Aamot shrugged and backed up to let one of the kids cut through the line with her food.
"
Like I said: I don’t
talk
when I have nothing to say.
"
Jake rolled her eyes.
"
Then you’re the only one.
"
"
Sometimes I think that’s true.
"
"
Believe me, you don't know the half of it.
"
She stepped up to the counter and ordered a gyro deluxe--double the meat--and a Diet Coke. Aamot had the same, but with a Mountain Dew. Jake was impressed. She liked a man who could handle his caffeine.
He passed her both gyros and took the soft drinks himself. Jake remembered to grab napkins and straws as they left the window. The day was pleasant--a change in wind direction had pushed all the heat and humidity further inland and left only a gentle lake breeze.
"
Anyone who wants to say or do something outrageous,
"
Jake
continued as they sat down at a picnic table,
"
anyone who wants to take a stand about anything, can get on TV these days.
"
She took a bite of her gyro--a real gyro with spit-roasted lamb, not that compressed garbage you got some places. Meat and grease and yogurt sauce spilled out th
e end. Heaven. Assuming you had
a napkin. Preferably a pile of them.
"
That’s pretty cynical for someone who makes her living in television.
"
He said it more like a lazy aside than an accusation. Sitting there coiled up, he reminded her of a big cat--a big sleepy cat with watchful green/gold eyes.
She shrugged.
"
I’ve been around this business for nearly ten years, first as an intern, then as a reporter, then as a director/producer. That’s long enough to see a lot of change. I've gotten used to local news time being used to promote network shows, and 'News that can save your life!' that's so vitally important to people that we can tease it for two weeks."
"Meanwhile, people are dropping dead all over the place, huh?" Aamot asked with a grin.
"You got it," she said, smiling back. She shifted on the picnic bench. "But what really bothers me is the warped view of the world you can get by only watching TV news.
"
She set down the gyro and leaned forward on her elbows.
"
We do a story about someone who is protesting something--chunks in their peanut butter, say. If you didn’t know better, you’d think there was this huge anti-chunk movement out there instead of one old lady with dentures.
"
Aamot laughed and handed her a napkin.
"
Do you think the public is that gullible?
"
She took the hint and wiped her chin.
"
Gullible? No, I don’t think the public is gullible necessarily, it just wants to be entertained, instead of informed. People don’t read the newspaper or news magazines or watch real news programs, unless something catastrophic happens. Then they're insatiable--they just can't get enough of the story. The rest of the time, though, they're happy to catch our 'eleven minutes of non-stop news' and be done with it.
"
"
So, don't stations like yours,
"
he nodded at her,
"
have tremendous power to shape people’s perceptions?
"
"
Yesss.
"
She said it warily. Aamot wasn’t looking like such a pussycat anymore. Jake thought about the research she'd done on the Firenzes: The fire in the box she'd told Martha about, the earlier explosion at the factory, and the fact that Aamot was the investigator then, too. How would those facts--kneaded, shaped, and fed to the public in easily digestible tidbits--be perceived?
"
Then don't you also have a responsibility?" Aamot
followed up
. "To present both sides of a story, to have balanced coverage?
"
"In eleven minutes? Don't be silly."
Realizing sarcasm probably wouldn't cut it here,
Jake took a pull on her soda.
"
I take it you’re not thrilled wi
th our coverage of the accident.
"
Aamot
sawed off a chunk of pita bread with his plastic knife and speared it, then a chunk of lamb and some onions with his plastic fork. Geez, the man ate gyros with a knife and fork. It almost offset the attractiveness of the Mountain Dew addiction.
"
No.
"
Jake waited, but no more
seemed
forthcoming. It was Jake's nature to feel responsible for everything that happened around her, but, honestly, the one-sided coverage wasn't all the station's fault. Aamot wasn't helping his cause.
"
If the coverage of the explosion isn’t balanced, isn’t that partly your fault? Why don’t you agree to an interview?
"
"
I told you, I don’t have any concrete information for you yet. It’s not my responsibility to keep you in sound bites in the meantime.
"
Jake wiped off her hands and set the napkin carefully down on the table, ready to do battle.
"
So what are we supposed to report?
"
"
The news. Just don’t invent it.
"
"
We--
"
"
Mind if I join you?
"
The voice came from behind Jake. She twisted and saw Bryan Williams. Bryan was the owner of Festivities, the event marketing firm that was managing Lake Days. He was also Jake's former boss. And former lover. Emphasis on "former."
Bryan had a junior-size orange drink in hand. Wimp.
Aamot stood up to introduce himself. The two men shook hands. Bryan was about five-foot-nine and slender. His silver hair made him look distinguished and ten years older than his forty years. Even dressed casually today in jeans and a shirt with the Refresh Yourself Lake Days logo, he looked smooth and immaculate. Jake just knew his jeans had been pressed.
Aamot was wearing jeans, too, but looked entirely comfortable in them. And in himself.
But
it was
Bryan
who
was speaking.
"
I blame myself. I should have known this show was too much for the Firenzes.
"
Here we go again, Jake thought. Bryan
appearing to blame
himself,
but only
so nobody else would.
Don’t be silly, Bryan, it’s not your fault the Firenzes blew themselves up.
Aamot had swiveled on the bench to face Bryan squarely. His eyes had that watchful look back.
"
You think so?
"
he asked, his voice slowing.
Jake tucked one leg up under her on the bench across from the two men and settled in. This could be good: Bryan’s
comma-bracketed, qualifying
parenth
eticals against Aamot’s shoot-straight
-from-the-hip
way of speaking.
"
Oh, definitely.
"
Bryan tapped his fingernails on the table.
"
I told Clementine--Mayor Cox,
"
he explained for Aamot,
"
that we were taking a risk. Not with safety, of course, or we never would have gone with the Firenzes. She felt--and rightly so, I thought at the time--that,
obviously,
given they were the hometown company, we had to give them a chance.
"
Jake wanted to scream at the sentence construction, but Aamot just raised his eyebrows.
"
The Firenzes may be local, but they’re one of the best in the business.
"
"
Oh, of course. But you, as a regulator, would be interested in safety, reliability. As an event manager, I’m interested in those things, too, but also in the creative aspects. Showmanship, technology, visual effects.
"
He shook his head.
"
Do you know what Pasquale Firenze said when I suggested adding lasers to the show?
"
Jake knew the answer to that, because she’d been there. It had been at one of the production meetings she had mentioned to Aamot.
Ideas had been bouncing around the table, everybody--Mayor Cox and Bryan, mostly--talking excitedly over everybody else. A Venetian Night parade, or maybe a symphony concert, and then lasers had been brought up.
Pasquale rubbed at one bushy white eyebrow.
"
No,
"
he said quietly.
Bryan had turned to him.
"
What?
"
The surprise on Bryan's face almost made Jake laugh.
"
I said no. No lasers. Lasers and my fireworks don’t mix. You want lasers, you do them after my show.
"
Mayor Cox’s turn, and she
looked
angry
or maybe embarrassed
.
"
Pasquale, we’re paying you for this show and you will--
"
Pasquale leaned forward to shake his finger at the mayor, sitting across the table from him.
"
That’s right, Clementine, you’re paying me. You want to go with Gustafsen
Fireworks or somebody else, you just go ahead. I
f you want to shoot the whole goddamn show yourself, I’ll hand you the flare. You work with Pasquale Firenze, though, you get the benefit of his experience. Thirty years of shooting fireworks and maybe I know something you don’t. You understand?
"
The mayor
glanced sideways a
t Bryan
, who hesitated before
finally tilting his head.
Pasquale continued.
"
Lasers are light. You put light with fireworks, you wash them out. You lose the color. Like doing fireworks when it’s not dark. You put fireworks with lasers, you wash the lasers out, too. You understand?
"
Back in real-time, Jake was aware that Aamot was answering Bryan, and she was surprised to hear him echoing her thoughts.
"
He probably said lasers and fireworks don’t mix.
"
Jake jumped in,
if only for
the
pleasure
of crossing Bryan.
"
We’d have lost both of them on the coverage.
"
"
Well, that’s something we didn’t realize at the time, of course,
"
Bryan said, looking hard across the table at her.
"
Still,
as I think we can all agree,
the Firenzes were in over their heads with the sixteen-inch shells. I wish to God
, in hindsight,
they'd
simply
admitted as much. We would have
formulated alternative, less ambitious, plans
. But
, well, if
you kn
e
w Pasquale.
..
"
His open expression invited them to agree with him.
Bryan was into
Act
Two of his usual performance when something went wrong. Not coincidentally, it dovetailed nicely with news coverage of a disaster.
Act
One: Horror, Regret.
Act
Two: Recriminations, Outrage. Reluctant recriminations on Bryan’s part.
"
I’m sorry to say,
"
he’d preface it with, then he’d flay the Firenzes.
"
I
did
know Pasquale,
"
Jake said pointedly,
"
and I would have trusted him with my life.
"
"
You certainly trusted him with a microwave truck,
"
Bryan retorted,
"
and see where it got you.
"
Jake must have struck a nerve. It wasn’t like Bryan to lose his temper in public. It made absorbing the counter jab from him about the truck almost a pleasure.
"
Yeah, and you can look for that little item on your production bill. You were the one--
"
Aamot held up his hands.
"
Why don’t we cool it? The fact is we still don’t know what happened. Until we do, blaming anyone, including the Firenzes,
"
he looked at Bryan,
unconsciously--or not--mimicking the other man's speech rhythms,
"
is a mistake. It would be a shame to say something we'd have to retract later.
"