The Winter Olympics
by
Dan Luther
"Oww!" hissed Jeremy, quickly pulling his arm away from his erstwhile
attacker.
"Two for flinching!" Natalie half giggled, half squealed, and executed two
quick, hard jabs to Jeremy's already wounded arm.
"Natalie, cut it out!" he said, massaging his shoulder. "Look, you've made
me drop my Scientific American again, and I really want to finish this article
on quantum string theory before we get started here!"
Natalie quickly leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Does
that make my strong, handsome man feel better?" she said in a dramatic
baby-talk voice that only an overly cute female can articulate. Natalie was
completely ecstatic, posessing all the giddy anticipation of a child going to
Disneyland for the first time. Her previous disappointment with Sydney seemed
to melt away with her new assignment as Executive Producer for the extended
on-site winter olympic coverage, but she just couldn't find it in herself to
*act* like an Executive Producer -- whatever they acted like.
"Well, maybe a little," he sighed. "You know I really hate to fly, and you
agitating me certainly isn't helping!" he said, picking up the magazine he
dropped.
"Do I need to call travel and have them book another flight for one of
you?" Sally Sasser was a tall woman by anyone's standard. An all-star
basketball player in college, she was also a strikingly beautiful woman, which
had no small part in determining her new assignment -- complete coverage of
the US Olympic team, from the training facility in upstate New York to the
medal awards ceremonies in Salt Lake City. Sally was the on-air commentator,
and while she knew she was being exploited solely based on her appearance, she
knew this could be *the* launch pad her career. That is, if she 'played ball'.
The new job had its drawbacks, and she went to great lengths to point out each
and every one to anyone who made the mistake of listening. But quickly adapted
to her new responsibilities, and she relished being back in the spotlight.
"No." Jeremy and Natalie intoned together, hanging their heads like two
small children being scolded by their mother.
"Good then... okay." said Sally as she turned around. She wasn't sure what to
make of these two. She knew they didn't share the single hotel room out of the
altruistic need to save money, and she supposed there was just a twinge
of jealousy for the way Natalie was so overtly affectionate with the Goodwin
fellow.
Gate number 5 was larger than most other gates at LaGuardia International
Airport, with good reason. With over three hundred athletes, trainers,
coaches, assistants, family members, and friends waiting for the specially
chartered American Airlines flight, this was the gate where any large
entourage could assemble and embark upon any flight to almost anywhere in the
world, and it served that purpose particularly well. Brightly decorated in
red, white, and blue streamers with the gold olympic insignia, it seemed to
Jeremy that everything was specially decorated in the colors of the American
flag, with only the olympic symbol to provide an occasional golden
counterpoint. It was a scene of highly organized, yet highly patriotic chaos.
The flash of cameras and the whirring of small camera motors advancing film,
combined with the cacophony of people talking to each other, talking on cell
phones, talking seemingly to hear themselves talk, had left Jeremy with a
throbbing headache and a foul mood, and a both were ruining his plans for
later. It was now less than an hour before the plane was due to depart, and he
knew that the already frenetic charge in the atmosphere would soon reach a
fevered pitch as friends bade farewells and well wishes. Jeremy didn't like to
fly, and he didn't care how many people knew it. Acrophobia and claustrophobia
did not mix well for an extended flight, and he knew it. If there was a
phobia, Jeremy probably had it at one time or other in his life, and if not,
he would probably get it soon.
The two Zoloft he took an hour earlier didn't seem to be having any effect
on him, so he stood up to take a couple more. "I'm going to get a drink of
water. Do you want me to get you a Dr. Pepper or anything?"
"No sweety, but thanks for asking, you hunk-a hunk-a burnin' luuuuuv"
Natalie cooed looking up at him.
"I'll have a Sprite, thank you." Said sally, opening up her purse to fish out
a dollar bill.
"Okay -- Be right back."
Jeremy took the bill from Sally and strode down the long terminal, reaching
into his pocket for the small plastic bottle containing a variety of pain and
anxiety medications he packed specially for this trip. As he stopped in front
of the water fountain, he opened the bottle and shook out two white Zoloft
capsules and three Alleve caplets. His mind vacillated between thoughts of the
contents of his jacket pocket and the dread of the impending flight, and so
decided to shake out another white Zoloft into his palm. Replacing the lid
with a satisfying 'snap', he put the bottle back into his pocket. He then put
the capsules in his mouth, quickly leaning over to simultaneously push the
button on the side of the water fountain and take a gulp of cold water,
swallowing hard.
Satisfied that none of the pills had gotten stuck in his throat, he reached
down and patted the small form in his jacket pocket. 'Not much to look at' he
thought. It was small. A black velvet cube of roughly two inches. How
something so small could change so many things was a marvel to Jeremy, who
understood a great many things indeed.
- - -
The elevator doors opened, allowing Dan Rydell and Casey McCall to get off.
Walking side by side with the smooth rhythm and pace that only a pair of
lifelong friends can develop over a period of years, Casey never took his eyes
off his destination as he asked "So, how'd it go last night?"
"What do you mean?"
"You went out last night."
"Yes."
"You went out last night with someone."
"Yes."
"You went out last night with a female."
"Yes."
Casey opened the door to the bullpen for Dan.
"You went out last night with a female that you just so happen to work
with."
"Yes."
"Do you see a pattern developing here, Einstein?"
"Casey, what exactly do you want to know?" Dan finally turned to address Casey
in front of the door to the office they shared. He opened the door outwards and
held it for Casey, never averting his attention.
"So let me get this straight," Casey said as he walked across the room to his
desk and sat down, leaning over and grabbing a Nerf football from the cabinet
next to the desk. "I wait up for you all that time -- time I could have been
drinking a big blue margarita night at 'El Perro Fumundo' -- and suddenly
you've got 'Other Plans'." Casey tossed the ball up with one hand, making a
high arc near the ceiling, catching it in the other hand. "'Go with God' I
say. Yet this morning you tell me that you had a date with a woman you were
convinced was completely insane because she kept insisting that you slept with
her in Spain -- a contention you vehemently denied for years, I might add."
Dan raised his eyebrows and cocked his head slightly "Case, how many times
do I have to apologize for keeping you here. I'm sorry! Really!"
Casey continued "Only here's the thing -- you actually *did* sleep with her in
Spain."
"Yes."
"So?"
Dan moved behind his desk and sat. "So what?"
Casey put the ball down on the desk and threw up his hands. "So how'd it go
last night?!?"
"How'd what go last night?" Dana Whitaker strode into Casey and Dan's office
carrying a clipboard.
"Dan blew me off and went out on a date last night." Casey said.
"Really?" Dana marveled, turning to Dan. "You went out? At three A.M.?"
"Indeed I did." said Dan, smiling.
"You went out with a girl at three A. M.?" Dana quizzed, smiling back.
"Hey, this is Dan Rydell we're talking about!" Dan said, striking an indignant
pose and pulling the pencil from behind his ear.
"That's nice." Dana smiled. "But please don't talk about yourself in the third
person -- it's extremely annoying."
Turning fully to Dana, and with a visage of anticipation, Casey said "Wait
'till you find out who he went out with."
Dan looked up to the ceiling and threw his pencil, firmly lodging it in the
ceiling tile along the many other pencils that met with the same fate above
his desk. "Thanks for not letting that cat out of the bag there, Case."
"Who did you go out with, Dan?" quizzed Dana.
"Bobbi Bernstein" intoned Casey.
"Bobbi Bernstein?!" exclaimed Dana. "I thought that you thought she was
insane!"
"Well, let's just say that now, she's just crazy about me." said Dan,
leaning back in his chair.
Dana opened her mouth to say something, paused, closed her mouth, looked down
and shook her head. "I don't have time for this right now. I need you both in
the conference room in ten minutes for the final rundown."
"We're there." Dan and Casey said together.
Dana strode out mumbling under her breath.
Standing up, Casey asked "So, how did it go last night?"
Dan stood up and took another pencil from the holder on his desk. "Do you
remember when I told you that as it turns out, I actually *did* sleep with her
in Spain?" Dan half asked, half stated as he started for the door.
"Yes..." Casey agreed.
"Well," Dan paused and smiled. "As it turns out, I slept with her in New York
as well."
- - -
Thomas Paine was unlike any other field video operators Sally had ever worked
with, which was a considerable number. First, there was his name -- Thomas
Paine. Immediately, and sight unseen, the name evoked a feeling of culture and
sophistication. Then, there was his voice; a deep, resonating baritone, with
a perfectly inflected british accent, which added another layer of culture and
sophistication. Then there was his appearance -- handsome by anyone's
standards: chiseled jaw, jet black hair with just a slight hint of grey at the
edges, striking blue eyes that seemed to dance with a youthful abandon, yet
drawing attention away from the slight lines at the corners that could only
come from a lifetime of easy smiles. He stood six feet tall if he stood an
inch, but he always seemed much taller to Sally. 'Larger than life' was
Sally's estimation.
Then there was the way he dressed. Most "video technicians" (as they liked to
call themselves,) at least all the ones Sally had ever even seen, pretty much
stuck to the same dress code as though it were a uniform requirement from the
union -- white sneakers (that's what color they started out in life) -- faded
carpenter jeans with oversized pockets and a variety of holes in seemingly
random places; sports bar logo emblazoned on a tee-shirt that had long ago
abandoned hope of ever seeing the inside of a washing machine; a tan vest
with more stains than pockets; and a baseball cap which more often than not
was an advertisement for some far-flung strip club. Not so with Thomas Paine.
Thomas was always immaculately dressed. From his perfectly shined black Oxford
shoes, his neatly pressed Brooks Brothers dark grey twill trousers and shiny
shoe-matching black belt, his dazzlingly white and perfectly starched and
pressed Ralph Lauren Pinpoint shirt, and Murano silk tie. None of which ever
bore even a the slightest hint of discoloration.
All field cameramen, in Sally's estimation, also had a one-track mind, which
always evidenced itself by the way their eyes rarely rose above Sally's neck.
She supposed that if she were to be able to see behind her, their eyes
wouldn't make it above her waistline, either. While Sally tolerated this
behavior because that's what women do, she supposed that if she really though
about it for any length of time, she would despised being treated like a pair
of tits with a woman attached. Thomas was definitely different in that
respect. He always looked Sally's directly in the eye when addressing her, and
always smiled, revealing a perfect set of teeth; always shook her hand, and
asked how her day was or some other in that perfect british baritone voice.
Sally strode over to Thomas, who was busily unpacking a bulky Nakamichi
video camera. "How's the setup coming, Thomas?"
"We'll be right ready for you, Ms. Sasser." Thomas replied with a quick smile.
'God, he called me Miss Sasser' Sally thought. 'I could just eat him up.'
"Do you want to fix your hair? We'll be live in thirty minutes." Thomas quickly
asked, not looking up from his furtive connecting of wires to various plugs on
the camera.
"Why? Is something wrong with my hair?" Sally asked as she reached up to
lightly feel around her head. Since getting the new job of on-air sports
reporter, she'd been wearing her hair longer than when she was a producer.
This suggestion was handed to her in the form of a 'Network Note' early in her
transition. It was a tastefully made suggestion, obviously coming from someone
accustomed to rephrasing statements usually reserved for less casual company.
But she knew the ultimate source of the note. American males, eighteen to
thirty-five years of age -- always respond more readily to a tall, busty blond
with long hair and a short attention span.
Thomas looked up. "You've a few fly-aways that a comb and a quick spritz
wouldn't have too much trouble with." he said as he gracefully stepped
over the mass of cables to the control console.
"They didn't have Sprite." Jeremy stopped behind Sally, holding out a 20 ounce
bottle of 7-Up. "Sorry."
Sally gratefully took the bottle from Jeremy and unscrewed the cap. "It'll do.
Thanks."
Jeremy started to the mini transmit console and paused briefly, looking
back at Sally. "Do you want to fix your hair, Sally? We'll be live soon."
In a single fluid motion, Sally swallowed the 7-Up, brought the bottle down
and replaced the cap. "I'm going, I'm going..." She walked quickly to the row
of seats where Natalie was seated, watching their gear. She picked up her
makeup bag and headed off to the nearest restroom.
Jeremy looked over the small array batteries, LEDs glowing green indicating
a full charge. He picked up the smallest charger and removed a slim silver
cylinder from it, and picked up the black wireless microphone laying on the
console. He unscrewed the bottom of the microphone, inserted the battery, and
screwed the bottom back into place. Holding the microphone in one hand, he
thumbed the small switch to the 'on' position, and with his other adjusted a
slider on the mini console. "Testing, testing -- tick tock" he said into the
microphone, watching a small row of green LEDs rise and fall in sync with
the sound of his voice. "Can you hear me now?" he said, smiling. "Good." 'Okay
-- mic's up' he thought. Still holding the microphone in the same hand, he
thumbed the switch off and laid it back down on the console.
Turning his attention to Thomas, who was now placing strips of duct tape to
the power cords over the carpet, he said "I think she really likes you."
"Really?" Thomas stopped taping cables and looked up at Jeremy. "I hadn't
noticed."
"Well, then you're the only one." Jeremy laughed. "I'm probably the densest
guy about these things, and I can see it pretty plainly." Jeremy continued.
"Why don't you ask her out?"
"Maybe I will. Maybe, when we get to Salt Lake, I'll ask her out for a nice
meal -- maybe drinks at the hotel."
The Zoloft and the aspirin had finally begun to do their work. Jeremy's mood
was beginning to lift, and the headache was beginning to subside. He took his
glasses off and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger,
noticing that the previously intolerable din was now a slight rush of
background noise. "Well, if you don't, you can bet good money *somebody*
will."
"Well," Thomas returned to the taping job. "Perhaps I will at that. Thanks!"
"Anytime."
Jeremy marveled at Thomas. He was one of the most polite and unassuming camera
crewmen he'd ever worked with. With his easy manner and the impeccable way
he dressed and carried himself, he couldn't have been more out of place
holding a camera than if he were working the snack bar at a bowling alley.
That too presented a good omen for the coming trip. Two weeks on the road are
hard enough without having to deal with some asshole looking down your
girlfriend's blouse every time she was facing, or staring at her ass if she
were turned away. Thomas was a true gentleman, and Jeremy knew the type; he
fancied himself among their dwindling number. 'Takes one to know one' his
father used to constantly say.
It was nearly twenty five minutes to air. There would be a fifteen second
promo, then eleven minutes of wait, one minute of intro, and two two-minute
interviews with Sara Jorgensen and her coach, Marty Ragsdale. Sara was the
favorite to win the gold in the women's freestyle ice-skating, and Sports Night
was carrying a live interview with her *and* her coach before she, and half of
the US winter olympic athletes, boarded a specially chartered Boeing 777 to
Salt Lake City.
Jeremy knew live interviews, even short ones, can be an invitation to
disaster. He would never forget the live interview he line produced the
previous year with Anna Kournikova, who chose that day of all days, to
carelessly wear a rather form-fitting tee-shirt -- and not much else -- into
an extremely well air-conditioned press box at Madison Square Garden. Thomas
was definitely not the camera operator for that doomed interview, which might
have turned out much differently had the cameraman not forgotten he was still
transmitting as he zoomed tightly into Anna Kournikova's erect and plainly
visible left nipple. Jeremy dove for the cutoff switch, but the damage had
already been done. He still gets an occasional e-mail with "Anna Kournikova's
Tits Exposed!!!" in the subject line. It was a defining moment in his life,
one of those turning points we all look back on and point to. Most people in
Jeremy's position would be able to laugh about it a year later, but he still
felt responsible for that fiasco.
Picking up the headset, he positioned it over his ear and adjusted the slender
microphone to a position near his mouth. He plugged it in to the walkie-talkie
unit sitting in one of the charger cradles, clipped to his belt and turned the
unit on. "Frank, how are we doing out there?" Jeremy inquired into the little
headset microphone.
Frank Mitchell was seated in the back of a heavily modified Dodge Ram van
parked in LaGuardia International Airport's terminal. The modifications were
obvious: there was a fifty foot telescoping pole protruding from the middle of
the van, extending skyward with a three foot diameter dish antenna attached to
the top, and a red cable snaking down the length of the pole. "Five by five,
Jer. We've got a solid carrier and no refrac. I'm good to go down here." It
was Frank's job to run the microwave transmitter that would relay the
interview from the terminal to CSC headquarters in lower Manhattan where
Sports Night was produced. Today however, his responsibilities would be just a
bit more, because once the segment was over, he had to rush back into the VIP
terminal, tear down the equipment, and haul it back to the van -- all by
himself.
"Roger that, Frank. We go up in tewnty."
"Ten Four Jer. Talk to you again in fifteen."
"In fifteen" Jeremy agreed. He pulled the microphone up as Natalie approached
him.
"Are we all ready here?" she asked.
"As ready as we'll ever be." replied Jeremy.
"Did you notice if Sara's wearing a tee-shirt? It's kinda cold in here."
Natalie teased.
"Oh ha ha. You're a riot". Jeremy sneered. "Twenty thousand comedians out of
work, and you pick *this* particular moment to try and be funny."
"We do what we can." Natalie's good-natured ribbing came from a genuine place
in her heart, and Jeremy knew it, which is mainly why he tolerated it.
"Well, can you at least stop referring to yourself in the plural, just until
we get to Utah." Jeremy said.
"Okay sweetie," Natalie stepped into Jeremy and put her arms around his waist,
mashing her breasts against his abdomen and wriggled her shoulders. "but the
wonder twins want to come out and play later. What do you think of that?
Hmmm?"
Natalie's ability to efficiently do her job and mix personal -- deeply personal
-- relationships always astounded Jeremy. And her referring to her breasts as
'the wonder twins' as she did on occasion had the reaction she was
anticipating. Much to his chagrin, Jeremy felt the first stirrings in his
groin, and he was sure Natalie felt it as well. If he didn't disentangle
himself from Natalie's grasp soon, he would have an altogether different type
of discomfort to deal with.
"Natalie, cut it ouut!" Jeremy whispered.
"I could do you right now." she said as she released him, turning to Thomas
and instantly becoming a producer again. "How are we doing Tom?"
Thomas was buckling a heavy-looking belt containing twelve three-pound
batteries that would power the Nakamichi video camera. A thirty-six pound
belt makes most men breathe a little hard, but Thomas stoically and
methodically fastened it around his waist. "I'll be better once I can shed
this bloody contraption." he said.
"It'll all be over on forty-five minutes, Thomas." Natalie smiled sweetly.
"Ms. Hurley." Thomas nodded.
Natalie whirled. "It's Natalie. My mother is Miss Hurley. Got it?" she
quipped.
"Indeed. Natalie it is, then." said Thomas.
"Damn right..." Natalie stepped to the console to retrieve her headset.
- - -
"Final rundown, people; Let's MOVE!" Dana yelled into the large office area.
Casey, Dan, and Kim filed into the conference room and took their seats;
Chris, Elliot, and Will were already seated and having an animated
conversation about the new backdrops that were installed the previous week.
Dana followed in and started the meeting before the door closed behind her.
"Okay, give me the top through one. Let's just try to get through
this." Dana arrived at her chair and spread a sheaf of papers on the
table in front of her. "We've got the whip-around with what?"
"Dan's got LaGuardia at twenty." Casey said quickly.
"Casey's got Lambeau at forty two." Dan fired off. Turning to Casey, he said
"You know, I never realized how tall she is."
"Indeed she is a strikingly statuesque woman, Mon Frere." Casey said.
"So who's the 'statuesque' mystery lady?" Kim asked.
"Bobbi Bernstein." Casey replied.
"You have a thing for Bobbi Bernstein?" Kim asked Casey, leaning in
inquisitively.
"No, *I* have a thing for Bobbi Bernstein." interjected Dan.
"I thought that you thought she was insane." said Dave.
"Yeah, what's up with that?" Will intoned.
"Helloooo!" Dana raised her voice. "Tonight is Kim's first solo AP and we've
got a grand total of six live remotes to coordinate a total of twelve
times within a space of one hour, and as of exactly twenty seconds ago, we're
still thirty over in segment nineteen. So, if it's not too much trouble, could
we try to keep our eye on the ball, people? Hmmm?"
Dana Whitaker re-established her role as the leader of the pack, and nobody
even considered debating the point. As always, she was gentle but firm in
her resolution.
Dan picked up two stapled sheets and leaned over to hand them to Dana. "I
rescripted nineteen and took out the Hernandez hook which gave me back about
thirty-five." Dan sat back down and waited for Dana to finish looking over his
revised segment script.
Dana didn't have to look at the script. She instinctively knew that each one
of her charges were consummate professionals, and in Dan's case, that he
always had a pocketful of five second quips he could fire off in his sleep,
and they would be apropos to any situation. However, she read the script
anyway, mentally matching the tempo which Dan would speak to insure that it
would fit into the allotted time. Dana left nothing to chance, and assumed
nothing; she knew that assumption was the mother of all fuck-ups. This was her
job, and she herself was a consummate professional.
"Good then." She finished. Turning to Kim, she handed the pages to her. "Make
sure this is in the TPS."
Kim took the pages from Dana, who didn't let go immediately. "Are you ready
for this?" asked Dana, still holding the sheets and looking directly at Kim.
Kim smiled, took a breath and replied "We'll know soon enough."
With Natalie assuming double duties of Executive Line Producer of all of the
remote winter olympic coverage for the next two weeks, and Jeremy gone as
remote segment producer as well, Dana found herself two assistant studio
producers short, and Kim was ably rising to the task.
The special winter olympic coverage was leaving almost every CSC sports show a
little short-handed. "Late Night Update" -- the show that Bobbi Bernstein
co-anchored with Jarrod Owens -- was an anchor short because Jarrod had been
in Salt Lake City for the last three days, covering the on-site preparations
with the first crew. Things happen occasionally, so it is necessary to rotate
anchoring responsibilities between shows. Early morning hosts fill in for
early evening vacancies, and evening show hosts sub for late show hosts. This
particular time, it was Dan's turn to sub for the later show. And if Dana were
to believe the recent conversations, it appeared that Dan got the better end
of the deal.
"Alright then. Casey, Dan -- get your asses down to makeup. Good show
everybody!" Dana dismissed the group as she stood.
- - -
"Five minutes live." Jeremy said to Natalie. Natalie was standing with Sara
Jorgensen, Marty Ragsdale, and Sally, intently going over the list of questions
one final time before they went on the air. Natalie had explained, in very
clear terms, that this was *live* television, and that there was a short list
of do's and don't's -- don't look directly at the camera lens during the
interview, do look directly at the lens during the intro. Do smile and nod,
don't look around, don't put your hands in your pocket.
"You'll do fine, just be yourselves and smile a lot." Natalie said with her
most winning smile. "Everybody ready?"
Sara and Marty nodded, smiling as Sally led them to the three small 'x' marks
of tape on the floor to mark their positions.
Natalie was now fully steeped in 'production mode', and it was her own personal
rush that no drug could ever hope to compete against. This particular remote
was going to be especially harrowing, because once the interview was over,
they would have less than fifteen minutes before the plane was due to depart,
and that meant fifteen minutes of assholes and elbows to tear down the
cameras, tripods, cords and cases before Frank arrived from the van to take
over. She knew that the four of them would be the last to board the plane, and
would likely delay takeoff by a couple of minutes. Natalie took her place
next to Thomas, and adjusted her headset. "How are we doing, control?" she
said into the attached mouthpiece.
"All good here." she heard Kim's voice in her earpiece. "Are you stoked?"
The three brilliant lights illuminated, allowing the three pairs of eyes to
adjust to the significantly elevated light levels that would be present during
the interview. Thomas hefted the heavy Nakamichi video camera to his shoulder,
thumbing the viewport to the 'on' position and zooming in to frame Sally,
Sara, and Jerry in the crosshairs.
"You know it!" Natalie responded. "Sally, say something nice to Kim, will you
please?" She knew Jeremy had already checked the sound levels of Sally's
wireless microphone, that it was turned on, and had a freshly charged battery.
Sally looked directly into the camera lens that Thomas was holding in a
rock-steady embrace, and raised the microphone to a point just below her
neckline. "How's your first time going, Kim?" Sally smiled at the camera.
Kim's voice came clearly through the miniature plastic earplug that wrapped
inconspicuously around Sally's right ear. "I can die happy now, Sally. Two
minutes live."
Jeremy would be watching the lone small Sony monitor at the remote console.
The small console was the communication center of a remote broadcast,
routing and relaying audio, video, and data signals to and from the microwave
transmitter in the van, and ultimately back to the control center downtown. It
was his responsibility to insure that all the equipment was operating at the
right levels and keep erstwhile passersby out of the field of view. Too much
signal level from a microphone was as bad as too little.
As the time to live air approached, each member of the Sports Night crew heard
the same count issued from the segment coordinator back at the studio.
"Laguardia, standby."
Sally brought the microphone to the exact point as before, the point that
would allow the microphone perfect reception of her voice without blocking
any part of her face or neck.
"In five... four... three... two... one..."
Sally smiled sweetly into the camera. "Thanks, Casey. We're here at LaGuardia
International Airport with US Winter Olympic skater Sara Jorgensen and her
coach, Marty Ragsdale, who are about to embark on a quest for gold in Salt
Lake City. We'll have an exclusive interview with both later in our broadcast.
Back to you, Casey."
And there it was. A fifteen second teaser. Half of the work was now complete.
"Excellent job, people!" Natalie said as she moved to turn off the bright
halogen lights. "Sara, why don't you and Jerry sit over here, maybe get a
quick drink." Motioning to the row of now mostly empty chairs, Natalie
continued "We're back in fifteen minutes for the interviews, so don't go far.
Everything all right?"
Nods and confirmations from the two athletes indicated acceptance as they made
their way to the seats, the fabric of their brightly hued windbreaker
sweatsuits swishing quietly.
Turning her attention back to the production crew, Natalie spoke loudly and
clapped. "Okay -- My team, take ten!"
Sally thumbed her microphone off as she strode over to Thomas, who was
stoically disentangling himself from the video camera.
"Hi there." Sally began, handing her microphone to Thomas once he had freed
himself of the battery belt.
"Hello." replied Thomas, accepting the mic, examining it to insure it was
off. A failed battery in the middle of a live interview was not a thought he
entertained lightly. Best to check and make sure.
"So, how long have you been with CSC?" Sally asked nervously.
Turning to address Sally formally, Thomas replied "One week. This is my first
remote with Sports Night."
This was new ground for Sally. She was tall blonde, and beautiful; she didn't
have to want for men -- they had a way of showing up. But Thomas was
definitely a different personality, and she found herself in the unlikely
position of 'going after' someone.
"You not like most other cameramen." Sally continued.
"Really?" Thomas asked, smiling. "And how many cameramen have you known?" His
earlier conversation with Jeremy hadn't left his thoughts, and now he was
seeing that this was confirmation of that. Sally Sasser was interested!
"Plenty!" Sally exclaimed.
"And exactly how, in your estimation, am I different?" Thomas asked playfully.
"Well, we could probably compare and contrast for a couple of days." Sally
said, her posture changing as she shifted her weight to one foot. "But the
thing that probably sticks out the most in my mind is that you noticed my hair
instead of my breasts." Sally shifted her weigh to her other foot, her hips
making a noticeable sway as she did so.
Smiling even wider and slightly blushing as he looked down, he paused.
"I noticed..."
Sally straightened slightly and arched her shoulders back, allowing her silk
blouse to gap slightly between the top two buttons. "Well, that's
encouraging." She clenched her thighs together, giving her loin a pleasant
squeeze. Her body was starting to react on its' own accord from all of the
sexual energy they were invisibly exchanging, and now that she realized just
how in control she was of the situation, she decided to take a more direct
approach.
"Listen, we arrive at the hotel around three. The bar will be closed, but I
have a fully stocked mini-bar in my room." Sally raised her hand and
lightly caressed Thomas's left arm. "Maybe we could... share a nightcap?"
Sally half spoke, half whispered, never taking her eyes from the deep blue of
Thomas'.
"Yes." Thomas said softly, aware for the first time that his shorts now seemed
entirely too tight. "I think that would be just fine."
"Hey, you two! Everything all right here?" Natalie's cheery interrogative
broke the moment, and Sally quickly withdrew her hand.
"Fine" Sally and Thomas intoned in unison, addressing Natalie simultaneously.
"Good then... five minutes." Natalie spun around to announce the time to
Jeremy.
Sally spied the microphone lying on the console and moved to retrieve it,
adjusting her blouse.
- - -
Seated next to Casey at the polished anchor desk, Dan noted the red light
turning off of camera 'A' to his left, and the same red light on camera 'B'
facing both illuminate, and he adjusted his posture accordingly.
"Thank you, Kelly Kirkparick. We're only halfway through, so don't touch that
dial." Casey said into the camera lens. "You're watching Sports Night on CSC
-- stick around."
"We're out." Dave's voice carried through the clear plastic earpieces
carefully concealed behind the left ears of Casey and Dan.
Allyson and Jamie approached Casey and Dan, respectively. Jamie was the
show's chief hair stylist and Allyson was the makeup artist. As they performed
their duties with the rapid yet assured pace on their subjects, Casey turned
to Dan.
"You want me to stick around tonight?"
"No thanks, Case -- I think I've got this covered." Dan replied.
"Suit yourself."
"Hey Dan." A voice from their left caused Dan and Casey to simultaneously turn
their heads to follow.
Standing there, dressed in a grey Donna Karan blazer with matching
over-the-knee skirt, stood Bobbi Bernstein, smiling at Dan.
Dan stared for perhaps a moment too long before he responded. "Hey yourself.
What are you doing in so early?"
"Oh, I thought I'd finish up my scripts and maybe go over the MLB stuff with
you before it got silly around here." Bobbi said, anxiously smiling.
Casey felt Alyson's hand firmly moving his chin the away from Dan and Bobbi,
indicating she wanted him to turn his head so she could finish inspecting his
makeup before they returned to the air. Bright lights and no moving air made
for a humid studio, and humidity can kill a any makeup job, forcing Alyson and
Jamie to make constant adjustments.
"I guess he does have it covered." Casey said quietly.
"Hold still." Alyson said to Casey as she blended makeup over Casey's nose
with a very soft sponge in the shape of a triangle.
Bobbi moved closer to Dan's left. "I'm glad you're here." Dan smiled at Bobbi.
"Me too." she replied.
They looked at each other for a moment, the way new lovers do, and smiled.
"Well, then." Dan grinned.
"Yeah." Bobbi smiled back.
"Yeah." Dan Rydell raptly beheld Bobbi Bernstein for a moment, and in that
moment, there were only two people in the universe. It had been far too long
since he'd felt this way, and he welcomed it.
"Thirty seconds back. Places everyone." Dana's voice echoed over the studio
monitors. "Hi Bobbi."
Bobbi turned to the glass window behind her along the wall and waved into the
control room, quickly stepping away.
Kim covered her microphone with her palm and closed her fingers over it as she
leaned over to Dana. "Is this going to happen?" she asked, watching Bobbi
slowly back away into the shadows.
Dana shrugged as she also watched Bobbi's retreat. "Sure looks that
way."
- - -
Jeremy and Natalie had just finished dismantling the second of three
tripods when Frank Mitchell approached, breathing heavily and obviously
flushed.
"Wow -- you guys work fast!" exclaimed Frank.
"No, you just don't run very fast." responded Natalie.
Overhead, as if to underscore that point, a voice addressed the entire
terminal. "Your attention please ladies and gentlemen. This is the final
boarding call for American Airlines flight two thousand two to Salt Lake City.
Final boarding call for American Airlines flight two thousand two to Salt Lake
City at gate five. Thank you."
"Good Luck!" Frank called to Natalie and Jeremy as they hurriedly gathered
their bags from the far row of seats and disappeared into the terminus.
Walking quickly to catch up, Natalie asked Jeremy "Think we'll make it?"
"Just." said Jeremy as he neared the passenger door of the Boeing 777.
A red-haired stewardess, dressed in blue slacks and an American flag polo shirt
with the American Airlines insignia embroidered into the upper left, hurriedly
waved Jeremy and Natalie down the aisle to their seats in the center section,
where Sally and Thomas were seated, deeply involved in a discussion about
nothing and everything. Thankfully, there were three overhead compartments
already opened with two stewards standing nearby to help Jeremy and Natalie
stow their bags.
A musical chime alerted everyone on the aircraft that an announcement was
forthcoming. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. Now that
everyone is aboard, we'll be departing the gate. Please fasten your
seatbelts."
As the plane moved taxied into position for takeoff, Jeremy sat down and
adjusted his seat belt as did Natalie. No trace of his earlier headache could
be found, and the Zoloft also seemed to be working their magic. Normally, at
this point, Jeremy would be gripping the arm rests in anticipation, but now he
was very calm -- serene, almost. He turned to see Sally laughing animatedly at
something Thomas said, and smiled himself.
Jeremy started planning for this trip over a month ago. He'd made all the
travel arrangements for the group, but he had made some very special
arrangements for Natalie and himself for later. For starters, he requested the
honeymoon suite. He had made arrangements for a bottle of the finest champagne
to be chilled and sent to their room, accompanied by a large bowl of
strawberries with whipped cream and chocolate. He personally made arrangements
with the concierge for three dozen roses' worth of petals be spread over the
bed, and a fresh bubble bath to be drawn at exactly 3:10 AM, a detail which
was he would verify once they entered the terminal in Salt Lake City.
All of these extensive plans to ask Natalie to become the first and last Mrs.
Jeremy Goodwin had cost him -- dearly. He maxed out one credit card on just
the downpayment for the two-carat engagement ring he now carried in his jacket
pocket, and maxed out his other on the hotel arrangements. But as he looked
over at Natalie, he knew that he could have spent ten times more and it still
wouldn't be enough. Jeremy reached over and took Natalie's hand, intertwining
her fingers within his, feeling the gentle warmth there. Many of his friends
had confided that they were scared -- petrified, in fact -- at the prospect of
proposing. Jeremy felt none of that, and upon reflection, knew that the
anxiety medication wasn't affecting this at all. It was all so clear to
Jeremy, especially as he looked into Natalie's beautiful and eyes and sweet
smile, that it was just impossible to see himself *not* married to her, *not*
spending the rest of his life next to her.
"I love you, Natalie." Jeremy said. He meant it.
Two musical chimes, and the acceleration of the jumbo jet signaled takeoff.
Jeremy was now three hours away from asking the most important question of his
life, but he already knew the answer. He squeezed Natalie's hand.
Natalie squeezed back and gazed up into Jeremy's bespectacled eyes.
"I love you too."
Neither Jeremy nor Natalie knew those were their last words.
- - -
It was Elliot's job to monitor the news wires for events that might be
newsworthy during the broadcasts. Normally, the news staff only worked during
the normal business hours, but since Sports Night aired from 11 PM to
midnight, someone had to make sure that everything was accounted for in case
a big story broke. And that's what Elliot did.
Elliot was what most people describe as 'jolly'. He was somewhat short, and
quite rotund, and he was always smiling or laughing, usually both. Right now,
his face was set in a grim, mirthless visage which portended he would be
a long time wanting for the 'jolly' description. As he slowly walked into the
control room, he couldn't bring himself to look at Dana as he held the single
news sheet out to her.
"Whatcha got there, champ?" Dana piqued, reaching over to snatch the paper
from Elliot, oblivious to the fact that he said nothing.
Dana carefully scanned the release, calmly holding the paper steady as she
did so. Slowly at first, the paper began to quiver within her grasp. A single
tear streaked down Dana's left cheek as she turned to Elliot. "Get it to
graphics -- quickly." Dana set the paper down on the console to her side,
propped her elbows on the table, and quietly put her face down into her
upturned palms.
"Dana, what's wrong?" Kim asked as she picked up the paper and scanned it.
"Oh... God." she deadpanned.
Slowly, Kim put the page down, taking a breath before leaning into her
microphone. She pressed the red "send" button on her console which allowed her
to talk to the anchors.
"Dan, Casey?" she said softly. "We've got... something. You may want to
come back here."
Dana sobbed lightly.
The End
by
Dan Luther
"Oww!" hissed Jeremy, quickly pulling his arm away from his erstwhile
attacker.
"Two for flinching!" Natalie half giggled, half squealed, and executed two
quick, hard jabs to Jeremy's already wounded arm.
"Natalie, cut it out!" he said, massaging his shoulder. "Look, you've made
me drop my Scientific American again, and I really want to finish this article
on quantum string theory before we get started here!"
Natalie quickly leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Does
that make my strong, handsome man feel better?" she said in a dramatic
baby-talk voice that only an overly cute female can articulate. Natalie was
completely ecstatic, posessing all the giddy anticipation of a child going to
Disneyland for the first time. Her previous disappointment with Sydney seemed
to melt away with her new assignment as Executive Producer for the extended
on-site winter olympic coverage, but she just couldn't find it in herself to
*act* like an Executive Producer -- whatever they acted like.
"Well, maybe a little," he sighed. "You know I really hate to fly, and you
agitating me certainly isn't helping!" he said, picking up the magazine he
dropped.
"Do I need to call travel and have them book another flight for one of
you?" Sally Sasser was a tall woman by anyone's standard. An all-star
basketball player in college, she was also a strikingly beautiful woman, which
had no small part in determining her new assignment -- complete coverage of
the US Olympic team, from the training facility in upstate New York to the
medal awards ceremonies in Salt Lake City. Sally was the on-air commentator,
and while she knew she was being exploited solely based on her appearance, she
knew this could be *the* launch pad her career. That is, if she 'played ball'.
The new job had its drawbacks, and she went to great lengths to point out each
and every one to anyone who made the mistake of listening. But quickly adapted
to her new responsibilities, and she relished being back in the spotlight.
"No." Jeremy and Natalie intoned together, hanging their heads like two
small children being scolded by their mother.
"Good then... okay." said Sally as she turned around. She wasn't sure what to
make of these two. She knew they didn't share the single hotel room out of the
altruistic need to save money, and she supposed there was just a twinge
of jealousy for the way Natalie was so overtly affectionate with the Goodwin
fellow.
Gate number 5 was larger than most other gates at LaGuardia International
Airport, with good reason. With over three hundred athletes, trainers,
coaches, assistants, family members, and friends waiting for the specially
chartered American Airlines flight, this was the gate where any large
entourage could assemble and embark upon any flight to almost anywhere in the
world, and it served that purpose particularly well. Brightly decorated in
red, white, and blue streamers with the gold olympic insignia, it seemed to
Jeremy that everything was specially decorated in the colors of the American
flag, with only the olympic symbol to provide an occasional golden
counterpoint. It was a scene of highly organized, yet highly patriotic chaos.
The flash of cameras and the whirring of small camera motors advancing film,
combined with the cacophony of people talking to each other, talking on cell
phones, talking seemingly to hear themselves talk, had left Jeremy with a
throbbing headache and a foul mood, and a both were ruining his plans for
later. It was now less than an hour before the plane was due to depart, and he
knew that the already frenetic charge in the atmosphere would soon reach a
fevered pitch as friends bade farewells and well wishes. Jeremy didn't like to
fly, and he didn't care how many people knew it. Acrophobia and claustrophobia
did not mix well for an extended flight, and he knew it. If there was a
phobia, Jeremy probably had it at one time or other in his life, and if not,
he would probably get it soon.
The two Zoloft he took an hour earlier didn't seem to be having any effect
on him, so he stood up to take a couple more. "I'm going to get a drink of
water. Do you want me to get you a Dr. Pepper or anything?"
"No sweety, but thanks for asking, you hunk-a hunk-a burnin' luuuuuv"
Natalie cooed looking up at him.
"I'll have a Sprite, thank you." Said sally, opening up her purse to fish out
a dollar bill.
"Okay -- Be right back."
Jeremy took the bill from Sally and strode down the long terminal, reaching
into his pocket for the small plastic bottle containing a variety of pain and
anxiety medications he packed specially for this trip. As he stopped in front
of the water fountain, he opened the bottle and shook out two white Zoloft
capsules and three Alleve caplets. His mind vacillated between thoughts of the
contents of his jacket pocket and the dread of the impending flight, and so
decided to shake out another white Zoloft into his palm. Replacing the lid
with a satisfying 'snap', he put the bottle back into his pocket. He then put
the capsules in his mouth, quickly leaning over to simultaneously push the
button on the side of the water fountain and take a gulp of cold water,
swallowing hard.
Satisfied that none of the pills had gotten stuck in his throat, he reached
down and patted the small form in his jacket pocket. 'Not much to look at' he
thought. It was small. A black velvet cube of roughly two inches. How
something so small could change so many things was a marvel to Jeremy, who
understood a great many things indeed.
- - -
The elevator doors opened, allowing Dan Rydell and Casey McCall to get off.
Walking side by side with the smooth rhythm and pace that only a pair of
lifelong friends can develop over a period of years, Casey never took his eyes
off his destination as he asked "So, how'd it go last night?"
"What do you mean?"
"You went out last night."
"Yes."
"You went out last night with someone."
"Yes."
"You went out last night with a female."
"Yes."
Casey opened the door to the bullpen for Dan.
"You went out last night with a female that you just so happen to work
with."
"Yes."
"Do you see a pattern developing here, Einstein?"
"Casey, what exactly do you want to know?" Dan finally turned to address Casey
in front of the door to the office they shared. He opened the door outwards and
held it for Casey, never averting his attention.
"So let me get this straight," Casey said as he walked across the room to his
desk and sat down, leaning over and grabbing a Nerf football from the cabinet
next to the desk. "I wait up for you all that time -- time I could have been
drinking a big blue margarita night at 'El Perro Fumundo' -- and suddenly
you've got 'Other Plans'." Casey tossed the ball up with one hand, making a
high arc near the ceiling, catching it in the other hand. "'Go with God' I
say. Yet this morning you tell me that you had a date with a woman you were
convinced was completely insane because she kept insisting that you slept with
her in Spain -- a contention you vehemently denied for years, I might add."
Dan raised his eyebrows and cocked his head slightly "Case, how many times
do I have to apologize for keeping you here. I'm sorry! Really!"
Casey continued "Only here's the thing -- you actually *did* sleep with her in
Spain."
"Yes."
"So?"
Dan moved behind his desk and sat. "So what?"
Casey put the ball down on the desk and threw up his hands. "So how'd it go
last night?!?"
"How'd what go last night?" Dana Whitaker strode into Casey and Dan's office
carrying a clipboard.
"Dan blew me off and went out on a date last night." Casey said.
"Really?" Dana marveled, turning to Dan. "You went out? At three A.M.?"
"Indeed I did." said Dan, smiling.
"You went out with a girl at three A. M.?" Dana quizzed, smiling back.
"Hey, this is Dan Rydell we're talking about!" Dan said, striking an indignant
pose and pulling the pencil from behind his ear.
"That's nice." Dana smiled. "But please don't talk about yourself in the third
person -- it's extremely annoying."
Turning fully to Dana, and with a visage of anticipation, Casey said "Wait
'till you find out who he went out with."
Dan looked up to the ceiling and threw his pencil, firmly lodging it in the
ceiling tile along the many other pencils that met with the same fate above
his desk. "Thanks for not letting that cat out of the bag there, Case."
"Who did you go out with, Dan?" quizzed Dana.
"Bobbi Bernstein" intoned Casey.
"Bobbi Bernstein?!" exclaimed Dana. "I thought that you thought she was
insane!"
"Well, let's just say that now, she's just crazy about me." said Dan,
leaning back in his chair.
Dana opened her mouth to say something, paused, closed her mouth, looked down
and shook her head. "I don't have time for this right now. I need you both in
the conference room in ten minutes for the final rundown."
"We're there." Dan and Casey said together.
Dana strode out mumbling under her breath.
Standing up, Casey asked "So, how did it go last night?"
Dan stood up and took another pencil from the holder on his desk. "Do you
remember when I told you that as it turns out, I actually *did* sleep with her
in Spain?" Dan half asked, half stated as he started for the door.
"Yes..." Casey agreed.
"Well," Dan paused and smiled. "As it turns out, I slept with her in New York
as well."
- - -
Thomas Paine was unlike any other field video operators Sally had ever worked
with, which was a considerable number. First, there was his name -- Thomas
Paine. Immediately, and sight unseen, the name evoked a feeling of culture and
sophistication. Then, there was his voice; a deep, resonating baritone, with
a perfectly inflected british accent, which added another layer of culture and
sophistication. Then there was his appearance -- handsome by anyone's
standards: chiseled jaw, jet black hair with just a slight hint of grey at the
edges, striking blue eyes that seemed to dance with a youthful abandon, yet
drawing attention away from the slight lines at the corners that could only
come from a lifetime of easy smiles. He stood six feet tall if he stood an
inch, but he always seemed much taller to Sally. 'Larger than life' was
Sally's estimation.
Then there was the way he dressed. Most "video technicians" (as they liked to
call themselves,) at least all the ones Sally had ever even seen, pretty much
stuck to the same dress code as though it were a uniform requirement from the
union -- white sneakers (that's what color they started out in life) -- faded
carpenter jeans with oversized pockets and a variety of holes in seemingly
random places; sports bar logo emblazoned on a tee-shirt that had long ago
abandoned hope of ever seeing the inside of a washing machine; a tan vest
with more stains than pockets; and a baseball cap which more often than not
was an advertisement for some far-flung strip club. Not so with Thomas Paine.
Thomas was always immaculately dressed. From his perfectly shined black Oxford
shoes, his neatly pressed Brooks Brothers dark grey twill trousers and shiny
shoe-matching black belt, his dazzlingly white and perfectly starched and
pressed Ralph Lauren Pinpoint shirt, and Murano silk tie. None of which ever
bore even a the slightest hint of discoloration.
All field cameramen, in Sally's estimation, also had a one-track mind, which
always evidenced itself by the way their eyes rarely rose above Sally's neck.
She supposed that if she were to be able to see behind her, their eyes
wouldn't make it above her waistline, either. While Sally tolerated this
behavior because that's what women do, she supposed that if she really though
about it for any length of time, she would despised being treated like a pair
of tits with a woman attached. Thomas was definitely different in that
respect. He always looked Sally's directly in the eye when addressing her, and
always smiled, revealing a perfect set of teeth; always shook her hand, and
asked how her day was or some other in that perfect british baritone voice.
Sally strode over to Thomas, who was busily unpacking a bulky Nakamichi
video camera. "How's the setup coming, Thomas?"
"We'll be right ready for you, Ms. Sasser." Thomas replied with a quick smile.
'God, he called me Miss Sasser' Sally thought. 'I could just eat him up.'
"Do you want to fix your hair? We'll be live in thirty minutes." Thomas quickly
asked, not looking up from his furtive connecting of wires to various plugs on
the camera.
"Why? Is something wrong with my hair?" Sally asked as she reached up to
lightly feel around her head. Since getting the new job of on-air sports
reporter, she'd been wearing her hair longer than when she was a producer.
This suggestion was handed to her in the form of a 'Network Note' early in her
transition. It was a tastefully made suggestion, obviously coming from someone
accustomed to rephrasing statements usually reserved for less casual company.
But she knew the ultimate source of the note. American males, eighteen to
thirty-five years of age -- always respond more readily to a tall, busty blond
with long hair and a short attention span.
Thomas looked up. "You've a few fly-aways that a comb and a quick spritz
wouldn't have too much trouble with." he said as he gracefully stepped
over the mass of cables to the control console.
"They didn't have Sprite." Jeremy stopped behind Sally, holding out a 20 ounce
bottle of 7-Up. "Sorry."
Sally gratefully took the bottle from Jeremy and unscrewed the cap. "It'll do.
Thanks."
Jeremy started to the mini transmit console and paused briefly, looking
back at Sally. "Do you want to fix your hair, Sally? We'll be live soon."
In a single fluid motion, Sally swallowed the 7-Up, brought the bottle down
and replaced the cap. "I'm going, I'm going..." She walked quickly to the row
of seats where Natalie was seated, watching their gear. She picked up her
makeup bag and headed off to the nearest restroom.
Jeremy looked over the small array batteries, LEDs glowing green indicating
a full charge. He picked up the smallest charger and removed a slim silver
cylinder from it, and picked up the black wireless microphone laying on the
console. He unscrewed the bottom of the microphone, inserted the battery, and
screwed the bottom back into place. Holding the microphone in one hand, he
thumbed the small switch to the 'on' position, and with his other adjusted a
slider on the mini console. "Testing, testing -- tick tock" he said into the
microphone, watching a small row of green LEDs rise and fall in sync with
the sound of his voice. "Can you hear me now?" he said, smiling. "Good." 'Okay
-- mic's up' he thought. Still holding the microphone in the same hand, he
thumbed the switch off and laid it back down on the console.
Turning his attention to Thomas, who was now placing strips of duct tape to
the power cords over the carpet, he said "I think she really likes you."
"Really?" Thomas stopped taping cables and looked up at Jeremy. "I hadn't
noticed."
"Well, then you're the only one." Jeremy laughed. "I'm probably the densest
guy about these things, and I can see it pretty plainly." Jeremy continued.
"Why don't you ask her out?"
"Maybe I will. Maybe, when we get to Salt Lake, I'll ask her out for a nice
meal -- maybe drinks at the hotel."
The Zoloft and the aspirin had finally begun to do their work. Jeremy's mood
was beginning to lift, and the headache was beginning to subside. He took his
glasses off and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger,
noticing that the previously intolerable din was now a slight rush of
background noise. "Well, if you don't, you can bet good money *somebody*
will."
"Well," Thomas returned to the taping job. "Perhaps I will at that. Thanks!"
"Anytime."
Jeremy marveled at Thomas. He was one of the most polite and unassuming camera
crewmen he'd ever worked with. With his easy manner and the impeccable way
he dressed and carried himself, he couldn't have been more out of place
holding a camera than if he were working the snack bar at a bowling alley.
That too presented a good omen for the coming trip. Two weeks on the road are
hard enough without having to deal with some asshole looking down your
girlfriend's blouse every time she was facing, or staring at her ass if she
were turned away. Thomas was a true gentleman, and Jeremy knew the type; he
fancied himself among their dwindling number. 'Takes one to know one' his
father used to constantly say.
It was nearly twenty five minutes to air. There would be a fifteen second
promo, then eleven minutes of wait, one minute of intro, and two two-minute
interviews with Sara Jorgensen and her coach, Marty Ragsdale. Sara was the
favorite to win the gold in the women's freestyle ice-skating, and Sports Night
was carrying a live interview with her *and* her coach before she, and half of
the US winter olympic athletes, boarded a specially chartered Boeing 777 to
Salt Lake City.
Jeremy knew live interviews, even short ones, can be an invitation to
disaster. He would never forget the live interview he line produced the
previous year with Anna Kournikova, who chose that day of all days, to
carelessly wear a rather form-fitting tee-shirt -- and not much else -- into
an extremely well air-conditioned press box at Madison Square Garden. Thomas
was definitely not the camera operator for that doomed interview, which might
have turned out much differently had the cameraman not forgotten he was still
transmitting as he zoomed tightly into Anna Kournikova's erect and plainly
visible left nipple. Jeremy dove for the cutoff switch, but the damage had
already been done. He still gets an occasional e-mail with "Anna Kournikova's
Tits Exposed!!!" in the subject line. It was a defining moment in his life,
one of those turning points we all look back on and point to. Most people in
Jeremy's position would be able to laugh about it a year later, but he still
felt responsible for that fiasco.
Picking up the headset, he positioned it over his ear and adjusted the slender
microphone to a position near his mouth. He plugged it in to the walkie-talkie
unit sitting in one of the charger cradles, clipped to his belt and turned the
unit on. "Frank, how are we doing out there?" Jeremy inquired into the little
headset microphone.
Frank Mitchell was seated in the back of a heavily modified Dodge Ram van
parked in LaGuardia International Airport's terminal. The modifications were
obvious: there was a fifty foot telescoping pole protruding from the middle of
the van, extending skyward with a three foot diameter dish antenna attached to
the top, and a red cable snaking down the length of the pole. "Five by five,
Jer. We've got a solid carrier and no refrac. I'm good to go down here." It
was Frank's job to run the microwave transmitter that would relay the
interview from the terminal to CSC headquarters in lower Manhattan where
Sports Night was produced. Today however, his responsibilities would be just a
bit more, because once the segment was over, he had to rush back into the VIP
terminal, tear down the equipment, and haul it back to the van -- all by
himself.
"Roger that, Frank. We go up in tewnty."
"Ten Four Jer. Talk to you again in fifteen."
"In fifteen" Jeremy agreed. He pulled the microphone up as Natalie approached
him.
"Are we all ready here?" she asked.
"As ready as we'll ever be." replied Jeremy.
"Did you notice if Sara's wearing a tee-shirt? It's kinda cold in here."
Natalie teased.
"Oh ha ha. You're a riot". Jeremy sneered. "Twenty thousand comedians out of
work, and you pick *this* particular moment to try and be funny."
"We do what we can." Natalie's good-natured ribbing came from a genuine place
in her heart, and Jeremy knew it, which is mainly why he tolerated it.
"Well, can you at least stop referring to yourself in the plural, just until
we get to Utah." Jeremy said.
"Okay sweetie," Natalie stepped into Jeremy and put her arms around his waist,
mashing her breasts against his abdomen and wriggled her shoulders. "but the
wonder twins want to come out and play later. What do you think of that?
Hmmm?"
Natalie's ability to efficiently do her job and mix personal -- deeply personal
-- relationships always astounded Jeremy. And her referring to her breasts as
'the wonder twins' as she did on occasion had the reaction she was
anticipating. Much to his chagrin, Jeremy felt the first stirrings in his
groin, and he was sure Natalie felt it as well. If he didn't disentangle
himself from Natalie's grasp soon, he would have an altogether different type
of discomfort to deal with.
"Natalie, cut it ouut!" Jeremy whispered.
"I could do you right now." she said as she released him, turning to Thomas
and instantly becoming a producer again. "How are we doing Tom?"
Thomas was buckling a heavy-looking belt containing twelve three-pound
batteries that would power the Nakamichi video camera. A thirty-six pound
belt makes most men breathe a little hard, but Thomas stoically and
methodically fastened it around his waist. "I'll be better once I can shed
this bloody contraption." he said.
"It'll all be over on forty-five minutes, Thomas." Natalie smiled sweetly.
"Ms. Hurley." Thomas nodded.
Natalie whirled. "It's Natalie. My mother is Miss Hurley. Got it?" she
quipped.
"Indeed. Natalie it is, then." said Thomas.
"Damn right..." Natalie stepped to the console to retrieve her headset.
- - -
"Final rundown, people; Let's MOVE!" Dana yelled into the large office area.
Casey, Dan, and Kim filed into the conference room and took their seats;
Chris, Elliot, and Will were already seated and having an animated
conversation about the new backdrops that were installed the previous week.
Dana followed in and started the meeting before the door closed behind her.
"Okay, give me the top through one. Let's just try to get through
this." Dana arrived at her chair and spread a sheaf of papers on the
table in front of her. "We've got the whip-around with what?"
"Dan's got LaGuardia at twenty." Casey said quickly.
"Casey's got Lambeau at forty two." Dan fired off. Turning to Casey, he said
"You know, I never realized how tall she is."
"Indeed she is a strikingly statuesque woman, Mon Frere." Casey said.
"So who's the 'statuesque' mystery lady?" Kim asked.
"Bobbi Bernstein." Casey replied.
"You have a thing for Bobbi Bernstein?" Kim asked Casey, leaning in
inquisitively.
"No, *I* have a thing for Bobbi Bernstein." interjected Dan.
"I thought that you thought she was insane." said Dave.
"Yeah, what's up with that?" Will intoned.
"Helloooo!" Dana raised her voice. "Tonight is Kim's first solo AP and we've
got a grand total of six live remotes to coordinate a total of twelve
times within a space of one hour, and as of exactly twenty seconds ago, we're
still thirty over in segment nineteen. So, if it's not too much trouble, could
we try to keep our eye on the ball, people? Hmmm?"
Dana Whitaker re-established her role as the leader of the pack, and nobody
even considered debating the point. As always, she was gentle but firm in
her resolution.
Dan picked up two stapled sheets and leaned over to hand them to Dana. "I
rescripted nineteen and took out the Hernandez hook which gave me back about
thirty-five." Dan sat back down and waited for Dana to finish looking over his
revised segment script.
Dana didn't have to look at the script. She instinctively knew that each one
of her charges were consummate professionals, and in Dan's case, that he
always had a pocketful of five second quips he could fire off in his sleep,
and they would be apropos to any situation. However, she read the script
anyway, mentally matching the tempo which Dan would speak to insure that it
would fit into the allotted time. Dana left nothing to chance, and assumed
nothing; she knew that assumption was the mother of all fuck-ups. This was her
job, and she herself was a consummate professional.
"Good then." She finished. Turning to Kim, she handed the pages to her. "Make
sure this is in the TPS."
Kim took the pages from Dana, who didn't let go immediately. "Are you ready
for this?" asked Dana, still holding the sheets and looking directly at Kim.
Kim smiled, took a breath and replied "We'll know soon enough."
With Natalie assuming double duties of Executive Line Producer of all of the
remote winter olympic coverage for the next two weeks, and Jeremy gone as
remote segment producer as well, Dana found herself two assistant studio
producers short, and Kim was ably rising to the task.
The special winter olympic coverage was leaving almost every CSC sports show a
little short-handed. "Late Night Update" -- the show that Bobbi Bernstein
co-anchored with Jarrod Owens -- was an anchor short because Jarrod had been
in Salt Lake City for the last three days, covering the on-site preparations
with the first crew. Things happen occasionally, so it is necessary to rotate
anchoring responsibilities between shows. Early morning hosts fill in for
early evening vacancies, and evening show hosts sub for late show hosts. This
particular time, it was Dan's turn to sub for the later show. And if Dana were
to believe the recent conversations, it appeared that Dan got the better end
of the deal.
"Alright then. Casey, Dan -- get your asses down to makeup. Good show
everybody!" Dana dismissed the group as she stood.
- - -
"Five minutes live." Jeremy said to Natalie. Natalie was standing with Sara
Jorgensen, Marty Ragsdale, and Sally, intently going over the list of questions
one final time before they went on the air. Natalie had explained, in very
clear terms, that this was *live* television, and that there was a short list
of do's and don't's -- don't look directly at the camera lens during the
interview, do look directly at the lens during the intro. Do smile and nod,
don't look around, don't put your hands in your pocket.
"You'll do fine, just be yourselves and smile a lot." Natalie said with her
most winning smile. "Everybody ready?"
Sara and Marty nodded, smiling as Sally led them to the three small 'x' marks
of tape on the floor to mark their positions.
Natalie was now fully steeped in 'production mode', and it was her own personal
rush that no drug could ever hope to compete against. This particular remote
was going to be especially harrowing, because once the interview was over,
they would have less than fifteen minutes before the plane was due to depart,
and that meant fifteen minutes of assholes and elbows to tear down the
cameras, tripods, cords and cases before Frank arrived from the van to take
over. She knew that the four of them would be the last to board the plane, and
would likely delay takeoff by a couple of minutes. Natalie took her place
next to Thomas, and adjusted her headset. "How are we doing, control?" she
said into the attached mouthpiece.
"All good here." she heard Kim's voice in her earpiece. "Are you stoked?"
The three brilliant lights illuminated, allowing the three pairs of eyes to
adjust to the significantly elevated light levels that would be present during
the interview. Thomas hefted the heavy Nakamichi video camera to his shoulder,
thumbing the viewport to the 'on' position and zooming in to frame Sally,
Sara, and Jerry in the crosshairs.
"You know it!" Natalie responded. "Sally, say something nice to Kim, will you
please?" She knew Jeremy had already checked the sound levels of Sally's
wireless microphone, that it was turned on, and had a freshly charged battery.
Sally looked directly into the camera lens that Thomas was holding in a
rock-steady embrace, and raised the microphone to a point just below her
neckline. "How's your first time going, Kim?" Sally smiled at the camera.
Kim's voice came clearly through the miniature plastic earplug that wrapped
inconspicuously around Sally's right ear. "I can die happy now, Sally. Two
minutes live."
Jeremy would be watching the lone small Sony monitor at the remote console.
The small console was the communication center of a remote broadcast,
routing and relaying audio, video, and data signals to and from the microwave
transmitter in the van, and ultimately back to the control center downtown. It
was his responsibility to insure that all the equipment was operating at the
right levels and keep erstwhile passersby out of the field of view. Too much
signal level from a microphone was as bad as too little.
As the time to live air approached, each member of the Sports Night crew heard
the same count issued from the segment coordinator back at the studio.
"Laguardia, standby."
Sally brought the microphone to the exact point as before, the point that
would allow the microphone perfect reception of her voice without blocking
any part of her face or neck.
"In five... four... three... two... one..."
Sally smiled sweetly into the camera. "Thanks, Casey. We're here at LaGuardia
International Airport with US Winter Olympic skater Sara Jorgensen and her
coach, Marty Ragsdale, who are about to embark on a quest for gold in Salt
Lake City. We'll have an exclusive interview with both later in our broadcast.
Back to you, Casey."
And there it was. A fifteen second teaser. Half of the work was now complete.
"Excellent job, people!" Natalie said as she moved to turn off the bright
halogen lights. "Sara, why don't you and Jerry sit over here, maybe get a
quick drink." Motioning to the row of now mostly empty chairs, Natalie
continued "We're back in fifteen minutes for the interviews, so don't go far.
Everything all right?"
Nods and confirmations from the two athletes indicated acceptance as they made
their way to the seats, the fabric of their brightly hued windbreaker
sweatsuits swishing quietly.
Turning her attention back to the production crew, Natalie spoke loudly and
clapped. "Okay -- My team, take ten!"
Sally thumbed her microphone off as she strode over to Thomas, who was
stoically disentangling himself from the video camera.
"Hi there." Sally began, handing her microphone to Thomas once he had freed
himself of the battery belt.
"Hello." replied Thomas, accepting the mic, examining it to insure it was
off. A failed battery in the middle of a live interview was not a thought he
entertained lightly. Best to check and make sure.
"So, how long have you been with CSC?" Sally asked nervously.
Turning to address Sally formally, Thomas replied "One week. This is my first
remote with Sports Night."
This was new ground for Sally. She was tall blonde, and beautiful; she didn't
have to want for men -- they had a way of showing up. But Thomas was
definitely a different personality, and she found herself in the unlikely
position of 'going after' someone.
"You not like most other cameramen." Sally continued.
"Really?" Thomas asked, smiling. "And how many cameramen have you known?" His
earlier conversation with Jeremy hadn't left his thoughts, and now he was
seeing that this was confirmation of that. Sally Sasser was interested!
"Plenty!" Sally exclaimed.
"And exactly how, in your estimation, am I different?" Thomas asked playfully.
"Well, we could probably compare and contrast for a couple of days." Sally
said, her posture changing as she shifted her weight to one foot. "But the
thing that probably sticks out the most in my mind is that you noticed my hair
instead of my breasts." Sally shifted her weigh to her other foot, her hips
making a noticeable sway as she did so.
Smiling even wider and slightly blushing as he looked down, he paused.
"I noticed..."
Sally straightened slightly and arched her shoulders back, allowing her silk
blouse to gap slightly between the top two buttons. "Well, that's
encouraging." She clenched her thighs together, giving her loin a pleasant
squeeze. Her body was starting to react on its' own accord from all of the
sexual energy they were invisibly exchanging, and now that she realized just
how in control she was of the situation, she decided to take a more direct
approach.
"Listen, we arrive at the hotel around three. The bar will be closed, but I
have a fully stocked mini-bar in my room." Sally raised her hand and
lightly caressed Thomas's left arm. "Maybe we could... share a nightcap?"
Sally half spoke, half whispered, never taking her eyes from the deep blue of
Thomas'.
"Yes." Thomas said softly, aware for the first time that his shorts now seemed
entirely too tight. "I think that would be just fine."
"Hey, you two! Everything all right here?" Natalie's cheery interrogative
broke the moment, and Sally quickly withdrew her hand.
"Fine" Sally and Thomas intoned in unison, addressing Natalie simultaneously.
"Good then... five minutes." Natalie spun around to announce the time to
Jeremy.
Sally spied the microphone lying on the console and moved to retrieve it,
adjusting her blouse.
- - -
Seated next to Casey at the polished anchor desk, Dan noted the red light
turning off of camera 'A' to his left, and the same red light on camera 'B'
facing both illuminate, and he adjusted his posture accordingly.
"Thank you, Kelly Kirkparick. We're only halfway through, so don't touch that
dial." Casey said into the camera lens. "You're watching Sports Night on CSC
-- stick around."
"We're out." Dave's voice carried through the clear plastic earpieces
carefully concealed behind the left ears of Casey and Dan.
Allyson and Jamie approached Casey and Dan, respectively. Jamie was the
show's chief hair stylist and Allyson was the makeup artist. As they performed
their duties with the rapid yet assured pace on their subjects, Casey turned
to Dan.
"You want me to stick around tonight?"
"No thanks, Case -- I think I've got this covered." Dan replied.
"Suit yourself."
"Hey Dan." A voice from their left caused Dan and Casey to simultaneously turn
their heads to follow.
Standing there, dressed in a grey Donna Karan blazer with matching
over-the-knee skirt, stood Bobbi Bernstein, smiling at Dan.
Dan stared for perhaps a moment too long before he responded. "Hey yourself.
What are you doing in so early?"
"Oh, I thought I'd finish up my scripts and maybe go over the MLB stuff with
you before it got silly around here." Bobbi said, anxiously smiling.
Casey felt Alyson's hand firmly moving his chin the away from Dan and Bobbi,
indicating she wanted him to turn his head so she could finish inspecting his
makeup before they returned to the air. Bright lights and no moving air made
for a humid studio, and humidity can kill a any makeup job, forcing Alyson and
Jamie to make constant adjustments.
"I guess he does have it covered." Casey said quietly.
"Hold still." Alyson said to Casey as she blended makeup over Casey's nose
with a very soft sponge in the shape of a triangle.
Bobbi moved closer to Dan's left. "I'm glad you're here." Dan smiled at Bobbi.
"Me too." she replied.
They looked at each other for a moment, the way new lovers do, and smiled.
"Well, then." Dan grinned.
"Yeah." Bobbi smiled back.
"Yeah." Dan Rydell raptly beheld Bobbi Bernstein for a moment, and in that
moment, there were only two people in the universe. It had been far too long
since he'd felt this way, and he welcomed it.
"Thirty seconds back. Places everyone." Dana's voice echoed over the studio
monitors. "Hi Bobbi."
Bobbi turned to the glass window behind her along the wall and waved into the
control room, quickly stepping away.
Kim covered her microphone with her palm and closed her fingers over it as she
leaned over to Dana. "Is this going to happen?" she asked, watching Bobbi
slowly back away into the shadows.
Dana shrugged as she also watched Bobbi's retreat. "Sure looks that
way."
- - -
Jeremy and Natalie had just finished dismantling the second of three
tripods when Frank Mitchell approached, breathing heavily and obviously
flushed.
"Wow -- you guys work fast!" exclaimed Frank.
"No, you just don't run very fast." responded Natalie.
Overhead, as if to underscore that point, a voice addressed the entire
terminal. "Your attention please ladies and gentlemen. This is the final
boarding call for American Airlines flight two thousand two to Salt Lake City.
Final boarding call for American Airlines flight two thousand two to Salt Lake
City at gate five. Thank you."
"Good Luck!" Frank called to Natalie and Jeremy as they hurriedly gathered
their bags from the far row of seats and disappeared into the terminus.
Walking quickly to catch up, Natalie asked Jeremy "Think we'll make it?"
"Just." said Jeremy as he neared the passenger door of the Boeing 777.
A red-haired stewardess, dressed in blue slacks and an American flag polo shirt
with the American Airlines insignia embroidered into the upper left, hurriedly
waved Jeremy and Natalie down the aisle to their seats in the center section,
where Sally and Thomas were seated, deeply involved in a discussion about
nothing and everything. Thankfully, there were three overhead compartments
already opened with two stewards standing nearby to help Jeremy and Natalie
stow their bags.
A musical chime alerted everyone on the aircraft that an announcement was
forthcoming. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. Now that
everyone is aboard, we'll be departing the gate. Please fasten your
seatbelts."
As the plane moved taxied into position for takeoff, Jeremy sat down and
adjusted his seat belt as did Natalie. No trace of his earlier headache could
be found, and the Zoloft also seemed to be working their magic. Normally, at
this point, Jeremy would be gripping the arm rests in anticipation, but now he
was very calm -- serene, almost. He turned to see Sally laughing animatedly at
something Thomas said, and smiled himself.
Jeremy started planning for this trip over a month ago. He'd made all the
travel arrangements for the group, but he had made some very special
arrangements for Natalie and himself for later. For starters, he requested the
honeymoon suite. He had made arrangements for a bottle of the finest champagne
to be chilled and sent to their room, accompanied by a large bowl of
strawberries with whipped cream and chocolate. He personally made arrangements
with the concierge for three dozen roses' worth of petals be spread over the
bed, and a fresh bubble bath to be drawn at exactly 3:10 AM, a detail which
was he would verify once they entered the terminal in Salt Lake City.
All of these extensive plans to ask Natalie to become the first and last Mrs.
Jeremy Goodwin had cost him -- dearly. He maxed out one credit card on just
the downpayment for the two-carat engagement ring he now carried in his jacket
pocket, and maxed out his other on the hotel arrangements. But as he looked
over at Natalie, he knew that he could have spent ten times more and it still
wouldn't be enough. Jeremy reached over and took Natalie's hand, intertwining
her fingers within his, feeling the gentle warmth there. Many of his friends
had confided that they were scared -- petrified, in fact -- at the prospect of
proposing. Jeremy felt none of that, and upon reflection, knew that the
anxiety medication wasn't affecting this at all. It was all so clear to
Jeremy, especially as he looked into Natalie's beautiful and eyes and sweet
smile, that it was just impossible to see himself *not* married to her, *not*
spending the rest of his life next to her.
"I love you, Natalie." Jeremy said. He meant it.
Two musical chimes, and the acceleration of the jumbo jet signaled takeoff.
Jeremy was now three hours away from asking the most important question of his
life, but he already knew the answer. He squeezed Natalie's hand.
Natalie squeezed back and gazed up into Jeremy's bespectacled eyes.
"I love you too."
Neither Jeremy nor Natalie knew those were their last words.
- - -
It was Elliot's job to monitor the news wires for events that might be
newsworthy during the broadcasts. Normally, the news staff only worked during
the normal business hours, but since Sports Night aired from 11 PM to
midnight, someone had to make sure that everything was accounted for in case
a big story broke. And that's what Elliot did.
Elliot was what most people describe as 'jolly'. He was somewhat short, and
quite rotund, and he was always smiling or laughing, usually both. Right now,
his face was set in a grim, mirthless visage which portended he would be
a long time wanting for the 'jolly' description. As he slowly walked into the
control room, he couldn't bring himself to look at Dana as he held the single
news sheet out to her.
"Whatcha got there, champ?" Dana piqued, reaching over to snatch the paper
from Elliot, oblivious to the fact that he said nothing.
Dana carefully scanned the release, calmly holding the paper steady as she
did so. Slowly at first, the paper began to quiver within her grasp. A single
tear streaked down Dana's left cheek as she turned to Elliot. "Get it to
graphics -- quickly." Dana set the paper down on the console to her side,
propped her elbows on the table, and quietly put her face down into her
upturned palms.
"Dana, what's wrong?" Kim asked as she picked up the paper and scanned it.
"Oh... God." she deadpanned.
Slowly, Kim put the page down, taking a breath before leaning into her
microphone. She pressed the red "send" button on her console which allowed her
to talk to the anchors.
"Dan, Casey?" she said softly. "We've got... something. You may want to
come back here."
Dana sobbed lightly.
The End