Falling Star (45 page)

Tony winced. "The video did get out of
Archives—"

Pemberley's voice ratcheted up. "They
do
have a case?"

"I've fired the man responsible." That was
stretching it, but no way would Tony admit Kelly's role in this.
Kelly, Tony had promoted. Bjorkman, Tony had inherited. "Howard
Bjorkman, the managing editor. He's gone. And with what's on the
air these days, our lawyers can easily convince a jury that this
material was comparatively mild."

"But the video was distributed without a
signed release?"

"Strictly speaking, yes. But I'm confident
our lawyers can get around it without any difficulty." He paused.
Now came the really tough part. "There is a second suit as well,
brought—"

"
What?
" Now Pemberley was yelling.
"You're telling me that KXLA is being sued
twice
? What the
hell are you doing out there, Scoppio?"

Tony desperately wanted this conversation to
be over. "The second suit is related to the first. It's—"

"Who's it being brought by?"

Tony closed his eyes. "
Hard Line
.
They—"

"We're being sued by another broadcaster?
Goddammit, Scoppio, win or lose that'll cost a fortune!"

Tony heard Pemberley slam his open palm on
his desk, which he knew was a mahogany monolith large enough to
land a 737. He could just imagine him sitting there in his gigantic
Phoenix office, the panoramic views of Camelback Mountain failing
to distract him from the legal crisis in his Los Angeles newsroom.
Which was run by a buffoon who would never see hide nor hair of
...

"You can kiss that bonus good-bye, Scoppio,"
Pemberley declared.

Tony felt as if he'd been mowed down by the
Cadillac DTS that now he'd never be able to buy. "Rhett," he
managed, "I assure you this matter will be resolved quickly
and—"

"It better be. You get us out of this mess or
you're gone. The next piece of news I hear out of you had better be
good." He hung up.

Tony remained in his chair, trying to make
his heart stop pounding.
The next news had better be good.
He couldn't agree more.

*

"Jerry!" Natalie stood in her bathrobe
grasping her kitchen phone half in delight and half in shock,
something fierce clutching inside her stomach. She hadn't spoken to
Jerry Cohen in the eight years since he and Miles had broken up.
Why would he be calling her at this hour except for the script
she'd sent him? "It's great to hear your voice," she managed. "How
are you?"

He laughed, a baritone chuckle that seemed to
resonate from deep within him. Jerry had always reminded her of
Burl Ives: a burly, warmhearted bon vivant who also happened to be
an immensely gifted writer. "I'm well and back in LA."

Natalie sagged against the counter. "So your
sabbatical in Italy is over then?"

He paused. "I don't know. That package you
sent me set off, shall we say, a chain of events."

She frowned. "I agonized over whether to send
you that script, Jerry. I can't tell you how appalled I am at what
Miles did. It's"—she groped for the right word—
"mind-boggling."

Jerry was silent. She could only imagine how
betrayed he must feel. She knew how during their lengthy
partnership, Miles and Jerry had struggled jointly toward the same
goal like tandem bicyclists pumping together to top a hill. Miles
had ridden roughshod over that bond and for Jerry it must be not
only unforgivable, but heartbreaking.

He spoke slowly. "You know, the irony is I
gave the script to him myself, years ago, as a writing sample.
Before we started working together." He sighed. "How did you come
across it?"

She shook her head. "Jerry, I'll tell you the
whole sorry story someday, but suffice it to say that Miles did to
me pretty much what he did to you. Lied, cheated, and stole."

"Well, you did the right thing to send it to
me. Otherwise I'd still be in Italy not knowing that a spec script
I wrote was about to go on the air. And despite what you say, I can
only imagine what it must've taken out of you. Miles is your
husband, after all."

"My soon-to-be ex-husband."
Very
soon.
Berta had told her that what was likely to be the final session for
her and Miles and their attorneys was set for the next week.

"So I've heard. If I may be so bold, he never
deserved you."

What to say to that?
So I was an idiot to
marry him?
That much had become obvious. "Have you spoken with
him?"

"No. I've tried. Numerous times. But he
doesn't return my calls." He paused. "Natalie, I'm filing a
grievance with the Writers Guild."

She closed her eyes. The union would judge
whether plagiarism had occurred, and if it ruled in the
affirmative, it would provide Jerry a tremendous boost if he filed
charges in civil court.

"It's not clear what'll happen next," Jerry
went on, "but please know how grateful I am. Someday I'll find a
way to repay you."

"Jerry, honestly, there's no need."

"I'll be in touch." Then he hung up.

Natalie had just replaced the receiver when
again the phone rang.

"It's Ruth. You awake?"

Natalie stiffened at the uncharacteristic
excitement in Ruth's voice. "What is it?"

"I found it. I found the smoking gun."

"You mean on the CNN tape?"

"You won't believe it." The imperturbable
Ruth sounded stunned. "I just went through it again and you will
not believe what I saw this time on that goddamn tape. How fast can
you get here?"

"I still have to shower, but I'll be fast."
Natalie glanced at the kitchen clock. 7:12 AM. "How's forty minutes
sound?"

"Do not pass go. Come straight to Edit Bay
5."

Friday, September 27, 10:38 AM

"Would Natalie consider three fifty for
anchoring the four o'clock and filing the health reports for the
six and eleven?" BD asked.

Geoff leaned back in his ergonomically
correct Dewey, Climer chair, the phone in his hand, his muscles
slowly relaxing into the chair's flawless contours. At this
midmorning hour sunshine spilled through the floor-to-ceiling
windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. In the
Hollywood Hills to the east, a plume of gray smoke spiraled into
the air; even from the 38th floor of his Century City tower, he
could vaguely make out the wail of sirens.

BD's job offer to Natalie was slow to take
root in his brain, like a plant struggling to poke its roots
through hard, dry soil. At long last an anchor option for Natalie.
In Los Angeles, no less. Talk about in the nick of time; her KXLA
contract expired in exactly one week. It was so out of the blue,
coming after so many setbacks, it seemed unbelievable. It took him
a moment or two to revert to agent mode and begin to tote up the
pros and cons.

In Los Angeles, tremendous. At a
network-owned station, quite good—in fact arguably preferable to
the independent KXLA. But at 4 PM, so out of prime time. Only a
half hour a day. For less than half what Natalie was making now.
Requiring daily reporting, though Geoff knew the health beat wasn't
taxing. Most of the video was archival or came off a feed; very
often the only original shooting was a health-expert interview or
two.

An improvement to the offer skidded across
his brain, though he was well aware that his bargaining position
was painfully weak. BD knew full well that Natalie wasn't exactly
swimming in offers. "How about four weeks a year of substitute
anchoring on the 5, 6, and 11?"

"I can do three."

"Will she be on set every night at 6 and 11
for a live toss to the health reports?" The more Natalie was live
on set in prime time, the better, even in a reporter role.

"I can't guarantee twice a night."

"Once? I'm going to want regular on-set
tosses."

"I'm willing to work out something," BD
conceded.

"And how many years on the deal?"

"Three."

"No cuts?"

"You're stretching, Marner. I can't do a
no-cut—you know that."

He knew that. Natalie was not proven talent
on KNBC. It never ceased to amaze him how viewers only occasionally
followed an anchor from one station to another in the same market.
It was totally capricious, as so much else in television news.

A nightmare scenario rose in his imagination.
"Who else do you need to get this past, Bobbi?" He could easily
imagine KNBC's general manager refusing to sign "damaged goods"
like Natalie Daniels.

"Everybody's signed on. By the way, this
isn't some weird way to make amends, Geoff. I'd love to have
Natalie work here."

Clearly BD had gotten over the
nervous-breakdown rumor or she wouldn't be making an offer. Geoff
had figured out long ago that news directors were the most
risk-averse creatures in TV news, particularly when it came to who
they put in the anchor chair. That was the number one reason so
many bland "personalities" ended up there.

"I take it you're still pissed at Scoppio?"
he asked.

"Livid. Nobody uses me as a mouthpiece." BD
hesitated, then, "But I'll tell you one thing, Marner. He'll get
his."

*

"No, rewind it again," Natalie said.

Ruth reracked the incriminating segment of
tape. The women hunched forward on Edit Bay 5's hard metal seats,
peering at the monitor, the minuscule editing room chilly and
silent.

"There." Ruth paused the betatape player and
pointed at the left side of the screen. "That's Kelly, standing by
the school. In that damn aviator jacket she always wears—see, with
the stick-up collar? And that's her white tee-shirt, tighter than
casing on a sausage. And when she turns her head a little, like ...
there ... you can make out her face."

"That's her, all right." Natalie squinted at
the monitor. "Keep rolling."

Ruth restarted the tape. They watched as the
beam from the flashlight in Kelly's hand raked across the school
windows. Immediately thereafter, gunfire erupted in a staccato
burst. They lost sight of Kelly then, as the CNN cameraman snapped
to and redirected his lens to cops racing forward, guns drawn. One
grabbed a bullhorn to exhort the gunman to stop shooting and give
himself up. Through it all, kids screamed and the lone teacher
still inside the school let loose a piercing wail. Then, after
another gunfire blast, something closer to silence fell, broken by
intermittent childish crying and reporters behind the crime tape
shouting into cell phones.

Natalie felt shell-shocked looking at the
images. Finally she found her voice. "That shooting might never
have happened if it weren't for Kelly."

"Damn straight." Ruth set her jaw. "That's
why I wanted you to haul ass in here to see this."

They were silent for a time.

"It's unbelievable," Natalie said. "I can't
get over it."

"Do you think she might be criminally
liable?"

"I don't know. Why in the world did she even
do it?"

"I bet she was bored." Ruth let her arm drop
heavily onto the edit-bay table. "I remember her complaining about
having to stay out there, while everybody else in the newsroom was
begging me to let them go. I would've pulled her but Tony nixed it.
He wanted Kelly on a high-profile story and that was the end of
it."

"We have to show this to him. He's out sick
today but this can't wait. If this gets out, it'll blow
sky-high."

Ruth was suspiciously silent.

"Ruth? Don't you agree?"

She spoke slowly. "The problem is, I'm not
sure he'll do anything about it. He might just blow up at us."

"No." Natalie shook her head vigorously. "For
his own survival, Tony'll can her. He'll see that he can't have
somebody capable of this on the anchor desk. On the staff, for that
matter."

"You're sure that's not just wishful
thinking? Look what he's put up with already. Why should
this
send him over the edge?"

"Because this is in a whole other category,
Ruth. This could be criminal. If not for any moral reason, just
imagine the liability."

"Now that's a language Scoppio speaks." Ruth
pushed her bifocals up her nose. "Shit, I want that woman gone. But
I'm just not convinced Tony'll do it. Not unless he's backed
against the wall."

"There's only one way I can think of to do
that."

The women stared at each other.

Slowly Ruth nodded. "The last thing Tony
wants is for Pemberley to see that tape. That's our best leverage."
She slapped the table. "I'll make a VHS version to hand-carry to
Scoppio's house."

Natalie paced the hallway outside Edit Bay 5
while Ruth made the dub. She knew she had a huge vested interest in
getting Kelly canned. How gratifying would it be if Tony Scoppio
were at long last forced to admit that Natalie Daniels, thanks to
her maturity and judgment, was the superior choice for the anchor
desk? And if she could get the woman who'd betrayed her summarily
fired?

"I like being powerful for a change," Natalie
said when Ruth emerged, videocassette in hand. Ruth grinned. "No
kidding."

*

Tony's head reared up from the blue porcelain
toilet bowl when he heard the doorbell ring. Jesus Christ, who'd
have guessed his house would be like Grand Central Station on a
weekday? He could barely get a moment's rest, which was sure as
hell what he needed to kill whatever raging beast had gotten hold
of his stomach.

He heaved himself to his feet and flushed the
toilet, then cranked open the window. It was baking like only the
San Fernando Valley could bake but he couldn't very well leave the
window shut. The bathroom reeked. He didn't know what was making
him sick: eating Anna-Maria's veal parmigiana last night or having
lawsuit-magnet Kelly Devlin on his air. Whatever it was had sure
opened up the sluices at both ends.