by Nic Tatano
Long silence. "You found a story." The emotion was gone from his voice. "In the hotel."
"It's the truth."
"Uh-huh."
Oh, shit. "I'll be back in ten minutes—"
"Don't bother." The line went dead.
***
After a miserable Saturday spent divided between trying to figure out what to do with the story and how to possibly do damage control with Bradley, I needed my friends more than ever. But since I couldn't possibly discuss things in public and risk the chance of someone overhearing, I'd ordered in and invited Layla and Savannah over to my apartment for Sunday brunch.
Along with the one friend in the news business who could look at the situation objectively.
Scott.
And after telling them everything and showing them the videos (the one with the Senator grabbing Bill Recker actually made Scott blush) I was poised to take notes with a legal pad as we all sat on my sectional sofa around the round glass coffee table in the living room. I had drawn a line down the center of the pad, making two columns. Pro and Con. "Okay," I said, clicking my pen. "Layla?"
"Sell the video to a supermarket tabloid for a million bucks?"
"C'mon, be serious," I said.
"Actually not a bad idea," said Savannah. "Gets you off the hook for breaking it."
"Okay," said Layla. "I don't think you should tell your own network about it. From what you and Scott told me about Gavin, he'd probably sit on the tape, have a talk with Recker, put him on notice, and bank on Senator Dixon being President so you'll be in the inner circle at the White House. I'm sure Gavin's future is somehow tied to yours."
"Trust me," said Scott, "he's dying to get that evening producer job. The guy campaigns more than the President."
"Okay, good points," I said. "Savannah?"
"Well, if this were a male politician I would say it wasn't a big deal anymore, since the country's gotten used to that and they even re-elect men who have had affairs. But a woman … that really changes things. There might be a backlash against you … you'd be the girl who kept the first woman President out of the White House."
"I hadn't even thought of that," I said.
"You can't be the one to break the story," she said. "And if we're using my argument about the voters not caring, are we being sexist by telling the world she's cheating? Maybe the story needs to die."
"Those are valid arguments," I said, seeing the biggest scoop of the decade slowly slipping away. Why couldn't the woman cheat with an anchor from another network, dammit? "Okay. Scott?"
"Well, let me ask you a question," he said. "If you were any other reporter, if your future at the network wasn't at risk and there would be no repercussions against you, what would you do?"
"I'd break the story. I wouldn't even hesitate. But I'm not someone else."
"I know that, but take yourself out of the equation and put on your journalism hat. Take yourself back to Mister Hastings' class. What do you do?"
"I break the story."
"You wouldn't let it die?"
I shook my head. "No way. The public needs to know that the Senator isn't what she appears to be, even if half of them don't care about affairs anymore. It's not about killing her campaign, but getting the truth out. If they still want to elect her after that, at least I've done the right thing."
"Okay, so that's settled. The story needs to get out. But, as your friends have pointed out, you can't be the one to break it. I agree. That would be career suicide, even though you'd be doing the right thing. Trust me on this one, I know these people at the network. And Savannah's right about women being pissed at you. You might find yourself a pariah and out of the business."
That last part hit me like a shot to the soul. "Which leaves me back where we started."
Scott shook his head. "No, it leaves you with one option, and only one option. You have to give the story to another reporter."
I bit my lower lip and felt my eyes well up. This was the kind of story reporters dream of, and I was going to give it away? No!!! This cannot be happening. "I … uh … "
"And you can't give it to another network and help the competition," said Scott. "It has to be someone in print, and a paper without a relationship with a broadcasting company."
"But it's video," I said. "It has to be a TV person."
"No, he's right!" said Layla. "The story about Dexter carrying you home broke in a newspaper and it came from a piece of video. The paper uploaded the clips on the website. Veronica, it works!"
"Okay, so who do I give it to?"
Suddenly Savannah sat up straight. "Guys, you're all missing the obvious! You don't give it to a print journalist."
"Well," said Scott, "we can't give it to a television reporter. And it's useless on radio."
“You don’t have to give it to another reporter. You give it to the other political party and let them leak it. And I know just the person who’ll kill to get it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
With Savannah off on a political mission I was free to take care of problem number two: patching things up with Bradley. He still wouldn't take my calls yesterday and wasn't at the hotel when I dropped by so I decided to hit the practice studio before it officially opened to the contestants. I knew he always got there an hour before I did to warm up and do Pilates, and the cameras wouldn't be rolling at that time because the crew didn't report in till later. Though I wasn't serious about the guy what I did was unforgivable, even if my original motivation was to simply top my sister.
So it didn't surprise me that I was greeted by an icy glare and a sarcastic comment when I arrived.
"Why don't you go out for some ice before we get started. Might find a big story."
I moved toward him quickly. "Bradley, please let me explain—"
He put up his hand. "Nothing to explain. I spent two hundred bucks on room service lobsters and champagne, you got me all worked up with your French maid routine and then you took off. I thought something bad had happened to you. You didn't even answer your damn phone."
"It was set on vibrate."
"How convenient."
"Bradley, I really did find a story. I'm not making this up."
"So what's this big story you found that was so important you forgot about me?"
Oh, shit. "I, uh, can't tell you."
"Again, how convenient."
I shook my head as I realized I was fighting a losing battle. "Well, I guess there's nothing I can say since you're obviously in no mood to accept an apology."
That seemed to strike a nerve. He quickly moved toward me, eyes filled with rage. It actually scared me so I backed up. He kept coming and I eventually backed into the wall. He closed in on me, grabbed my arms and started yelling. "So you just thought you could march in here with that bullshit excuse and all would be forgiven? Did you really believe I'm that stupid?" His face was inches away.
"Bradley, calm down—"
"Well, excuse the hell out of me for being pissed off!" His grip tightened on my arms.
Now I was really scared. "You're hurting me!"
He didn't let go.
"Get your bloody hands off her!"
We both turned our heads as Dexter barged into the room carrying a stack of newspapers. Bradley gave me a shove against the wall in the process of letting go. "This has nothing to do with you, Dexter," he said.
Dexter moved closer, placing his body between me and Bradley. He dropped the papers and folded his arms. I wrapped mine around my waist, as I was shaking.
One paper landed with its front page facing up, and the headline made my adrenaline spike even higher.
DANCE OFF PATERNITY SUIT SCANDAL!
"Get out," said Dexter. "You've embarrassed the show."
Bradley took a look at the newspaper. "What? That? C'mon, Dexter, I would think that kind of publicity would be a ratings bonanza."
"Dance Off is a family show, and there's no place for that kind of behavior."
Something from J
ournalism 101 told me the headline had something to do with Bradley. "Guys, what are you talking about?"
Dexter bent down, grabbed the top newspaper and handed it to me, keeping his eyes on Bradley. "Read it."
I flipped the front page and saw a shot of Bradley and me on the dance floor. "I'm not pregnant!"
"It's not about you," said Dexter. "Read it out loud."
"Okay," I said, the paper shaking as I started to read. "The horizontal mambo is not one of the featured routines on Dance Off, but professional partner Bradley Hart may find he can't tap dance his way out of a paternity suit. Filed Friday in Manhattan, the lawsuit contends Hart is the father of an unborn child. The plaintiff, Selina Summer—" I dropped the paper and whipped my head up at Bradley. "You knocked up my sister?"
"Veronica, you can't file a paternity suit until a child is born—"
"That's your explanation? When the hell did you sleep with Selina?"
"I didn't exactly sleep with her the first time. The, uh, massage therapy got a little out of hand."
Curses, she beat me again!
Meanwhile, I came this close to sleeping with someone who'd been with Selina … and needing a bucket of penicillin.
"Clean out your locker and get out," said Dexter. "You're sacked."
"I'm what?" asked Bradley.
"It means you're fired. Out. Now."
Bradley moved closer. "You're actually serious? You're going to fire me in the middle of the season? This thing will blow over in a few days."
Dexter glared at him, said nothing and pointed toward the locker room.
"Fine," said Bradley. "I'm sure you weren't going to let me cash a bonus anyway."
"Excuse me?" said Dexter.
"Oh, don't give me that. You've been sticking me with loser partners since the show started. Then just when I think you've done me a favor with someone who can actually dance, it turns out I get stuck with a lying cock-teasing bitch."
Before I had a chance to say something, Dexter's hand balled into a fist and he swung, catching Bradley square on the jaw. Bradley fell back and landed on his ass. He grabbed his jaw, looked at his hand, saw blood, got up and charged at Dexter, ramming his shoulders into Dexter's stomach. I backed out of the way in the nick of time as they both slammed into the floor-to-ceiling mirror, shattering it and scattering shards of glass everywhere. They got up and started trading punches.
For the first time in my life I was paralyzed by what was happening in front of me. Finally I yelled. "Stop it!"
And, like typical men, they didn't hear me.
The barroom brawl went on for another minute, with both men landing punches to the face. Finally Dexter connected big time, nailing Bradley square in the nose. He went down in a heap and didn't get up.
Both men were bloodied and out of breath.
"Now get out," said Dexter, doubled over, breathing hard, resting his hands on his knees.
Bradley said nothing, managed to get up and staggered into the dressing room.
Dexter turned to look at me, blood dripping down his forehead, lower lip twice its normal size. "Are you all right?"
"Me? We need to get you to the emergency room."
He shook his head. "I'm fine."
"Fine, my ass. You're going."
"Stop trying to lead."
"This time you're the one being stubborn." I moved forward and took his arm. "C'mon, I'll take you."
"No. Nothing's broken and the last thing I need right now is more bad publicity for the show. I just need to clean up and go home before the crew gets here."
Bradley was already gone when I returned to the locker room with a bag of ice from the break room. Ironic, huh? I ended up going out for ice anyway. Dexter was sitting on the long wooden bench in front of the row of red lockers, bare-chested, having thrown his bloody shirt in the trash. Some bruises were already visible on his chest, he was surely going to get a black eye, and the lower lip had swollen even more.
"Put this on your lip," I said, handing him the ice bag.
"Thank you," he said softly.
I grabbed a washcloth, ran some cold water on it and sat next to him, then gently began to dab the blood from his face and scalp. "You look awful."
"You should see the other guy," he said. "It doesn't hurt as much when you win."
"Yeah, right. What the hell were you thinking?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you fired him and all, why did you have to start an actual fistfight?"
"Veronica, where I was raised a gentleman doesn't insult a lady like that."
"I kinda had it coming." He furrowed his brow. "Long story that I don't wish to repeat."
"Regardless, what he called you was inexcusable."
I continued to wash away the blood, which kept coming. "What, you were defending my honor like some medieval knight?"
"I'm sure Manhattan has laws against jousting."
"Well, anyway, I'm glad you came in when you did. I was afraid he was going to hurt me."
Dexter nodded toward one of my arms. "It appears that he did."
I looked and saw a dark welt forming where he had grabbed me. In all the commotion I hadn't noticed it. And I had a matching welt on my other arm as well. "Wow." I went back to washing his face, then grabbed a first aid kid and put a few band-aids on the cuts as the blood flow finally stopped. "I think you're as cleaned up as you're gonna be. But you need stitches."
"Thank you. Would you be so kind as to go down to wardrobe and get one of my shirts?"
"Sure, Dexter. But you'll need an hour with the makeup artist before you can go on TV tonight."
"We're pre-empted tonight. Remember? Your President is speaking. I'm going home."
"Well, you've still gotta get out of the building. And people are going to notice your face."
Fortunately there's that daily soap opera produced in our building, so after picking up a shirt for Dexter I stopped by that studio and borrowed a fake beard from their makeup artist, telling her I needed it for a practical joke. Then I swung by my desk and grabbed a Mets baseball cap.
Dexter was lying stretched out on the bench when I returned, obviously not feeling well. He raised his head a bit as I sat next to him.
"Okay, got you a clean shirt and a disguise to get you home."
He smiled as he saw the fake beard. "You really think this will work?"
"Hey, all we've got to do is get you in a cab and into your building. I already ordered a taxi to do a pickup at the back door."
"You're very resourceful. I can see why you're such a successful presenter."
"A what?"
"Oh, that's what we call news anchors in the UK."
He put on the shirt and disguise, stood up, staggered a bit and steadied himself against the wall. I moved toward him and wrapped my arm around his waist. "Lean on me."
"I'm fine."
"Bullshit, you're about to fall over. I'm not some ninety pound waif, you can lean on me."
He exhaled, apparently realizing that arguing with me was a losing proposition. He put one arm around my shoulders and leaned on me as we headed for the back door. A few minutes later a cab rolled up. Dexter was unrecognizable with the hat, glasses and beard.
"Thank you, Veronica," he said, grimacing in obvious pain as he reached for the door to the cab.
"Don't talk, your voice is very recognizable."
"Good point."
I told the cabbie the address and paid him in advance with cash. Dexter smiled at me as I shut the door.
And as the cab pulled away, I knew damn well that wasn't enough.
***
Savannah was speechless at lunch for the first time since I'd known her. Between the main event featuring Dexter and Bradley and the undercard featuring my dance partner knocking up my sister, she sat there transfixed as I recapped the morning's events.
Finally I finished and the sphinx spoke. "Wow. How romantic."
"Romantic? The guy I almost slept with nailed my sister and you c
all that romantic?"
She shook her head. "Not that part, silly. The fact that a man defended your reputation. That's some serious old fashioned chivalry y'all saw today."
"Well, fiddle-dee-dee, there's no romance involved and we're not going to the cotillion. Dexter obviously is very protective of women, that's all."
"Sure. Y'all can spin it anyway you like."
"Hey, you're the one dating him. You get the romance, not me."
"You know, for such a smart girl you're sometimes clueless. Anyway, I already have news on that little video project I'm working on."
I looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. "Do tell."
"I'm using an intermediary to make the deal, but it will probably happen within a day or two. The buyer wants to check the tape and make sure it hasn't been doctored. For that kind of money, they want to be sure."
I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Money? You're selling it? I can't have any paper trail that gets me money for this."
"Of course not. The deal is that the buyer will make a sizable anonymous donation to a certain charity you feel strongly about."
I relaxed. "Wow, that's a great idea. You come up with that?"
"Of course. I also came up with the price tag. The other part of the deal is that it will be released on Saturday night, so all the Sunday morning political shows will have it. It gives your network twenty-four hours to deal with it before you have to go on the air."
"Damn, Savannah, you're brilliant. I hadn't even thought of that."
"I didn't want you to be the person reporting the breaking news on the person you're going to replace."
"Sounds like everything is in motion. Meanwhile, you might want to check in on your boyfriend this afternoon. I'm sure he could use a little TLC. I thought we could go by the deli and get him some goodies."
“Great idea, but you’re the one he saved. You should be the one to drop by.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
So after a stop at a seriously decadent deli, dropping a hundred bucks on all sorts of exotic treats, and trying unsuccessfully to talk Savannah into being the delivery girl, I was headed up to Dexter's apartment. He sounded surprised on the intercom when the doorman announced my arrival but said to send me right up. I still felt like I was cheating on Savannah, but she was the one who told me to do this and I had no intention of stealing a man from a good friend. Not that I was interested in Dexter anyway.