Page 32 of Under the Weatherman
“Butyou’rehappy here?”
“I mean. At least it’s steady work I can add to my résumé. And there’s plenty of opportunity to learn on the job. I’m thinking of going back to school to get certified in technical support.”
Once Gigi roamed off, I scanned the news. I wasn’t that out of touch, and I read pretty fast, so when Lauren came back about an hour later, I stretched and said, “Okay. I’m ready for theWait, Wait, Don’t Tell Menews quiz.”
She grabbed a seat beside me, typing on her own laptop. “We’re in charge of blocking the time and slotting in the news packages.” She had some fancy software that looked complicated, and I recalled Evan telling me air traffic control would be less stressful than working in a newsroom. I swallowed down sudden nausea, either from impostor syndrome or memories of that horrible last phone call with Evan.
“Walt will make his own sports packages, and Bob does weather live. We’re in charge of the A and B blocks.”
Lauren stayed with me for another hour as we built a rundown for the six o’clock news. The mechanics of putting the half-hour show together challenged me, but in a fun way. At last, we had a newscast written and sent it over to feed into the teleprompters. As the six o’clock hour ticked closer, I sat in the control room and watched everyone get into position. The pressure of this job was no joke.
My stomach rumbled. “When do we eat?”
Tom laughed. “Settle in. You won’t have time to think about food for the next hour.”
Sure enough, things intensified, and soon we were gearing up for the live broadcast. My feet ached from racing back and forth between the control room, the studio, and my desk. Roiling nerves left my hands clammy as my imagination presented all the possible things that might go wrong.
Luckily, I wasn’t running the show. Lauren did all the heavy lifting while I observed, riveted by the chaos of the studio. She clapped her hands. “Look alive people! We go live in five. Everyone should be in place for the pre-show teaser. Tom, are we set?”
The anchors stacked their pages, not talking to one another. When Lauren counted down to the live teaser, they put on their camera faces and smiled to promote the upcoming stories.
“How will construction on Route 29 impact Charlottesville? Coming up at six we’ll hear what local business owners have to say.” Kent’s voice was smooth and professional.
Holy shit. They were saying my words. Well, the words Lauren and I had worked out. What a rush! I mean, it wasn’t Tolstoy, but it was as close as I’d ever come to being a professional writer.
The camera cut to Sandra. “And we’ll take you to an area elementary school where giving thanks has never tasted so good.”
I winced at how cheesy that sounded in Sandra’s sultry voice, but she’d said it. I felt like a master puppeteer. Oh, the power!
The cameras went off, and Kent muttered, “The viewers at home must be giving thanks for God’s bounty. Your boobs are practically popping through the cameras.”
My head swiveled back to the monitor. Had I heard that right?
Sandra adjusted her bust line. “Keep your eyes on your own paper, Kent.”
Was this what went on every night?
A prerecorded package introduced the anchors, sports, and weather cast with a blanket “and the entire news team.” I beamed. I was the news team.
Then we were back on air, and I hovered in the doorway, thrilling as the news anchors continued saying phrases I’d crafted. The words were lost to history the moment they’d entered the atmosphere, but still. I was making money from writing. And I didn’t even have to ask if anyone wanted fries with that.
Lauren talked through the headset, loading things on her computer, calling out directions, noting the time, and uttering many words I didn’t even understand, making sure everything stayed on the rails.
All the while, Tom worked his console like a damn magician, pulling up highlight reels, eyes on so many monitors my head was spinning. More commercials, sports, then Bob Laslow with the weather. He was capable, with an honest fatherly demeanor. Friendly and trustworthy. But I wondered how many people would be watching him when Evan Spurlock showed up on a competing network. I would’ve turned the dial to get my weather from that eye candy.
If I could ever look at him again without throwing up.
At last, we wrapped. I expected something like applause or a round of “good job everyone” as the screens went black. Through the glass, I could see the anchors take out their earpieces and speak to each other, and I craned to hear what jabs they traded.
Lauren said, “Let’s debrief quickly about this newscast and grab dinner before we start all over again for the eleven o’clock.”
I blew out my breath. Holy shit. We had to do that again? “Okay.”
She closed her laptop. “It’s always intimidating your first time. It gets easier if you pay attention.”
The debriefing took no time, and soon I was out the door, looking for food. I’d forgotten how hungry I was during the excitement of the show, but now I felt so dizzy I could have eaten road kill.
I texted Chelsea as I walked.Can you meet me at the dumpling place?
