attractive in a TV-weather-girl sort of way. That in itself was a surprise. Bigwood’s tastes usually leaned more toward the exotic-dark-haired beauties like my friend Susan. In fact, not only like Susan, but Susan herself had at one time been the object of his interest, much to my horror.
“You mean you’re one of Charlie’s Angels?” I remember exclaiming after Susan had casually mentioned that Bigwood had hired her after they’d met at (where else?) a conference. I believe I’d been working at L.A. Rideshare for only a few weeks at the time, Susan having recommended me for the copywriter position.
“At least I’m the smart Angel,” she’d replied.
“But that’s horrible! He hired you based on your looks!”
She’d shrugged.
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Not particularly.”
I must have gotten puffed up and judgmental and strident looking because she’d said, “Look, I know Bigwood’s an ass, but that goes for anyone who runs a company. I get the job done. People respect me. What do I care why he hired me? Besides, turnabout’s fair play-do you have any idea how many men get the job over a woman for the sole reason that they are the proud owner of a penis?”
She had a point.
And now, I realized with a sigh-watching Lizbeth slice Greg’s web designs to ribbons in her cool but impossible to contradict manner-that I had a female boss who had balls of steel.
“I spoke with three reporters today,” she said briskly when it came to her turn to talk. “I have nibbles but no bites.”
She was talking about the Friends of Rideshare project. It was one thing that made me cringe as much as the memory of that typo I’d let slip through in a newsletter back in 2002. (I’d accidentally put pubic transit instead of public transit.)
Friends of Rideshare was an idea that I’d pitched as part of my failed job proposal. I suggested that we ask local traffic reporters to mention carpooling when they did their on-air traffic reports. They might say things along the lines of Rubbernecking is causing slowdowns on the 405 don’t you wish you were ridesharing? My old boss had marveled at the simple brilliance of the plan. Except when Lizbeth came on, she’d claimed the project as her own and started going after big-name celebrities. I heard she’d spent months calling Brad Pitt’s people, trying to get him as a spokesman. She couldn’t even get through to his people’s people. The project was tanking, and Lizbeth made sure everyone knew it had been my idea. “I’’doing the best I can to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” I’d overheard her complaining to another director.
So now, she told us, she was giving up on movie stars and musicians and had an idea-and how novel!-about approaching on-air reporters who specialized in traffic. Although& and she gave a woeful sigh& she wasn’t certain there was any salvaging things.
“No offense,” she said.
None taken. Bitch.
We wrapped up the meeting and were gathering to go when Martucci said, “Maybe June could talk to Troy Jones.”
Uh er what? Why was he mentioning Troy Jones?
Lizbeth wondered the same thing. “What about Troy Jones?”
“You didn’t hear? June ran over his sister back in July.”
“I didn’t run her over!” I protested.
Martucci snapped a folder shut. “Fine, then. She didn’t run her over. But that girl in her car was Troy Jones’s sister. Right, Parker?”
Lizbeth looked at me with interest. “Is that true? That’s who was in the accident with you? Why didn’t you say anything?”
A cold finger of dread wormed its way up my spine.
Everyone obviously knew who Troy Jones was-besides his being Marissa’s brother. I sure wished I did, but I wasn’t about to ask.
Luckily, Greg came to my rescue. “Who’s Troy Jones?”
“Traffic reporter,” Lizbeth said. “Recently started on K-JAM morning radio. Very up-and-coming, gets a lot of airtime.”
So Troy was a traffic reporter. I supposed I should have known, but I’d let my interest in the industry slip right around the time I lost out on the promotion. There was no point in being in the loop if they weren’t going to pay me for it.
Lizbeth leaned forward. “So will you be talking to Troy soon?”
“For what?”
“Oh, the usual. Memorials. Ashes scattering. That sort of thing. I’d love to get him to work with us. Now that we have you as a personal contact”
I gaped at her, my jaw dropping on its hinge. Was she serious? “I met him at a funeral.”
Martucci, ever the kiss-ass, said, “Now this sounds to me like an opportunity. What’s that old saying?” He snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes when a door closes, a window opens.”
My brows shot down in a scowl. How dare he attempt to quote The Sound of Music against me!
“That’s right, you never know,” Lizbeth said. “Sad as his sister’s passing is” -she held her hands out across the table& and fortunately I was sitting too far away, or I suspected she might have tried to clasp mine-“from these sorts of tragedies, bonds can form.”
“Yeah, it’s not as if you ran over his sister on purpose,” Martucci said, almost kindly.
“Ooh, you know who you shoulda run over?” Brie interjected. “Rick Hernandez on Channel Five. That man is fine. I wouldn’t mind sharing a ride with him, if you know what I’m talking about.”
“I didn’t run anyone over,” I hissed.
Martucci leaned back, his arms crossed. “No need to get yourself all in a twist, Parker. We’re just brainstorming.”
“Maybe we should drop this” Greg said, which was lucky because Martucci deserved a snappy comeback, and since I was struggling unsuccessfully to come up with one, someone needed to defend me. “This guy isn’t the only traffic reporter in the world. I have a feeling that June would prefer to put the accident behind her.”
I gave Greg a watery smile in gratitude. He’d managed to shut Martucci up, but alas, Lizbeth wasn’t giving up so easily. She turned to me. “I want you to consider it.” Her voice was crisp& back to business. “Getting Troy Jones on board would mean more funding for this department. It would be a feather in your cap.”
