A few minutes later, I stand in the studio and watch Leslie Mountain, the weatherman, predict more doom and gloom in terms of the plummeting temperatures. Everyone else at the desk makes jokes about how much they hate winter while Leslie tries to liven up the mood. I watch them practically blame the snowstorm and the low hanging clouds on him, as if he were the guy creating the situation.
“Listen, it’s not like it’s my fault.” Leslie keeps insisting.
His mouth is still formed into a smile, but with his eyes he is glaring at Glenn and the rest of the morning news team, even scowling a bit.
They cut to the commercial break and one of the female news anchors apologizes to Leslie.
“I’m just getting really sick of this shit,” he says. “You all act like it’s my fault that the goddamn weather is what it is.”
She tries to walk after him, but he rushes away before she can catch up to him.
“So, what do you think about the studio?” Franklin asks, putting his hand on my shoulder.
I flinch. I stop breathing mid-inhale. He is supposed to be upstairs. This isn’t going to plan.
“I am… Good. I mean, it’s great,” I mumble
“I can see that you’re not nervous at all,” Franklin says sarcastically.
I shrug and try to get a hold of myself. I take a deep breath, shifting my weight from one side to the other.
“Well, you know me, I’ve never done something like this before. I don’t know how I’ll be…in front of the camera.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Franklin says. “If those four idiots can do it, anyone can.”
He is right beside my ear, just out of shot but his condescension is not lost on the on-air team.
Back in the makeup room, I heard a conversation about just how much they hate him and dislike the fact that he bought Tate Media.
“Besides,” Franklin continues, “this is gonna be really great exposure for you and for the podcast. People love those true crime shows, right?”
I nod and shift my weight again, stepping slowly from one side to the other.
“Hell, the Discovery Channel started a whole separate channel devoted exclusively just to their true crime stories.”
“Is that what you’re thinking of doing?” I ask.
“True crime is cheap to produce and the best part is that you can keep talking about those old cases and people keep watching. O.J. Simpson, Scott Peterson, Robert Blake. All of those stories are brand new to younger viewers and it provides an element of nostalgia to the older ones. They remember when that story was all over the news and now, they can get a nice processed version about what really happened.”
“I hope that your cynicism doesn’t rub off on me anytime soon,” I say.
Franklin’s eyes focus on mine, and then he starts to laugh. I’ve never seen him laugh this hard. It builds somewhere deep in his stomach and comes out in waves, one stronger than the next.
“I didn’t think that that was particularly funny,” I point out.
“I like you, Henry. You’re not much of a yes-man or ass licker and you’d be surprised how unique that is in this business.”
Maybe that makes me an idiot.
When has standing up to your boss ever gotten you anything positive in life?
That shit only works on television. In real life, that’s the kind of thing that will get you fired and blacklisted from good career opportunities.
33
Henry
Franklin showing up down here, in the studio, is against the plan. I already have certain reservations about what is going to happen and whether this is the best approach but now I feel completely uncertain.
I take a few deep breaths to calm my nerves but my heart continues to pound from the inside out.
One of the producers walks me to my seat. The commercial break is almost over.
Now, it’s just the two of us, Glenn and me. All of the other personalities are standing in the wings, with their heads buried in their phones.
No one is expecting the segment to be anything but a simple promotion for my O.J. Simpson podcast.
“Take a deep breath, man. It’s going to be all right,” Glenn says.
I know that my nervousness is showing.
That’s bad.
I grab my thigh underneath the table and rub my fingers on it.
Calm down, calm the fuck down, I say silently to myself over and over again.
I glance over to the television cameras. Aurora is standing next to the table with all of the food, near the office. She takes a step closer to me. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and her eyes are laser-focused on mine.
She gives me a nod.
I shake my head no.
I want to ask her, what if we wait?
What if right now is not the best time?
But I can’t.
All I can do is move my head slightly in Franklin’s direction and watch her react.
She gives me another nod.
She knows that he’s here and she wants to stick to the plan.
Okay, I take a deep breath. It’s showtime.
Someone counts down and the red light comes on. Words start to scroll up the teleprompter, and Glenn introduces me with the ease and expertise of a veteran newscaster.
“So, Henry, over the years, the O.J. Simpson case has been covered extensively,” Glenn says, turning away from the teleprompter. “Why don’t I ask you a question that all of my viewers are thinking right now?”
I laugh. “Sure.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I look over at Aurora. I don’t see her by the catering table. She must be in the control room. I have an earphone that the producers have given me, but I’m also wearing another secret one.
“Go ahead,” Aurora says into my ear. “I’m ready.”
“What would that be?” I ask Glenn.
“Well, have there really been any great new developments in that case? I mean, why do this?”
I swallow hard.
It’s the moment of truth.
I lean back against the chair and turn a little bit more toward the audience, still keeping my eyes on Glenn.
“Actually, I have a little bit of a surprise. I have been working on another story, undercover, so to speak. This is as good a time as any to bring it all to light.”
“New story?” Glenn asks.
His demeanor changes. He’s no longer his usual soft, cuddly, and confident self.
Instead, I feel his nervousness rise up to the surface.
I look into the audience of producers and cameramen and out of the corner of my eye, I see Franklin.
His head is buried in his phone. After a moment, he looks up, glaring at me.
I turn to Glenn and say, “I have been working on a story about powerful men coercing and sexually assaulting underage girls. I have videos of all of these incidences, recorded by surveillance cameras inside the home of the owner of this network, Franklin Parks.”
The studio gets so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. As I tell him about everything that Aurora has found, I watch Franklin rush over to the control room to stop the broadcast.
But Aurora is too fast. She locks the doors and he’s left pounding on the glass from the outside.
“Franklin Parks has orchestrated the systematic abuse of multiple underage girls from underprivileged backgrounds. I have proof of all of these men coming in and abusing these girls under his roof. Let me show you what I’m talking about.”