by G L Rockey
“So much for the family of man.”
“Thought it was persons … that was a red light you just went through.”
First thing I noticed upon entering Broadcast House was a quiet somberness. Sago did too. It started in the lobby with Marcie, teary eyed, shaking her head, talking to somebody on the phone, avoiding my eyes. Then, like haunted house eeriness, the mood progressed down the hallway past production control to the news room where I noticed heads down, a quick sick look, little eye contact. Sago went into the newsroom. I went to my office and found a note from Joy:
Jack, gone with Judy, will be in tomorrow. See P.J. for details. God is good.
Joy
I got a mug of coffee, took Otis to the second floor and at Berry's office confirmed Joy's message—Judy was not at her desk. Berry's door closed, I moved on to P.J.'s area. She sat behind her desk, staring at her typewriter. Joe's door closed, I asked P.J. what was going on.
She bit her lip. “Jack … Jay Speaker … he … he….” She began to weep.
I knew it like you know things, from deep in the primal recesses of whatever it is in our human consciousness that starts thought that becomes words. I pinched my wrist … real-time.
P.J. said, “He ….” She couldn't get it out. She put a tissue to her mouth.
I felt a sinking feeling as water into sand.
P.J. recounted the details. Jay's neighbor had heard a gunshot, called the apartment manager….
I didn't need any more but she went on, “…the apartment manager found … manager called the police … police called the station for Berry … Judy got Joy … they went to Jay's apartment.”
Just then Joe opened his door and came out of his office dog-faced. He said, “Fuck.”
I said, “You could say that, big guy.”
“Watch it.”
“Fuck you.”
Berry walked out, blotchy white. “What did you say to Speaker, Carr, make him do a thing like that?”
I wanted to kiss Berry on the lips, but I felt I might hurt him badly.
Berry asked Joe and me to step to his office. His immediate concern was the station, adverse publicity in the press, the pending sale to S&W, and ways to position his response to the staff, the community, the media.
I touched my wrist, felt my pulse, looked at my shoes; yep, still here, standing in it, up to my fucking tree eyeballs.
Joe suggested, first things first, Berry should have a quick meeting of the staff in fifteen minutes.
P.J. made the announcement over the P.A. system.
I entered Studio A. Fifty or so employees had gathered. Some wept, others stood in silence. I stayed in the back with Bobbi. Joe stood by himself close to the door.
Berry, stern faced, walked to a podium that had been set up and made the announcement: “Folks, I don't know how to say this, most of you know, Jay Speaker blew his brains out today.”
I glanced at Bobbi, “He has such a way with two plus two.”
Berry wiped his lips. “Ah, most of you didn't know, Jay had been unstable for some time and we were worried, were considering giving him a little time off, and, ah, there were some other problems with his personal life. You all go back to work now and we'll keep you posted as to funeral arrangements and such. The station will be sending flowers … thank you, all. Go on back to work now. Thank you.”
As he left the studio, he nodded to Joe, Bobbi, and me to follow.
I stayed, thinking, funny how an ending, especially this kind, jumbles time in your mind, brings people together for a brief time like they've known each other forever and it could have been them.
Going to my office all I could think was pig. All I could whisper was “Pig.” All I could say was “Pig.” All I could see was pig. All I could smell was pig. I left a ‘gone’ note for Joy, walked to the parking lot where I vomited pig beside Winston, got in thinking, pig, backed out saying “Pig.”
Winston and I headed back to the Coney Island. Half way there, I called Sago on my two-way. He was going over to Jay's apartment. He would meet me a little later. I thought of Gillian.
* * *
Back at The Coney Island, I opened the screen door and let it slap shut behind me.
Charley said, “Hey, Jack, ya just left.”
“I need more forgiveness.”
I assumed a back booth and, as I conjugated past, present, and future tense, I felt the air from the oscillating fan gently sweep the back of my head. Felt good. I could see a fly buzzing around trying to go somewhere and I wondered if it might be that scientist that botched up his trip in The Fly. The lime smell from the toilet, strong, helped the thought.
At the Coney for a half hour, after that heavy lunch, I sipped a double Jack Daniels on the rocks and with a pretty good load on, noticed Sago come in the front door looking, in a quiet way, like he might want to hurt somebody. He walked over to my booth and slid in. Charlie came over, Sago ordered a shot of VO and a Heineken and we didn't talk.
Time passed and I was thinking about a lot of things, but in between all the things, up popped Gillian always Gillian.
After saying nothing for a good time, reality still there like the bitch that it is, I said, “You think it's better to die young?”
Sago said, “One thing we know for sure, Kemosabe, you don't have to worry about it.”
“I love you Sago.”
“I love you too.”
“What time is it?”
“Who gives a shit.” Sago looked at me, his eyes focused slowly. “You believe there's a God?”
“You?”
“What about Lucifer?”
“Talk to him daily.”
“That settles it.” Sago sipped beer. “You see a porch light on in the daytime … it's different.”
“What's that mean?”
“Jay's porch light was on.”
I lit a cigarette and swallowed the smoke and hated hate and hated myself for being part of the hate.
“Judy said they were planning to get married.”
“Well, now they're not.”
Sago drained the last of his beer.
I yelled at Charley who was yakking with some gentlemen at the bar. “Hey Charley!”
Charley waved me off.
Sago lit one of my Salems and dragged it.
“I didn't know you smoked?”
Sago said, “Tell me everything happens for a reason.”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“You believe that?”
“It's your line.”
“I believe it.”
“Why are we here?”
“Did you ask to be here?”
“Blah blah blah,” I looked at Charley. “Hey Charley, I'm gonna take my patronage elsewhere!”
Approaching, Charley said. “Now what's the problem over here.”
“Charley. The service in this place stinks. I wanna talk to the management.”
“Hurry up, I'm telling a story.” Charley said.
“Tell us.”
“Some other time, gotta start from the beginning.”
“Don't we all? Give us another round. Another round times two, give those knights at the bar a round too. Merry-go-round. Give 'em two.”
Charley shook his head and left.
I felt Salem's embers close to my fingers.
Sago slid out of the booth. “I'm going to The Berry, run up a tab, walk out, break some windows.”
“You have a drink coming.”
“I'm going.”
“Take a cab.”
“You take a cab.” Sago looked down at me. “Jay left a note.”
“Good, super, the proper thing to do, gotta leave a note, people expect a note, society demands a note.”
“Judy has it … drive careful.”
PART FIVE
CHAPTER 1
A week later
Jack’s Time
Saturday morning, a string of dead days planted in the bone yard, after a Denny's breakfast, I went in to my
office, made a pot of coffee, pushed back and conjugated—like a sailing ship stuck in some ocean's doldrums, anticipating a puff of wind or a dove with a little bit of leaf stuck in its beak, to send said ship sailing home, summer had become a slow neurotic waiting. Then there were yesterdays that seemed like prehistoric events distorted through the prism of real time. For instance there was the yesterday when Judy (she resigned) returned to TV12 to clean out her desk. She came to my office. She had made a copy of Jay's note, a poem actually, he had written, said she thought I might want to keep it, she was sure Jay would want me to read it. I took it out of my top drawer and reread it:
Touch the creation outstretched index,
Grasp the brush prehensile thumb,
Dead pigment of the marauding years.
Sweating plaster of a Sistine Chapel.
Reaching out,
Creation of Man,
Michelangelo or God?
(Today I'll know)
I remember thinking, maybe, maybe not. And still do.
* * *
Otherwise, around TV12, it seemed yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows were all thrown together in a distilled expectation of uncertainty. Routine events erupted in spots of turmoil like an ancient volcano awakened to a former life. My staff, over mistakes that, before, would not have been tolerated, laughed. Minor details, like a missing coffee cup, ended in a broken nose. Peggy arrived at the station pretty much stoned and only seconds before airtime. The taping of her hour prime time show was like watching turtles mate.
Capping everything, like cockroaches in a summer sewer, rumors about The Berry Inn’s cash flow problems, food vendors shutting off deliveries, whispers of bankruptcy filings, were talked about openly. Add to that the selling of TV12 to S&W and Broadcast House was a zoo.
I looked up, Sago entered my office. I said, “It's Saturday, what are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I know.”
He had another Greta video of Berry. Assuming it was of Berry and Peggy, I told him, like all porn, once you've seen one you can figure out the plot, and, since I didn't have the stomach for more plots, to just tell me what was on it.
Sago assured me this was a different kind of porn.
I said, “Are you sure you just can't tell me?”
Sago, flash drive in hand, said, “You gotta see this.”
“Okay.”
Sago popped the drive in my TV, pressed on, took a seat, the video played, and we watched and listened.
Berry: (Sits at his office desk, coat off, white shirt, tie loosened, a cocktail glass in one hand)
Bobbi: (Enters and sits in the chair beside Berry's desk)
Berry: We got a problem.
Bobbi: What's that?
Berry: Peggy … S&W execs insist she has to go.
Bobbi: (Pauses) Definitely a problem.
Berry: Spill her guts all over town, Snakebite deal, newspapers, everything.
Bobbi: Can't let that happen.
Berry: One way or another, it won't happen (Pauses). But I think I can convince S&W to keep her on, all we need is a little time.
Bobbi: (Raises an eyebrow) S&W people still coming in Monday?
Berry: Bright and early (Wipes neck with a towel, leans back in chair). Lead down the garden path, Bobbi, Carr screwed Peggy up good, Galbo too, harassing Luther. Both genius morons (Shakes his head). How's business?
Bobbi: Easter Sunday whore house slow.
Berry: That's that damn Galbo, wearing too many hats … how's The Berry looking?
Bobbi: Negative cash flow, around $25,000 a week.
Berry: That can't be.
Bobbi: I think so.
Berry: I need a vacation. Soon as S&W guys leave.
Bobbi: I think so. Take your wife, go someplace different, out of town for a couple weeks.
Berry: Yeah (Folds arms). S&W is hedging on my five year contract, want a year to year… they can pound salt. I'm gonna insist on five years. You'll be safe too, get The Berry Inn cranking, make a run for Governor … that last's just between you and me.
Bobbi: My lips are sealed.
Berry (Taps fingers on desk top): Peel the onion one layer at a time … after the S&W sale, how much you figure we'll clear?
Bobbi: Not much.
Berry: Why’s that?
Bobbi: The Berry, still owe the architects, contractors, loans.
Berry: We'll get that fixed, Bobbi, I have a feeling Lady Luck is on the way, soon as I get back from vacation.
The video ran out and I looked at Sago. “Amazing world we live in, Sago.”
“And video makes it all so real.”
“One day, someday, we're going to have to do this again, until we get it right.”
“Somebody said that.”
“Wanta’ go get a drink?”
“No, I have to meet Whitney.”
“Be that way.”
CHAPTER 2
Real Time
Monday, June 10
9:10:00 A.M. CDT
Berry met the executives from S&W Broadcasting—two men and one woman—at the airport. The S&W men wore wire-rimmed glasses, gray suits, white shirts, shades of yellow ties, and black shoestring shoes. The woman wore similar wire-rimmed glasses, a blue suit, white shirt, gray tie, and black pumps.
Arrived at TV12, Berry and the executives, seated around Berry's coffee table; a discussion occurred: when the FCC gave final approval of S&W's purchase, appeared to be sometime in August, Berry would stay on but with no contract. No further discussion about it. Also, Peggy Moore definitely had to go. Berry offered that they should give her through the November ratings. The executives said no, she had to go. It would look better for Berry if she went immediately rather than later.
They chatted and Berry invited them to The Berry for lunch.
* * *
Late that afternoon, the S&W executives deposited at the airport, at his office desk, Berry called Big Joe to his office.
He explained that he was leaving for a two-week European vacation. He told Joe, Peggy had to go; he would not be in beginning tomorrow, tell her then. He told him to have Jack rotate other weather people. When he got back they would find out what S&W wanted to do for Peggy's permanent replacement. Berry added that he had never signed her to a non-compete contract, so don't worry. Joe said he wasn't worried.
Berry said he would be back for the annual summer picnic and, dismissing Joe, told him to, if the newspapers called about the change, “Simply say it’s due to new ownership.”
When Joe left, Berry pressed Snakebite's private number.
Snakebite answered, “Walker.”
Berry said, “Snakebite, Berry, we need to talk.”
“Bout what asshole?”
“I'll be over.”
Snakebite said, “Lucky me,” and hung up.
* * *
Snakebite sat at Felix The Cat's bar. He sipped rum and Coke, smoked a Marlboro 100, and watched Angelo talk to a couple Kittens. Out of the corner of his eye, through his sunglasses, he saw Berry coming down The Haute Cuisine stairway.
“Lucky me,” he mumbled.
After a cool greeting, Snakebite joined Berry at a booth in the back corner. Snakebite crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray, “Why are you here, asshole?”
Berry paused, then said, “I'm selling TV12.”
“This is not news.”
“How'd you know?”
“How'd I know.”
Berry took an envelope from his inside coat pocket and handed it to Snakebite.
Snakebite looked inside and did a quick count. Five thousand dollar bills. “What's this, my tip?” He threw the envelope in Berry's face. “Keep the change.”
Berry pushed the envelope back and wiped his lips. “Snakebite, there's a problem.”
“I got no problems.”
“The new owners of TV12, S&W, they're serious newspaper people.”
“What's that mean?”
“News purists, news
paper background, I don't think we're gonna be able to keep Peggy on the weather. They want a meteorologist … Peggy off the air, her show, everything … out.”
“Yous got a problem, prick.”
“Snakebite, I don't have an option.”
“Better have my cash then, all of it.”
“Snakebite, I'm asking you for a favor.”
“I don't do favors. Cash talks.”
Berry said, “After I get the new owners settled in, maybe we could start up another show with her, you know, trade deal….”
“I don't want no more fucking trade deals with nobody.”
“I been talking to my accountant, after everything, the sell, paying off some contractors … I gonna need a little time.”
“Guess again fat boy.”
“It's not that easy.”
“Cash is easy, you count one, two, three … ask your bean counter.”
Berry said, “I'm short of cash.”
“Thought you was selling out, that TV dump oughta’ be worth a ton.”
“I have some other, ah, obligations.”
“What, that Berry Inn la bomba?”
“That's your opinion.”
“That's not an opinion prick, ‘at's a fact, all over town.”
“We got another problem.” Berry said.
“I keep telling you fat head, I got no problems.”
Berry said, “I think maybe we do. When we let Peggy go, she might, you know, blab.”
“Blab what?”
“Our little trade arrangement, action gets in the news, everything gets fouled up.”
“She won't, she's my woman.”
Berry wiped some sweat from his brow with a napkin, then said, “You know about Peggy and Carr?”
“That Irish prick, when you gonna fire him?”
“Peggy said she needed him to produce her new prime time show….”
“That’s kind a, how them layer pricks say, nolo something, now ain't it, she being canned, ain’t no more shows.” Snakebite lit a Marlboro, blew smoke in Berry's face, tapped his Marlboro on the ashtray edge, chewed his lower lip, then asked, “What about Peggy and Carr?”