Nancy Grace - Death on the D-List

Fryer’s ascension to the role of GNE president, in his own mind, edged him into the ranking along with presidents, kings, and princes. His home-security design must be commensurate with his position. Fryer was sure there would be death threats of some sort. Or at least attempted bugs and wiretaps. So far, none of the three had happened.

Schlager’s security design for Fryer’s six-story condo in the heart of Manhattan’s toney Upper West Side was a technical wonder, a fusion of art and science, complete with a steel-encased “safe-room,” with metal window and door covers that shut automatically in the face of an attack. Similar metal casement closings protected the bedroom and bathroom doors, with sensors constantly measuring everything from movement to sound to temperature, from wine cellar to attic.

Video cameras out the yin-yang were a foregone conclusion.

But for some reason, the detectors were a little too sensitive, resulting in Fryer frequently tripping the silent alarm locking all the doors, inside and out, and causing the steel casings to close, making him a virtual prisoner in whatever room he happened to be in at the moment.

He usually tripped the sensors when in his own bathroom. The condo’s electricity and phones were tied into the whole thing. Visitors to the home were given cell phones at the front door to dial for help, just in case they accidentally tripped the system and locked themselves in as they wandered from room to room.

A mere technician obviously couldn’t handle the intricacies of Schlager’s design. So at times like these, Einst had to be tracked down wherever he was around the globe. He then had to hook into the portable laptop he carried everywhere in an aluminum briefcase, and log into Fryer’s security system to reverse the trip.

Fryer’s insistence on a steel safe-room and automated steel casings straight out of Star Wars to cover various doors in his home made him quite the conversation topic among the other network bigs. His “eccentricities” were overlooked… as long as GNE stayed on top.

And it did stay on top.

“Have they found Schlager?” Sookie hissed it into the phone. “I busted my frame getting into the city this morning, much less what I’ve gone through trying to find the right outfit for the meeting. This is absolutely unacceptable.”

“We think he’s on a yacht outside Bahrain. Still trying.”

“What the hell is he doing on a yacht outside Bahrain?”

“I don’t know, Sookie.” Pressley spoke calmly and soothingly to Sookie at times like these. She didn’t want to agitate her boss any more than she already was. “Would you like me to find out the nature of his business in Bahrain?”

“No, you idiot, it was a manner of speaking. I don’t care what Einst Schlager is doing in Bahrain. I just want Fryer to drag his tubby white ass into this meeting.”

Sookie was now standing, spitting the last syllable into the cell phone, kicking at one of the designer minis lying in a pile on the floor.

“Okay. I’ll keep trying. What about a phone conference instead of a face-to-face meeting with Fryer? I’m sure he could do a cell call from his bathroom.”

“I didn’t drive the whole way in from the Hamptons and spend three hours at Bergdorf’s just to talk to Fryer trapped on the can. Call me when he gets out. Oh yeah, what floor’s he on? Can he at least crawl out the window?” Sookie was screaming at this point, much to the delight of the two salesgirls listening outside the changing room door.

“Already checked. Sixth floor. Bathroom attached to the master bedroom. Can’t crawl out. He had the fire escape stairs outside removed, remember? He was convinced the paparazzi would crawl up and get pictures.”

“Yes, how could I forget that? As if the tabs want a shot of him lying on his sofa eating a bag of chips.”

“Hold on, Sookie, Tony’s dialing in.”

“No! I can’t take all his slathering this early in the day. Just tell me what he wants.”

“Okay.” Pressley momentarily put her boss on hold to find out what Tony wanted without increasing Sookie’s frustration. “Hello? Tony?”

“Pressley, where’s Sookie? I have to talk to her right now .” As usual, Tony Russo was frantic.

“I have her on the phone right now, she knows it’s you and wants to know what’s up?”

“It’s about today’s show. Patch me through.”

“Hold, please.” Manipulating buttons on the phone, she put Russo on hold and went back to Sookie.

“He needs to talk to you right now about the show. It sounds urgent.”

“Why can’t he just leave a message?”

“I already asked.”

“I’m going to shoot myself. I can’t take it anymore. I’m getting a migraine. Patch him through.” Sookie held the back of her left hand over her forehead and lay back on the pillows of a deep-cushioned sofa there in the changing room.

Maybe she would take a tiny sip of the tea, after all. Could she put some gin in it?

Tony’s voice blasted into the cell. He’d never learned the concept of an “inside voice.” Practically everything came out several decibels too loud. As a preemptive maneuver, Sookie had already dialed down the volume on her phone.

“You have to call Harry. I just booked Dean on the Prentiss Love show. But you know Harry’ll threaten not to host if she’s on.”

“Can’t you deal with him?”

“I tried already. Didn’t work. He’s threatening to do the World Series.”

“Doesn’t that happen, like, a year from now?”

“Doesn’t matter. He wants to predict who he thinks will make it all the way. Besides the Yankees, of course.”

“But that’s a year away and there will only be one other team. What’s there to say?”

“Then he can rail about the Yankee payroll.”

“Why are we talking about this? Prentiss Love’s body’s still warm. We are not doing a show about the World Series.”

“I know that, you know that, but Harry doesn’t know it. You have to call him. Tell him we need the numbers.”

“Harry doesn’t care about the numbers. He doesn’t understand why we all get paid. He thinks viewers tune in for him. He doesn’t get it’s about the guests. And he hates Hailey Dean. She showed him up and made him look like an idiot. At least keep her away from him. Put her in a flash studio with the logo behind her.”

“Done. I’ll tell her it’s to make her happy. Needless to say, the hatred is mutual.”

“Okay.” Sookie agreed. “I’ll call him. We can’t miss the Prentiss Love train. She’s only gonna get murdered once. Same as Stockton.”

“What time do you meet with Fryer? Want me to come?” Russo would give his eyeteeth to be in the same room as the GNE president.

“Not till he gets out of his bathroom.”

“Locked in again?”

“Yes. It’s totally ruined my schedule for today. By the way, where are you?”

“At the office, of course.”

“Come meet me for coffee at Bergdorf’s.”

He knew what that meant. Sookie translation… Come buy my lunch plus whatever I spot that I want, and don’t you dare try to expense it. He dreaded meeting her at any major department store, much less a little boutique. Sookie always spotted extremely expensive items and pressured Tony into buying them as gifts to her. He really couldn’t afford it, but she was the boss, and she had the ears of not only Harry Todd, but all the network bigs.

“Now?” He could only croak out the one syllable. His budget really didn’t include one of Sookie’s “lunches,” aka buying spree.

“No, idiot. Tomorrow.”

Russo was already headed toward the elevator to go out and hail a cab. He had to. Sookie picked three of the minis off the floor, and sticking only part of her left hand out through the changing room door, she thrust the clothes into the arms of one of the sales girls.