restaurant when I arrived a few minutes after twelve on Saturday afternoon. The huge teddy bear of a man in the camel's hair sport coat and starched white shirt stood up to greet me, towering over me by nearly a foot. "Veronica, nice to finally meet you."
"Same here," I said. A waiter came by and pulled out my chair. "Thank you," I said as I sat down and he handed me a brown leather-bound menu with a gold tassel in the middle. Natural light spilled through the windows, giving rich tones to the dark paneled walls of the old place.
The fortyish egg-faced bald producer (a dead ringer for Doctor Evil) studied me with his piercing gray eyes, probably looking to see if I had that starry-eyed look most prospective network anchors have on interviews. I smiled casually, as if this were just a run of the mill two hundred dollar lunch with a co-worker. Besides, I didn't want the job anyway. But when a network exec invites you to lunch at the city's oldest and most expensive restaurant, or even a hot dog stand, you jump, because you never know what's down the road. Don't burn a bridge before you even cross it. "So," I said, "getting any sleep lately?"
He shook his head and smiled. "You kidding? This has been the worst week of my life. Between bailing Katrina Favor out of jail in the middle of the night and dealing with the tabloids, it's been hell."
I tried to hold back a smile as I recalled the local front pages the day after she'd been arrested. "When you've got stripper name like Favor, it's a hanging curveball over the middle of the plate for the headline writers. Some of those were pretty brutal."
"Yeah, but you have to admit they were clever. We all got a kick out of Party Favor."
"She put you in a tough position."
"She put herself in a tough position. Pun intended."
"Hey, you could moonlight writing headlines. But seriously, I guess it must have been tough to let her go."
"Actually, it was an easy call to fire her. Thank God for the morals clause in her contract." He looked around to see if anyone in the half-empty restaurant was paying attention, then leaned forward a bit and dropped his voice. "Between you and me, we were going to replace her anyway when her contract expired next year."
"Really? After ten years?"
"Her favorability ratings were slipping, she was a bear to work with and her salary was way out of line. Then again, I'm not the one who signed her to that ridiculous deal."
"Oh, so this gig no longer pays twenty million." I playfully tossed my napkin on the table. "I'm outta here."
"It still pays a helluva lot. More than you're making now."
I replaced my napkin, took a sip of water, then glanced at the menu, which, of course, did not include prices. "Hell, I'm sure these entrees cost more than I'm making now. So what's good here?"
He looked quizzically at me, as if wondering why I was more interested in food than begging for the job. (Because I actually was more interested in the food.) "Uh, everything. I always get the broiled salmon with dill sauce. Save room for tiramisu."
"Sounds good. Make it two," I said, snapping my menu shut as I leaned back in my chair. "So, I'm sure people have been beating a path to your door since the news broke."
"Women will eat their young for this job. No offense."
"None taken. Hell, I agree with you. Last time we had an anchor opening we could have made a fortune with a pay-per-view catfight between a few of our reporters."
"Anyway, with sweeps coming up we need to have the replacement in the chair soon. I don't need weeks of speculation in the papers or the newsroom."
"I'm sure you have many qualified candidates."
"We do. You're one of them."
I couldn't help but smile. "I'm flattered. But I must admit I'm curious as to why you're talking to me. I mean, I'm not exactly someone with a morning show or anchoring background. And I'm not known outside of the tri-state area."
His smart phone lit up and vibrated. He looked at it, didn't answer, and turned back to me. "Well, the day after Katrina got arrested, we all sat down and threw out names of possible replacements. Yours was one that came up a few times. You're an excellent journalist, and our co-anchor said you've got a sharp wit. I had no idea you two went to college together and are close friends."
"Yeah, Scott and I go way back. We just don't see each other much because of the hours. I'm getting off work when he's coming in. Ships passing in the night."
"Well, anyway, he thought you'd be a good choice, and I think it's important that co-anchors actually like each other. Scott and Katrina were oil and water."
"So I've heard. He was about to shoe polish the toilet seat in her private bathroom and Saran Wrap the bowl. Splish-splash."
He laughed a bit. "I would have paid good money to see that. Anyway, we've been thinking of adding a harder edge to the show. So we need a real journalist as opposed to a traditional morning show host."
I sat up straight and widened my eyes, feigning interest. "Harder edge as in … "
"More political interviews, investigative pieces. We would get you out in the field to do stories, so you wouldn't be chained to the desk."
"Hmmm. By the way, you said my name came up a few times. May I ask who else thought I might make a good replacement?"
"You may ask," he said, with a wicked smile.
I shook my head as I rolled my eyes. "Typical management. You should know Jedi Mind Tricks don't work on me. Besides, I can just ask Scott."
"I figured you would. Anyway, we're doing a few tryouts tomorrow morning starting at nine when no one's around. Attempting to make the search as quiet as possible while keeping the knife throwing in the newsroom to a minimum. Scott's coming in and we're going to do a mock show with Friday's script. I'd really like you to come in if you're interested."
I wasn't, but turning down this man was career suicide. I'd never be considered for anything at the network again. I knew the "harder edge" was bogus, just a carrot to try to gain my interest. I'd just bomb the tryout and be on my way back to my real job. I forced a little excitement into my eyes and smiled. "Sure, I'll be happy to," I said, as I picked up my water glass.
"Great, I'll email you the script so you can look it over. Oh, one more thing that might pique your interest. One reason we want Katrina's replacement to do hard news is that this is the stepping stone to the evening anchor position. We see the person we hire as the heir apparent."
My glass froze in midair. Whatever attempt I was making at being casual went right out the window as my jaw dropped. That dream job I mentioned earlier? Yeah, this was it. Known as The Chair, the job was referred to with reverence by reporters, as if it could be spoken in italics. Gavin had dangled the ultimate carrot. "The morning show anchor will eventually replace Bill Recker?"
He nodded and smiled as he licked his lips, now having my attention and soul firmly tucked away in his pocket. Ruthless bastard. "He's retiring in three and a half years. That's not common knowledge by the way, but he's sixty-one and tired of the grind. Wants to sail around the world on his yacht before he's too old to do it. But he wants one more presidential election, and then he's gone. So the plan is to keep Katrina's replacement on mornings till he walks out with a gold watch, then slide that person into
