Wouldn’t you know Kelsey Stanton is standing in the doorway? Her expression is frozen, her green eyes shuttered. She’s a woman used to hiding her emotions.
"Speak of the devil," I say to let the boys know she’s there.
They turn crimson as they avoid her eyes.
She’s not alone. Erik Collins stands beside her, a hand resting on the small of her back. He looks angry, his handsome features drawn up into a scowl.
"Now just-" Erik starts, but Kelsey lays a hand on his chest, shaking her head.
"Thanks for walking me in, Erik," she says softly and I detect kindness in her voice. "Good luck today."
Erik nods but he’s still glaring at the lot of us. Though I’m the only one who will meet his eyes.
He turns his attention back to the small blonde at his side and leans forward to kiss her cheek. "Don’t let them get to you, Kels." His words are meant only for her but I pick them up. "I love you."
She nods, pats his chest with the hand still resting there, and nudges him out the door, which she closes behind him.
She stands before us and the room is filled with uneasy silence. She’s wearing a copper colored pantsuit with a light colored blouse, no skirt today. I’m glad for it since we’ll be doing some walking. She seems nervous, but determined not to show it. Her body also radiates anger.
"Queen Bitch reporting for duty," she says slowly, taking a seat at the far end of the table, and I realize that our first meeting could have had a better start.
We are sitting in the news van Chambers has provided his new "Go-team." If he calls us that one more time, I may have to kick him. He tried to do a little pep talk for the four of us, but as he saw it failing abysmally, he sent us out on assignment, shortening our equipment checks and making us miss lunch.
Kelsey Stanton is sitting in the seat beside me, fuming still. Her arms are folded tightly across her chest, her legs are crossed and everything about her is screaming 'don't fuck with me.' If she were a porcupine, I'd be picking quills out of my ass right now.
She doesn't intimidate me. Although poor Jimmy is cowering in the back of the van, sitting on a crate, wishing he were anywhere but with us. Conrad is at the station, checking out the equipment and meeting the other editors. We didn’t have any confrontations this morning, despite the boys’ words, but she’s not thawed yet, either. She only speaks if one of us asks her a direct question. Ironically, I’m the only one with the balls to try. I hope she’s a professional and can turn it on in front of the camera. If not, I’ll certainly lay into her then and I guarantee she won’t like it.
It's lunchtime and we're behind schedule because Ms. Important closed herself in her office to ‘attend to business’ for the better part of an hour. We have an appointment with the Los Angeles County Commissioner at two to discuss water permits being issued to political cronies. My comment that this sounds like the start of the plot of Chinatown is met with stony silence.
"You could at least pretend to not hate me," I finally say, knowing it will annoy her further. "I mean, after all, we're gonna be working together for awhile." I don’t hate her nearly as much as she hates me. I almost feel sorry for her.
"Only just."
"Just what?" I am confused.
She looks at me as one might look at a dead animal carcass. "Just until the anchor spot opens up."
"Your old one?" I tweak. I can't help myself. I really should lay off of her. This can’t be easy on the ex-anchor.
A frosty smile is my reply. "No, the New York one."
"You mean network anchor?" I ask.
The smile grows bigger and colder. "Yes; it's my reward for doing this demeaning assignment."
I stop at a red light and use the opportunity to turn my full attention on my passenger. I roam my eyes over her body, undressing her, tossing each piece of that nice copper colored suit back into Jimmy's hands. Oh, I wish. She flushes because she knows what I am doing. "Honey, you haven't been demeaned yet," I drawl, letting my Louisiana accent slip out again.
"The light's green. And do you have to keep that thing on so loud?" she asks, pointing to the police scanner attached to the dash.
Lazily, I turn my attention back to the road, ignoring the honking of drivers behind me. "So it is, and, yes, I do." I step on the accelerator and we continue making our way down South Figueroa Street. "Reeves isn't going to retire anytime soon."
She snorts, shakes her head. "Obviously, you don't know anything about the network. He's due to retire this year or next, at the latest."
My turn to snort and shake my head. "Obviously, you don't know shit about his finances. I happen to know that he has gambling debts out his butt. Atlantic City now owns more of his property than he does. And he's got a son in rehab. All that gets expensive. He'll be staying around for awhile." I shrug, change lanes, pulling around some little old lady doing ten miles an hour. "Besides, word on the street has it that Hathaway is a shoo in for the job."
"Hathaway? I think not. He's an idiot."
"Emphasis on 'he', Kels."
She bristles, "Don't call me that."
I ignore her, liking the nickname I overheard Erik use and, more than that, enjoying her reaction to it. "No woman has ever anchored the network news on a nightly basis. Only one co-anchored and where the hell is Connie Chung nowadays? Barbara Walters, Diane Sawyer, Lesley Stahl, they all do news magazines. Besides, you're too young. What are you thirty-five?"
She looks aghast, that I would think her that old. "Thirty-two."
"My point exactly. You gotta have some credibility. You sure they didn't promise you the NY nightly news? Not network?"
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." She fidgets in the seat, angry beyond all reason at me. "And who the hell are you to act as my career counselor? You're trash TV, the lowest rung on the television evolutionary scale. God, you've barely climbed out of the primordial ooze."
"Yeah, well, when the rest of the higher life forms die off, the only thing that's gonna survive are single-celled organisms like myself. And cockroaches, because they’re indestructible." We're passing Sixth Street and I make a decision, turning left onto Fifth at the next light. "Hey, Jimmy, guess where we're near!"
The orange-haired Korean, who's been watching our interchange like someone at a Ping-Pong tournament, smiles. "Dirty water dog?"
"Yup!"
For the first time since leaving the station, Jimmy doesn’t look like a frightened kid in the back. He bounds forward and throws open the back door. He is at the hot dog vendor before I have even finished illegally double-parking in front of the LA Public Library, Main Branch.
"You want one?" I ask as I am about to hop out my side of the van.
Kelsey makes the same face as yesterday after she saw me with what's-her-name on my bike. "I think not. Those things are terrible for you."
"Haven't seemed to hurt me yet." I leave her to wait for us as I buy one of Mother Nature's most perfect gifts to mankind.
Jimmy is already starting on his second dog when I arrive at the cart. Whenever we're in downtown LA, our crew always stops by Old Vito's cart. Vito looks like the dogs he sells - wrinkled, red and long.
I am finishing squirting extra ketchup on my foot long when I hear Kelsey's voice in the background. I roll my eyes and share a smirk with Jimmy. I let her wait; I am busy.
"Harper! Jesus Christ, Joseph and Mary! Get over here!"
"I didn't know we brought so many people with us, eh, Olson?"
He grimaces and runs a fine boned hand through his orange hair. "I'm gonna dye it back. I gotta stop these Jimmy Olson jokes. It's hurting my career."