dumbfounded faces.

  “Peggy’s Place—where more than the food gets skewered,” said Janice quietly.

  •

  Sebastian and Evan had a date with The Executioner. For condemned men, they had a sprightly step. They ignored the journalism awards hanging on the corridor walls, many of which they had a hand in winning. The awards wouldn’t help them now. The Executioner was out for blood.

  “It’s better if you keep quiet and I do all the talking,” said Evan.

  Sebastian cupped his hand to his ear. “I think I hear, ‘Off with their heads.’ ”

  “They really don’t pay me enough to put up with this shit. A pox on both your houses.”

  The walk between The Executioner’s office and the newsroom was mere metres, but the philosophical distance couldn’t be measured.

  The sign on the open door read Alicia Gorski, Regional Director. Hers was the biggest office in the building with a view of the university campus and a parkway. Perhaps a buxom jogger would bounce by and tantalize Sebastian’s senses. It was the only reward he could anticipate.

  Evan knocked. Alicia stopped typing and closed a file on her computer.

  “Gentlemen, come in,” she said, taking off her reading glasses. “Close the door and have a seat.”

  Two leather chairs sat empty on the peon side of her oak desk. No invitation today to sit at the cozy conference table by the windows. She used that table for friendly chats. Sebastian peeped through the glass as he approached a chair. Outside, the warm temperatures had sprouted students in shorts and T-shirts. The bookcase behind Alicia offered only saccharine children’s pictures.

  Alicia picked up the remote and turned off the television. The piercing sound of an approaching siren permeated the office.

  “I took a phone call—”

  “One second,” Sebastian butted in. He looked out the window with a wistful gaze. “They’re playing our song.” He fanned himself as if overcome with dewy-eyed nostalgia. A police car with lights flaring sped past pulled-over cars. The siren receded.

  “Sorry to interrupt. You were about to say something.”

  Alicia’s face was flush. “I took a phone call from a very upset president of the Canadian Cancer Society,” she said. “Sebastian, he accused you of embarrassing the lieutenant governor, destroying their flag raising, hounding the police chief, and somehow breaking a woman’s wrist. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  �
��Good idea,” zinged Alicia. “Do you think it’s your job to piss people off?”

  Sebastian loaded a snarky rebuttal, but Evan shot first. “Alicia, Sebastian has done nothing wrong. I sent him there on an assignment. Did the cancer guy happen to mention that the guest speaker was a police chief charged with drunk driving? Were we supposed to ignore that? This was our best chance to get him.”

  Alicia leaned forward. “It was Cops for Cancer for heaven’s sake. Part of my job is forming partnerships with community groups. We flip pancakes for the homeless and collect turkeys for the hungry. I would have thought that the CBC could get behind cops helping kids with cancer, but apparently we can’t.”

  Sebastian wasn’t listening. He daydreamed about Chief Bennett’s hasty retreat. Alicia pulled a thick file out of a drawer and dropped it on her desk. The thud sapped Sebastian’s reverie.

  “This is not the first time I’ve had calls about you,” she said, tapping the file. “The justice minister went crazy when you asked about his son’s unpaid parking tickets, the head of the Board of Trade didn’t appreciate being called a slum landlord, and the chief judge chewed my ear off when you reported he flunked his first bar exam.”

  Sebastian imagined the disgruntled parties booing. “I comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. It’s an old maxim, but I like it.”

  “Alicia, pissing people off is part of the business,” said Evan. “It’s an occupational hazard. Sebastian has a story that everyone is going to be talking about tomorrow. It’s a rock-solid exclusive and it’s damn fine TV, if I do say so.”

  “What am I supposed to do with these people?”

  “Do?” said Evan. “Do nothing. Let them vent, give them the Journalism 101 lecture and direct them to the ombudsman if they’re still mad.”

  “You’ve got to give me more than that. Certain members of the newsroom seem to lack esprit de corps when it comes to CBC’s philanthropy. They’re nowhere to be seen when good deeds are being done.”

  “I give at the office,” said Sebastian.

  “That’s not enough for today’s society,” countered Alicia. “People like reporters to have a good heart, not a black heart. We need public support and everybody in this building needs to understand that. We can’t always bite the hand that feeds us.”

  A knock interrupted Alicia’s sermon. Alicia’s assistant poked her head in. “Sorry to barge in, but the chair of the hospital is on the phone demanding to speak with you. He’s so upset his words are garbled. Something about Janice wrecking a ribbon cutting.”

  Alicia tossed a pen in the air. It spun end over end, landing on Sebastian’s complaint file. “First, a flag raising and now a ribbon cutting. Is there anything wholesome that the CBC doesn’t demolish?”

  “Let no good deed go unpunished,” said Sebastian. Evan slyly flicked his foot and tapped Sebastian’s shoe.

  “We’ll pick this up later,” said Alicia. “I have another fire to put out.”

  Evan closed Alicia’s door on the way out.

  “I don’t need to come to work to be kicked surreptitiously,” said Sebastian, “I get lots of that at home.”

  “I’m trying to keep you out of trouble and your smart-aleck comments aren’t helping.”

  Sebastian gave a dismissive wave.

  “You could throw her a bone, Sebastian. Do something for a charity. It might even make you feel good.”

  Sebastian was absorbed in his email. “There’s a string of notes slugged Goose is Cooked. What the hell is that about?”

  “I have no idea, but I like the sound of it.” Evan was fleet-footed; Sebastian was his shadow.

  Zoe had a phone propped to her ear using a hunched shoulder and a crooked head. She held up a just-a-minute finger.

  “Right,” she said hanging up, “The Alert Desk is looked after.”

  Sebastian felt a cramp in his stomach. Why was she calling Toronto?

  “The whole hospital is in an uproar. Janice uncovered a deliciously ugly story about a sweet kitchen worker with an ogre for a boss.”

  Evan rubbed his hands together. Sebastian bit a knuckle as he listened to the details.

  “From famine to feast,” said Zoe. “We start off the day with nothing and now we’ve got two fabulous yarns. The Lord always provides and today we’ve been particularly blessed.”

  “Amen, sister,” said Evan.

  “My story is still the lead,” insisted Sebastian. Zoe and Evan exchanged speculative glances but said nothing. Sebastian paced in front of them.

  “I’m the only reporter who has the chief—the only reporter. Every media outlet in town was at the cafeteria. Everybody has what Janice has.”

  “Not quite,” interjected Zoe. “Janice has an exclusive too. Only Janice has Peggy and she has quite the tearful story to tell.”

  Sebastian slapped the counter. “A weepy scullery maid trumps a disgraced police chief. You can’t be serious.”

  “She does today,” said Zoe. “Janice has the victim and the villain. You only have the villain. Janice wins! Sebastian, I hate to kick you while you’re down, but Toronto thinks so as well. They want Janice’s story for The National and they’re only taking a voiceover and clip from you.”

  “Evan, feel free to pull rank here.”

  “Sebastian,” said Evan, “it ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings, and the fat lady has sung.”

  “This is the thanks I get for putting up with a regional manager who wants to put me on Ritalin.”

  Sebastian crumpled two pieces of paper into balls and cuddled them in one hand. “I go into the lion’s den, get the scoop,” he held out the fanciful scrotum, “and when I come back I get my balls cut off.” Sebastian used his free hand to slice the air sideways. “Shing,” he sang.

  Sebastian tossed the make-believe testicles to Zoe. “I won’t need these anymore.”

  He held his knees together and waddled back to his desk. “Neutered reporter, coming through.”

  •

  Janice typed on her phone as Bruce drove towards the station.

  “I don’t think Peggy has ever heard the phrase ‘Work some fat off,’ ” said Bruce.

  Janice laughed. “You’re evil. I like that in a man.”

  “Scarlett Fever probably said, ‘It’s a big deal’ and Peggy heard ‘Eat a big meal.’ ”

  “Stop that.”

  “Snack pack is definitely not in her vocabulary.”

  “Enough.”

  Janice finished her text and hit send.

  Angelo, must cancel dinner. Sorry. Have live hit on The National. Tomorrow?

  Janice checked her lipstick in the visor mirror. If only a perfectly applied cosmetic could make an answer arrive. She turned up the radio. Bruce always had it set on one of those stations where the DJs stopped playing music made after 1999. The nasally voice offered either pity or jest, Janice couldn’t decide which. The waiting is the hardest part, he sang. Her phone chirped.

  France changed nothing. It’s always tomorrow. I’m busy.

  Janice flung the phone into her purse.

  •

  Sebastian sat on the leather sofa where Roxanne had already installed herself, legs curled under her buttocks. She sipped a glass of red wine. A 2014 Rioja stood on the coffee table—the pricey bottles stayed in the cellar on a Tuesday evening. The TV remote sat orphaned on the coffee table. No need to boost Peter’s diction. He would not be uttering Sebastian’s name on this night.

  Good evening. I’m Peter Mansbridge and this is The National.

  The theme music launched and Mansbridge guided viewers through the fear and loathing headlines—an exchange of rocket fire in the Gaza Strip, a police crackdown on gays in Moscow, and an alarming drop in Canada’s polar bear population.

  And Janice Stone tells us about a hospital cafeteria that doesn’t allow fat with the lean.

  Video of Scarlett Unger marshalling the food line dissolved into pictures of Peggy dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

  “A cry-baby in
the headlines,” snorted Sebastian. “What are we coming to?”

  “Shhhh. I want to hear this.”

  A thin boss orders an overweight worker to lose weight.

  “I’ve got a big heart and she broke it.”

  Sebastian sat back. “Just when I think I’ve got this business figured out, they change the rules.”

  “What do you mean?” Mansbridge lost her attention; Sebastian held it now.

  “Getting the villain should be more important than getting the victim. Janice only has the villain running away. No confession. No explanation. We’re not going to hear Scarlett Unger’s side of the story at all. Just what a disgruntled employee accuses her of saying. I, on the other hand, have a police chief admitting on camera that he drove drunk. I just can’t understand their thinking.”

  Crises from around the world flowed into the living room. Five minutes passed, ten minutes.

  “They buried Janice,” said Sebastian.

  A picture of Paul Bennett appeared on the screen behind Mansbridge.

  “You’re up, honey,” exclaimed Roxanne. Sebastian raised his glass to toast himself.

  Yesterday, he was an admired police chief. Today, Paul Bennett is an admitted drunk driver. Bennett was charged in Orlando, Florida. He blew more than twice the legal limit. He was on vacation at the time. Back home today, he apologized. Bennett has been suspended with pay.

  “Why did they bother?” scoffed Sebastian. “Fifteen lousy seconds of copy. No video, no clip. Idiots.”

  “You can’t win them all,” said Roxanne, soothing his deflated ego with a shoulder rub. “You’re too good to keep off the air for long. Daddy says Toronto is having a serious look at you. You’ll get a national job soon. Just be patient. You’ve got the gift.”

  You’ve heard of racism and sexism, well there’s a new ism this evening—fatism.

  “Oh, Janice’s story,” said Roxanne, cranking up the volume.

  A manager in one of the country’s largest hospitals ordered one of her employees to lose weight, or else. Joining us live is Janice Stone.

  Janice’s face filled all fifty-five inches of Sebastian’s smart TV. Her voice resonated through his home theatre system. A brassy, confident Janice Stone had stolen his throne.