by Glenn Dier
The mug shot changed to a live feed of Janice standing outside the chief’s home.
“Here & Now’s Janice Stone spent the morning with the Chief and his family, and she joins us now live. Janice.”
“That back-stabbing slut,” muttered Sebastian to the screen.
“Ethan, we all know Paul Bennett as a law and order cop. A man who loved catching the bad guys, especially drunk drivers. Tonight I’ll show you a very different Paul Bennett. A vulnerable Paul Bennett. A man so distraught by a family crisis that he betrayed two oaths—to always obey the law and to never drink again.”
Janice’s report begins with a tight shot and soundup—a police uniform taken off a clothes rod. Paul Bennett hangs the uniform on a hook and strokes the shoulders with a lint brush.
He hasn’t worn this uniform in months, but he still takes pride in its appearance.
The chief brushes the front of his uniform, glancing at the camera as he speaks.
“I know I’ll never wear this uniform again. I don’t deserve to wear it again, but this uniform is my life. I still can’t quite believe I smeared what it stands for.”
Today melts into yesterday. At-home chief dissolves into jailhouse chief—the infamous mug shot from the Orlando City Police.
“I disgraced myself, my family, and my uniform. I’m completely ashamed of what I did. I apologize to my fellow officers and the public. No one should drink and drive. I should have known that better than anyone.”
Sebastian lunged at the screen. Apparently, the interview wasn’t enough of a coup; Janice compounded the offence by scoring previously unseen video as well—surveillance tape from the Florida detention centre.
Chief Bennett is escorted to his cell, the door closes and the chief sits on a cot. He buries his head in his hands.
Paul Bennett spent ten hours behind bars. Long enough to sober up; not long enough to ease his pain.
“Up to that day I hadn’t had a drink in twenty years. But that was the day I found out my little girl had leukemia.”
Still photos float by: Clare blowing out the candles on her birthday cake, Clare screaming on the rollercoaster, Clare dancing with Mickey Mouse.
Clare had been weak leading up to the Florida trip. The doctors suspected cancer, but the Bennetts decided to go anyway. Clare was turning seven and seeing Mickey Mouse was her birthday gift.
“The doctor called me in Florida with the results of the bloodwork and bone-marrow tests. My little girl was in a fight for her life.”
The chief’s eyes well up.
“I imagined her dead. I was crushed. I saw a bar and started drinking. I hung off that bar until Clare called my cell and asked me to read her a bedtime story. That’s when I got in the car. I missed that bedtime story. I’ll never miss another.”
The shot fades from the teary-eyed chief to file video of Sebastian chasing him at the Cops for Cancer event.
“Chief, why were you drinking that night?”
Sebastian heard boos and hisses from the far end of the newsroom.
“Must be the ghost of Garrison Hill,” said Sebastian. The video dissolves back to present day.
“I was naïve to think that I could do one last good deed before the news broke about my arrest. I wanted to atone for my bad behaviour. That’s why I went to the flag raising. It didn’t quite work out the way I had hoped. I apologize for being a lightning rod.”
That was Chief Paul Bennett’s last day on the job. The last day anyone would salute him. Anyone, except his little girl.
The photo of Clare saluting and wearing her father’s police hat is laid over her impish voice.
“When I grow up, I’m going to be a police officer, just like my daddy.”
Her daddy is suspended with pay. A Florida judge will decide her daddy’s punishment this fall.
The video changes to the chief’s kitchen. Clare and her mother take chocolate chip cookies out of the oven.
Clare’s cancer is in remission. The chemotherapy worked. Clare is out of danger.
The camera slowly zooms in as the chief speaks.
“We’re so grateful for all that the doctors have done. They’ve saved Clare’s life and in a way they’ve saved mine too. Now I just want to be a good father, a good husband, and a good police officer. A good police officer always tells the truth, and doesn’t hide from what he’s done. He never walks away from his responsibility.”
The camera catches Clare giving her father a cookie and a kiss. The chief scoops his daughter off the floor and hugs her. Clare squeals and laughs.
Janice Stone, CBC News.
Sebastian turned off the video. “A drunk driver can get good PR. Crime pays after all.”
•
Sebastian had hoped to escape the newsroom before Here & Now was over, but phone calls delayed him. He was caught in Ethan’s crosshairs.
“Well, if it isn’t the bridesmaid,” said Ethan. “Janice will be by in a few minutes to throw the bouquet. Maybe you’ll get lucky and catch it. You might marry a scoop someday.”
“Luck has nothing to do with good reporting,” said Sebastian to Bobblehead Ethan. He turned to the real Ethan and did a double take. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know which bobblehead was speaking.”
“Janice has no trouble distinguishing reality from fantasy.”
“This from a man caked in makeup.”
Ethan ran an index finger down his cheek, coating the tip in foundation and concealer. He held it up to Sebastian.
“She doesn’t need the glam. She’s stunning just as she is. I used to think Janice’s beauty was her strongest suit, but I was wrong. She’s much smarter than I ever gave her credit for. What an impressive feat—getting Chief Bennett and his little girl. I nearly cried. Janice is doing your work for you.”
Sebastian shoved the keyboard tray under his desk. “What would you know about work? You’ve been coasting since you arrived. You should install a hammock next to your desk.”
“It takes a real journalist to find the human story. Journalism isn’t all about being nasty. Where’s the follow-up to the house going over the cliff? Whatever became of those hapless people? Maybe I should ask Janice to check.”
“Speak of the devil,” said Sebastian. Janice dropped her purse on her desk. “I’d love to listen to more of your hypocrisy, but my colleague and I have work to discuss.”
Ethan lifted a tissue box off Sebastian’s desk and tilted it towards him. “Crybabies should always have one handy.”
Sebastian ignored him and grazed by. He pictured his shoulder smashing into Ethan’s chest the way an NHL defenceman nails a player into the boards; a check hard enough to pulverize the glass and send Ethan head over heels into the spectators.
Ethan tossed the tissue box behind his back like a juggler. It flew past his shoulder and landed on Sebastian’s desk.
“Janice, could I please see you in an edit suite?” asked Sebastian.
“Sure.” Janice led him to Suite 1, the nearest one and coincidently the suite where she cut Chief Speaks.
The suite was soundproof and unless a busybody put an eye directly against the door’s tiny window, there was no seeing inside. It housed a bank of monitors, an audio board, stereo speakers, a supersized flat-screen TV and even an old videotape player for archival stories. Reporters came here for finesse editing. And for private chats.
Sebastian was about to unleash his wrath when Janice cut him off at the breath.
“Don’t say a word. First of all, I’m not apologizing. We’d all be dead waiting for Bennett to talk to you. And we’d all be dead waiting for you to say, ‘Maybe somebody else should try.’ ”
“You should have asked me first,” said Sebastian imperiously.
“We all knew you’d froth at the mouth if we did. It was easier not to. If Bennett had said no, there’d be no harm done.”
“But there was harm done.”
“Only to your ego. Not to your career. And certainly not to your appeal.” Janice edged clos
er. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“I feel like I was knifed in the back.”
“I can rub that back,” said Janice, moving in a solicitous manner. “And once I’m done with the back, I can rub the rest of you.” Janice stroked Sebastian’s cheek. He took her hand down.
“I need something else from you. I need to hear that you’ll help me get rid of Ethan Tremblay.”
“I don’t like parachute anchors any more than you do,” said Janice. “He’s still my enemy. I’m still your ally.” Her lips glided to Sebastian’s. “A deal sealed with a kiss.”
Sebastian went to the door, locked it, and dimmed the lights.
“Now,” he said, “about that backrub.”
•
Sebastian believed that the best ad-lib is a written one. He went over his story again and again, tweaking the details—all hands had gathered for a post-show drink to celebrate Janice’s scoop and the beating Here & Now had inflicted on the competition. If he had a believability meter, the needle would be bouncing into Believable.
“Honey, I’m home,” said Sebastian, as he entered the house. He heard a drawer close in the bedroom. There were crumpled tissues on the coffee table. Roxanne entered the living room with puffy eyes.
“Are you alright?”
“You’re late,” said Roxanne. Sebastian apologized and recited his well-rehearsed perjury. Roxanne picked up the used tissues.
“Were you crying?”
“It was that story on your news tonight—Chief Bennett and his daughter. I cried like a baby. I just hate it when reporters manipulate my feelings like that. I hate it even more when it’s Janice Stone doing the manipulating.”
“Yes, she’s very good at manipulation.”
“Weren’t you trying to get that interview?” asked Roxanne, opening the closet door.
“Yes, I did try. I know you think I’m heartless sometimes, but when I heard what that little girl had been through, I knew I had to do something. I owed it to Clare and her father to tell their side of this tragedy. There was just too much bad blood between the chief and me. I had to step aside. So I gave the story to Janice. It was the right thing to do.”
“Stop or I’ll cry again.” Roxanne slipped on a summer jacket.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“Not me, we. We have pre-marriage counselling tonight.”
“Right, of course,” said Sebastian with all the sham enthusiasm he could rouse.
The drive to the therapist’s office took ten minutes. Short of rear-ending the car in front of him, Sebastian couldn’t think of an escape plan. No, he would have to endure forty-five minutes of excruciating questions and prodding to emote.
The therapist’s door was ajar. Roxanne tapped twice.
“Come in,” said a congenial Carrie Walker. “There’s tea and coffee, if you’d like.”
Sebastian and Roxanne both declined. They sat in the loveseat, while Carrie eased herself into a chair off to the side.
“We’ll cover a lot of ground over the next six weeks, but the order is flexible,” said Carrie. She leaned forward; Sebastian saw cleavage. The scoop neck blouse probably violated professional dress codes, but Sebastian wouldn’t be filing any complaint. He was all for inappropriate clothing.
“I’ll throw out a few topics and you can tell me where you’d like to start,” said Carrie.
“That’s a great idea,” said Roxanne. She squeezed Sebastian’s hand. He forced a smile.
“In-laws and family?” suggested Carrie.
“No,” said Sebastian. He envisioned Dour Donna sitting between them. “Too early for tension.”
“Conflict and communication?”
“Talking leads to arguments,” said Sebastian. Roxanne rubbed her eyes.
“Children?”
“Another contentious topic,” he said. “Something lighter, perhaps.”
“Spirituality and religion?”
“We don’t have any,” said Sebastian.
“I see,” said Carrie. “How about sex and intimacy?”
“Yes, finally a topic I can embrace.”
“I’d thought we’d work up to that,” said Roxanne, “but I guess we have to start somewhere.”
“Does either of you have trust issues?” asked Carrie.
Sebastian shook his head. Roxanne looked down.
“Roxanne, is there something you’d like to say?”
“Sebastian is an incurable flirt.”
“Not that again,” groaned Sebastian. “I thought we settled that.”
“I was asked; I answered truthfully.”
“Roxanne, you’re the only woman in my life. Now and forever.”
“Roxanne,” said Carrie, “what if that turned out not to be true? What if Sebastian were unfaithful?”
“My dearly beloved would pay, dearly.” Sebastian was struck by her resolve. Roxanne had never before shown such firmness.
“And Sebastian, what if Roxanne betrayed her vow to forsake all others?”
He twisted on the loveseat to face Roxanne. “I would forgive her, if she wanted forgiveness. I would love her, if she still wanted love.”
“You’re definitely not candidates for the swingers’ club,” said Carrie.
“Wait a moment,” said Sebastian. “Are you recruiting? Is this a test?” Roxanne gave him a swat on the shoulder.
Carrie laughed. “Can we talk about sex?” she asked. Sebastian and Roxanne nodded. “Are you comfortable with your sex lives?” Both nodded again.
“Are there certain things which are clearly off limits?”
Roxanne blushed and laughed. “Just one. No more body painting with wine. I couldn’t get the stains out of the sheet.” Sebastian’s laughter mixed with Roxanne’s. The jocular couple gave Carrie licence to join in.
“None of my business,” said Carrie, waving her hands. Her breasts heaved. Sebastian visualized pouring wine between them.
•
Sebastian strolled through unfamiliar territory—the Shrine Club. He had never set foot in one before, or any service club for that matter. Fun he understood; philanthropy was a more difficult concept to grasp. Sebastian’s philanthropy flared-up on Boxing Day, after much prodding from Roxanne, and was snuffed out by New Year’s Eve, the embers extinguished by tax-deductible donations. He didn’t care who received the money; Roxanne picked the charities.
Two portly Shriners lugged amplifiers to the stage.
“Have you ever thought about being a Shriner?” asked Teddy. It was no innocent question. He already knew the answer. The question was designed to goad Sebastian into an irreverent response.
“Do I look like the kind of man who would wear a fez?” said Sebastian.
“You’d look good in a tassel.”
“A red cone hat and a Hugo Boss suit. Ple-e-e-se.”
“Perfect for your stand-up.” Teddy deliberately used an upbeat tone. All the better to irritate.
“If you don’t stifle your contempt for my good fashion sense, then I’ll be forced to strike back. Perhaps I’ll declare a tripod-free day and you can shoot everything off the shoulder.”
“Then I might be forced to declare a focus-free day. You’ll be blurry. ”
Sebastian picked up a white napkin and waved it.
“I’m glad we understand each other,” said Teddy. “Next time we’ll discuss the merits of wearing a Tilley hat on camera.”
Teddy laid his camera down on the hardwood dance floor and picked a spot for his tripod. He spied a familiar face in the crowd gathered by the bar. “Isn’t that Roxanne over there?”
“A fundraiser for a burned-out family of eight with no insurance, of course that’s Roxanne. She’s the worst kind of bleeding heart. She spends my money trying to better life for the unfortunate and the careless.”
“You’re a great humanitarian, Sebastian. A lover of mankind.”
Sebastian spied Dean Head swinging his guitar case. “I’ve got to speak to the minister for a minute.”
Dean Head was the province’s finance minister: thirty-six, handsome, single and famous for dabbling in double entendres. His last budget speech generated cackles and desk-thumping from both sides of the house: Mr. Speaker, the government will grow jobs, stimulate the economy, swell the treasury, seed new industries, lay pavement, and penetrate foreign markets.
Dean Head also harboured naked ambition. Sebastian intended to lance it.
“What’s a cabinet minister like you doing in a nice place like this?” asked Sebastian with a disarming smile.
Head laughed as he flipped open the hinges on his guitar case. He strummed his acoustic guitar and tuned it by ear. “The Clarks are my constituents. They were burned out of their house. They need help. If the member doesn’t help, he doesn’t deserve to be the member.”
“Imagine how much help you could give them if you were premier.”
“The job’s not open. We already have a premier and I support her.” Head plucked the A string several times.
“Sounds like a funeral toll. She has the lowest approval rating of any premier in the country. Your party is tanking because of it. The pollsters say you can’t win the next election with her running the show.”
“The only poll that counts is on election day and that’s two years away.”
Sebastian pointed at the open guitar case. “Look, an empty coffin, just waiting for a cabinet minister to fall into it.”
“We have enough time to turn things around,” said the still-breathing cabinet minister.
“Enough time if she were gone,” suggested Sebastian. “The polls say people like you. You’re the popular one. You could win the next election. She can’t. If she doesn’t go soon, you’ll be in opposition purgatory for a decade.”
Distant laughter blended with rattling beer bottles and glasses, while chairs scraped the floor. The discord masked their conversation, but Sebastian moved closer to make certain he wasn’t overheard. “I hear there’s a tape which shows the premier in a very embarrassing situation,” he said in a concealed voice.
Head stopped torqueing a tuning peg. B was still flat, but he laid the guitar back in the case anyway.
“If I had that tape,” continued Sebastian, “I could get rid of your problem in one minute, forty-five seconds.”