Page 104 of Hello, Summer
Conley’s phone beeped with another incoming call from a 404 area code.
“Can you hold for a minute, Selena? I’ve got another call I need to take. Be right back.”
She clicked over to the new call. “Hi. This is Conley,” she said.
“Conley Hawkins!” the man’s voice was a little too loud, a little too boisterous for such an early hour in the morning. “Peter Elkhaly, senior executive producer at CNN. Don’t we know each other?”
Even though CNN was based in Atlanta, Conley knew only a handful of journalists who worked there. Most of the old barriers and animosity between print and broadcast had faded in recent years, but the economic ones still existed. Print journalists were paupers compared to the salaries broadcasters made in a major market like Atlanta.
“Don’t think so,” Conley said. “What can I do for you, Pete?”
“It’s Peter. I’ll be brief. We want that Robinette story you guys ran last night. Especially that video.”
She smiled. “The thing is, I’ve got my old boss at theAJCand the Atlanta NBC bureau chief, both on hold. I’ll be brief too. What’s your offer?”
“A thousand, and it’s ours exclusively.”
“That’s all you got?”
“What else do you want? We like the video, we like the family feud angle, but I’ll be honest with you. This is an election year, Conley. We got stories exploding all over the place. That’s about the best I can do.”
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks for calling.” She disconnected and went back to her previous caller, hoping that the NBC bureau chief hadn’t hung up or given up. “Selena?”
“Still here. What’s your thought on my offer?”
“Well,” Conley said slowly. “That was Peter Elkhaly from CNN on the other line…”
“That tool? I hope you didn’t cut a deal with him.”
“I told him I’d think about it,” Conley lied.
“I had a chance to talk with my boss while you were busy,” Selena said. “He likes this story as much as I do, and we agree that it could have legs and that having you on the ground down there following up as things develop will give us a nice edge. So. We’ll figure out an associate producer contract for you, and in the meantime, we’d like to lock up the exclusive on both those videos. How does $2,000 sound?”
It sounded like four car payments on the Subaru and a windfall for Michael Torpy. But more important, if the associate producing gig happened, maybe it could work into an actual job down the line—and a ticket out of Silver Bay.
“Sounds fine,” Conley said. “I’ll have to speak with my colleague who shot the interview with Charlie Robinette, but I’m pretty sure he’ll agree. And I’ll need to clear the deal with my managing editor.”
“Do that,” Selena said. “I’ll email you the contract as soon as legal gets it to me. And, Conley?”
“Yes?”
“Welcome aboard. I think we’re gonna have some fun with this one.”
She clicked back over to Roger Sistrunk, who was still on hold, but he’d disconnected.
38
G’mama was talking animatedly on the phone when Conley walked into the kitchen.
Winnie’s transistor radio was propped on the windowsill, and Buddy Bright was prattling on about the upcoming memorial service in Washington for Symmes Robinette.
Conley went to the cupboard, found a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts, tore open the foil wrapper, and took a bite of the corner of the pastry.
“At least let me put that in the toaster for you,” Winnie said, but Conley resisted.
“I like ’em this way. It’s even trashier than if it’s toasted.”
Winnie rolled her eyes in response.
