Page 103 of Hello, Summer
“Yes,” she said, laying clothes out on the bed. “The video is ours. But if you want it, you’re gonna have to pay for it. What kind of a rate are we talking about?”
“Like $750. Don’t break my balls over this, Hawkins. You know the kind of freelance rates we pay.”
Her phone beeped, indicating an incoming phone call. The number had a 404 area code, meaning it was from Atlanta.
“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped. “Hang on a sec, Roger. I’ve got an incoming call I need to take.”
She clicked over to the incoming call. “Hi. This is Conley Hawkins.”
“Conley!” The woman’s voice was warm and vaguely Southern. “This is Selena Kwan. I think we met years ago at a press club forum. I’m the NBC bureau chief in Atlanta, and I want to talk to you about this sensational Robinette story of yours.”
“I remember you,” Conley said warily. “From when we both covered the Atlanta public school cheating scandal, right?”
“Good memory,” Selena said. “I’m gonna cut right to the chase here. We’re really interested in this story about your dead congressman.”
“Uh-huh.”
“This would normally be too regional a story for us, but the angle of the mother and son running against each other for Robinette’s seat is too good to pass up.”
“I agree,” Conley said.
“So couple of quick questions. Who owns the rights to that video?”
“I shot the car fire video myself,” Conley said. “My friend and I were the first ones on the scene after the wreck. Well, the first that we know of. And my colleague at theBeacon,Michael Torpy, shot the interview with Charlie Robinette.”
“Okay. Perfect.”
“The story is still developing,” Conley said quickly. “Vanessa Robinette as much as told me thatifSymmes deeded over the quail-hunting plantation to Toddie, his first wife, it was the cancer meds talking. I wouldn’t be surprised if things get nasty in a hurry down here.”
“Better and better,” Selena said, chortling. “Who doesn’t love a messy family drama? So here’s what we’d like to do. The Washington bureau is going to send a camera crew to cover the memorial service at the Capitol today. Hopefully, we can get the widow and the son staring daggers at each other, with the flag-draped coffin in between.”
“At the very least,” Conley agreed. “Vanessa is not your typical tea-and-cookies political wife, and she is not the type to fade into the woodwork.”
“But in the meantime,” Selena continued, “we’d like to buy the rights to both videos. For onetime use, I can pay $500, or better for you, $1,000 for exclusive, cable-wide use on all our platforms for the rest of the month.”
Conley hesitated. “Just the video?”
“What else did you have in mind?” Selena asked.
“As I said, the story is just heating up. The cause of Robinette’s accident still hasn’t been determined.”
“Didn’t the sheriff tell you he died of head trauma or something?”
“Yeah. But what caused that accident? I was right there. Clear night, no other cars around. It was three-o-freakin’-clock in the morning, and he was a good forty miles from home. The car was a six-month-old Escalade.”
Selena was quiet for a moment. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Conley knew what was coming, but she waited.
“What’s a pro like you doing working for a tiny weekly paper in a town I can’t even find on a map? Didn’t I hear you left theAJCfor a gig in D.C.?”
“The job in D.C. didn’t pan out,” Conley said. “My family owns theBeacon,so I came home to spend time with family and to send out job applications, and this story exploded in my lap the second night I was in town.”
“Lucky you,” the producer said. “Okay, would you be willing to freelance consult with us on the story?”
“I would be, but I should tell you that I was on the phone with my old boss at theAJCwhen you called. He wants the video and for me to freelance a print piece for them.”
“We don’t care about print, so go ahead with that if you want,” Selena said quickly. “But we would want an exclusive on that video.”
