Chapter 18
“You look pale, honey,” Ida said. “And what’s that on your chin?”
“Grazed by a bullet,” I said.
“Yeah, sure. Makeup, please.”
A young man came out from among the equipment cases and dabbed pancake on my chin; it burned.
“Give her some color will you? And do something with the hair,” Ida ordered him. To me she said. “You should get some sun.”
Hiram Chin and a third-string reporter named Kelly Lopez were standing with the administration building behind them, mic’d and lit and ready for the camera.
Chin wore the usual well-cut suit and tie, appropriately dark for the occasion. Kelly Lopez wore a tight lime green knit shirt that showed a canyon of cleavage that not so long ago proper ladies wouldn’t have exposed until after dark. Along with overdone hair and too much makeup she presented quite a package, especially for a taping on a college campus where women generally dressed down lest they be mistaken for airheads.
I didn’t remember ever meeting her before, but when young news hens were as tarted up as she was they all looked about the same to me. I tried not to judge her, remembering that I had truncated the distinctive nose I inherited from my dad in order to get a job very similar to hers.
A phalanx of administrators and staff from the public relations office and a few students created a sort of peanut gallery off to one side. Ida held up her hand and ordered them to silence. When the last cough had been stifled, she put her hand down and signaled for the taping to begin.
Hiram read a prepared statement.
“The faculty, staff and students of Anacapa College are profoundly saddened by the untimely passing of our president, Dr. Park Holloway. Dr. Holloway was a man of great vision who, during his five-year tenure here, led our campus through unprecedented infrastructure growth. The building projects he spearheaded will stand as monuments to the man for many years to come.
“All of us here extend heartfelt sympathy and our prayers to Dr. Holloway’s family during their bereavement. The college invites the community to join us on campus at noon tomorrow as we remember our colleague, friend, and father. Thank you very much.”
Then he folded his notes, nodded to Kelly Lopez, who was poised to ask him questions, and began to remove his mic.
“Dr. Chin,” Kelly said, putting a hand on his arm to stay him. “May I ask you, sir-”
“If you’ll please excuse me,” he said. “I’ve been informed that there is a medical emergency involving one of our faculty. I need to tend to it.”
He handed Kelly his clip-on mic and walked away. As he passed me, the faculty member with the erstwhile medical emergency, I longed for a camera to capture the horror that crossed his face.
“Maggie,” was all he said.
“All’s well here, Hiram. You might have a word with Chief Tejeda in the gallery.”
Ida walked up to me as I watched Hiram’s retreating back.
“Bastard,” she said. “Hardly worth the trip out to hear that B.S. He coulda sent a memo.”
“What? You didn’t get one?”
“Must have missed it,” she said. “We’re putting you and Kelly on chairs over here, get the campus behind you. Too bad about the rain, though, I’d like to catch some students in the background.”
I looked around, saw Preston Nguyen and Sly and a couple of the other youths from the gallery lurking off to the side and gave them a quick wave.
“When we finish out here,” Ida told me, “you’re taking Kelly on a walk through the crime scene.”
“Who dresses her, Ida?”
“Cleavage is in with this new batch, Maggie. She may still be a bit undercooked, but don’t let her looks deceive you; she’s no dummy.”
Ida introduced us. Kelly and I walked together to the covered portico that ran along the side of the building, away from the elements but still with a good shot of the campus as a backdrop, where our conversation would be taped.
“What you said to Ida,” Kelly said, gesturing toward my chin. “Was that true? Did someone shoot at you?”
“At me? Hard to say,” I said. “But Kelly, you might not want to get too close.”
The two of us were perched on canvas director’s chairs, mic’d and hit with a last dab of pancake on nose, chin and forehead to keep down shine. The technical director ran light and sound checks and gave instructions to the cameramen. My neighbor, Early Drummond, was behind camera one. I knew I could trust him to make me look as good as the circumstances allowed, but I was more concerned about what I might say. I had no energy and no enthusiasm for what we were doing, so who knew what might come flying out? Kate had been right: it was time to lie down somewhere.
Sitting next to Kelly, wearing my borrowed sweater, a quick application of stage makeup, and with my hair more blown and sprayed than I usually wore it, I felt the way a brown wren might next to a peacock.
Ida called for silence. The red light came on over the lens of Early’s camera. The tape editor called, “We have speed.” Then Ida, who was producer and technical director on this shoot, began to count, “We are taping in five, four, three…”
Kelly leaned close to me, exposing even more of her makeup-enhanced cleavage to me, and began.
“Oh, Maggie, it must have been so horrible for you.”
Kelly’s exposed physical assets were less an issue for me than the breathless, sensationalized tone of her questions. Yes, finding a dead man had been horrible, but I refused to gasp and cry and go all girly, even though that would have made our bosses happy.
“Horrible for Dr. Holloway, certainly,” I said, answering her question, but sounding stiff, cold.
“What did you do, Maggie?”
“I called 911, and the paramedics and police responded quickly.” Very matter-of-fact in tone. “My involvement was, fortunately, very brief.”
“And now you’re making a film about the late Dr. Park Holloway.” She lowered her chin and looked at me the way funeral directors do when they mention the name of the dear departed. “Maggie, you must feel some link to Dr. Holloway, finding him the way you did. Is that what inspired you to…”
Kelly just seemed to freeze mid-sentence, staring at me. Was it the expression on my face that stopped her? I could have been more helpful to her, responded more generously. But I just didn’t have the mojo to do it.
After a moment, Kelly let out a long breath, turned toward Ida and gestured for her to cut.
“Give me a minute, will you, Ida?” she said.
Ida said, “You okay, Kelly?”
“Yeah, sure. Just give us a minute, okay?”
“Take five,” Ida answered. Early asked me where he could find coffee and I pointed him toward the cafeteria. He led two others off with him. Ida called after them, “Bring me one, too, guys. Black, two sugars.”
Looking down, Kelly tugged the top of her shirt up to cover a good part of her chest and relaxed her shoulders. As she turned toward me, she ran her fingers through her hair, freeing it from its lacquer shell.
“What’s up?” I asked her.
“Did you ever see the movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit?” she asked.
“Sure, Bob Hoskins and a bunch of animated characters.” Odd thing to ask in that situation, I thought, but waited for her to work through whatever was going on.
“Remember the character, Jessica Rabbit? She’s drawn like a blonde bombshell. When she vamps by, men’s eyes pop out of their heads and steam comes out of their ears. Well, she has this line where she says, ‘I’m not bad. I’m just drawn that way.’”
“Good line,” I said.
“Maggie, this is the way they draw me.” There was mist in her eyes. “I always wanted to be like you and Linda Ellerbee and Christine Amanpour. But…”
She dropped her chin, sighed.
“Hey Kelly,” I said. “It’s a tough business, and it’s getting tougher. We all do what we have to do to stay afloat, right?”