“Oh, they do in Cuba. They just can’t tell anyone.” She smiled, her mind lost in thought as she hummed a little lullaby in Spanish, moving her hips and remembering something pleasant.
“You miss it sometimes?”
“Yes and no. I miss the fictionalized version I came away with as a young girl. I don’t know what it’s really like, but each year, I remember the rolling parties when we used to roll the tobacco with our mothers, swat flies, and man the fans, while our overseer read stories to us. Julio Ortega. He’d been a famous fighter back in the days before the big war. Came home with one eye, and he still read to us. He was very handsome with his dark moustache, his white Fedora hat, and his cigar. We sang together. Some of us little girls danced and made our mothers laugh. The purge and the revolution were not good for our family. But before then, it was paradise. Maybe it will be again.”
Shannon always loved talking to Sandy. She also wondered what her real name was, suspecting the name was related more to a beach term than an American girl call sign.
She pulled her plastic smock off and then nearly jumped. “I forgot. Your lipstick. I’m feeling orange today. How about you?”
“I could go for orange. Deep orange, though.”
“Perfect with your blue.”
During the broadcast, Clarence Thompson, the evening anchor, was filling in for the new morning anchor, Sylvia Torres, who announced she was pregnant with her first child about two months after she was hired. Several of Shannon’s colleagues argued the spot should be given to her, since most at the station believed that Sylvia knew about her pregnancy when she was hired and was using them all.
But Shannon had been grateful she might be given a morning time slot, which would enable her to be home with Marco at night. Until now.
Clarence face went from a sour disposition to outright disgust, appearing to nearly vomit as the pictures of the hundreds, if not thousands, of dead fish bloating in the hot Florida sun came up. Their eyes were hollowed out by sea birds, tiny crabs, and flies, which were everywhere. Even some stingrays and unusual stingray-like prehistoric fish with long rat tails washed up Shannon had never seen before.
The area reporter explained matter-of-factly that the fish ate the red algae or didn’t have sea glass to hide in or devour, depending on their species, due to a release of approved chemicals that were supposed to be safe for human swimmers but killed the grass.
Clarence went through two glasses of water, the last one shaking in his gnarled hand as he raised it up to his face, studded with age spots and hair plugs. He took several deep breaths and was caught on camera doing one, which would cause a scene after the show was over. Clarence would no doubt try to get the cameraman fired for having “shit for brains,” which was the most common adjective he used.
“Well, Rob,” Shannon began, “thanks for that detailed report. I guess I won’t be eating in any fish restaurants anytime soon, although—”
A noise on the other side of the podium caught her attention. Even the cameraman heard it and focused in for a headshot of Clarence Thompson throwing up all over his desk with white chunks of whatever he had for breakfast—probably oatmeal—sticking and dripping from his red tie.
Shannon looked for Jared Newsome, TMBC’s Program Director, as she was taking off her equipment and handing it to the tech on duty. She expected him to be waiting in the dark wings, stoically watching her perform with his arms crossed and his glasses shining in the dim light, not revealing his expression.
But he wasn’t anywhere on the production level, so she went downstairs to Floor Five, turned the corner, and nearly crashed into Bunny Copperfield, the evening anchor gunning for Clarence’s job. In fact, Shannon had recently heard that Bunny was starting the rumors again about the older man’s hands and suggestions. Clarence was stupid, especially in this day of sexual harassment, but Shannon didn’t think he was that stupid. One of these days—and it would take something more than a vomit on air—he would do something, and his career would be over. It was the price he would pay for not paying attention to the fact that while the world had moved on, he hadn’t. Now his behavior, once deployed in poor taste, was something an attorney could extract a huge sum from. He didn’t see it, and Shannon wondered if he did if he wouldn’t care anyway.
She bounced right off Bunny’s enormous chest, which left Shannon covered in a cloud of perfume that made her nostrils itch. Instead of reacting, all she could do was sneeze.
“So sorry, Bunny. I wasn’t paying attention. That sneeze was a whopper,” Shannon lied.
“Hmph. You could hurt someone. Try paying attention, or perhaps walking more like a lady than a pirate’s second in command?”
The veiled reference to Marco was kind of funny, even though her voice was laced with venom. Of all the people at the station, Shannon trusted Bunny least of all.
Jared’s door was still open, and he was standing, no doubt having just said goodbye to Bunny.
“Hey, Shannon. Sorry I didn’t get up there this morning. I heard we had quite a red cross moment.”
Shannon rolled her eyes. “I was just glad we had socially distanced the desks, or I would be going home to change.”
Jared pointed over his shoulder to the door that led to his private bathroom. “You could always use my shower. Anytime, Shannon. Anytime.”
“Oh, please. Haven’t you gotten tired of that, Jared? It never worked on me; it never works on anybody.”
“I guess that’s why you’re safe to just play around with. Nothing meant by it. Don’t be so prickly.”
Checking her insides, she admitted her nerves for what she had to tell him were mixing things up, but she easily reeled it all in, took a deep breath, and began.
“May I sit down?”
“Absolutely.” He pointed to a chair in front of his desk. He slung his right hip and thigh on the edge of the desk and leaned against it, rather than taking his rightful place behind. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve decided to leave the station.”
Jared stood up, hands on his hips. “What did you say?”
“I’m quitting.”
“But you can’t—”
“Yes, I can, and I’m going to.”
“But you have a contract to fulfill. Have you forgotten that?”
“No, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll buy it out. And if you get nasty with this, I can always throw some dirt on Clarence. Then you can get rid of both of us.”
“But I don’t want to get rid of you. I was just thinking of giving you Sylvia’s job during her leave. You’ve been wanting an anchor position. Shannon, your timing sucks.”
“Marco is so busy with the Trident Towers, and we’ll be going to Africa next year to start that project for the sultan. It’s going to require I be available to lend a hand. And I want to do it, Jared. My priorities have changed.”
“What if I doubled your salary and, say, let you go in six months? Can we arrange that?”
“Why are you so interested in giving me a shot suddenly? And do you really think money is the way to get me to stay? That was never my goal, even before I met Marco.”
“I just don’t want to lose you. Getting hard to find good talent. All the interns we’ve hired have quit, either because of Clarence or Bunny. And Bunny just gave me an ultimatum to get rid of Clarence. I’m going to do it, or I’ll have to let Bunny go. Either one is going to be very sticky. You’re like the one I can count on. I need you, Shannon. I really do.”