Nic Tatano - It Girl

"And it pays twenty … million … dollars," said Layla. "Cha-ching."

I shook my head as I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. "The outgoing anchor has been there ten years. They're not going to pay that much for someone new."

"So you wouldn't do it for ten million?" asked Layla. She lowered her voice and said, "Cha-ching," again.

"It's a moot point," I said. "I'd take the evening anchor job in a heartbeat, but I'm not the kind of person they want for mornings. The 'P' word is a necessary skill set for that show."

"‘P’ word?" asked Savannah.

"Perky!" I said. I playfully batted my lashes as I widened my eyes and turned my voice into that of a high-pitched brainless bimbo. "It's what all morning shows want! Someone upbeat and cheerful before the sun comes up! Good morning! It's a beautiful day! Let's all be happy while you get your precious little snowflakes ready for school!" I went back to my normal sarcastic tone. "Can you picture me on a morning show? Hey guys, I'm Veronica Summer. What the hell are you guys doing up? Fuhgeddaboudit! Go back to bed and let the little bastards make their own damn school lunches!"

"Yeah, you're not exactly little miss sunshine in the morning. But you could fake it," said Layla. "You're good at faking things."

"Funny," I said, sneering at her. "Trust me, they're not going to call."

I really wanted to believe that as the discussion finally ended.

But dammit, they called the next day.

***

The network morning show is called, quite simply, The Morning Show. How much they paid someone to come up with that incredibly clever title is a closely guarded secret. Rumor has it that ten years ago network executives went off on a three day retreat to revamp the morning offering and come up with a new name for the thing. After a long weekend running up a huge bill at some exotic getaway in the Bahamas and countless hours of brainstorming someone came up with the ground-breaking idea to add capital letters to the concept.

The people in Congress have nothing on network executives, who have raised lack of productivity to an art form.

Anyway, The Morning Show's executive producer Gavin Karlson was already seated at the last table in the 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."