"Yeah, she's got someone new," said Jillian,using one hand to curl the ends of her straight strawberry blondechin-length cut in towards her face. "Her skirt's on backwards." Isnapped my neck down to check. "Made you look," said Jillian. "Atleast that answers the question."
Damned reporter's tricks. You'd think I'dknow better.
Trust fund debutanteJillian Charles is the black sheep of her family. Because sheactually has a job. With no desire to pitch Krugerrands with herMassachusetts Ivy League neighbors, Jillian actually went to astate school (such a scandalin the gated community!) and likes getting herhands dirty. She's an inch shorter than I am, but all legs and noneof it fat. I think her age (thirty-seven) matches her inseam;meanwhile, not a wrinkle on her gently freckled face and no botoxreceipts on her tax return. Beneath those soft blue eyes lurks anexecutioner who enjoys the sight of heads tumbling down the stepsof the Mayan temple, which is a handy trait to have in a ChicagoNews Director.
"So, c'mon Syd. Y'alldon't keep us waitin'. Dish." The whiskey two-packs-a-day Southernaccent you just heard comes from Neely "Vodka" Collins, the formerhard-boiled reporter from New Orleans who doesn't smoke butbelieves that Russian alcohol is to a liquor cabinet what WD-40 isto a toolbox. If you run out of either, you'll get rusty and won'tbe able to screw anything. She looks like Demi Moore, sounds likeDemi Moore if Demi Moore had been cast in Gone With the Wind, and thereforelogic dictates that she hangs out with younger men like Demi Moorewhile running our station in Dallas. Neely first went against thegrain in the eighth grade, shoving a sixth grader into a coatcloset and giving him free tonsillectomies. Her long, dark hair andinnocent emerald eyes might lead a guy to think she's the girl nextdoor, but there's nothing but lust embedded in her vocal chords.Like a good Irish Catholic she goes to confession every week, theold-fashioned way in a booth, and must take a legal pad with her. Ican only imagine her saying, "Bless me… Father… for I have…sinned," givingsinned three syllableswith that scratchy drawl and having some priest on the other sidebreaking into a sweat while she enjoys torturing one of the few menwho can't load his gun in the state of Texas.
"I've got good news. Take a seat," I said,as I grabbed the burgundy leather chair at the head of the longmahogany table. Floor to ceiling windows on an entire wall turnedthe room into a greenhouse, which had the air conditioning blowingfull blast. The gals sat down, all away from the sunny side of theroom, backs toward the dark green wall that was covered withcolorful posters of network shows. I grabbed a remote, swung mychair around, and fired it at the flat screen monitor that hung onthe wall behind me.
"We want details about last night, not morenewscast airchecks," said Jillian.
"You're getting both," I said. The picturecleared and the face of Scott Harry filled the fifty-inch plasmascreen.
"Hot damn," said Neely,though damn cameout "day-umm."
"Damn hot," said Jillian.
"Fuhgeddaboudit," saidRica. (Which, depending on your interpretation of the term, canmean either hot damn or damn hot in Brooklynese.)
The video cut to a two shot as Scott sharedthe desk with Caroline Jensen, a veteran brunette anchor with laserbeam ice-blue eyes in her early forties.
"This is what's getting you a ratingsspike?" asked Jillian.
"More importantly,this is the guy who's onyour to-do list?" asked Rica.
"Yes to both," I said. I smiled and tiltedmy chin up a bit.
"Madonne," said Rica.
"I don't think I've ever seen a major marketanchor team where the man is that much younger than the woman,"said Neely. "How do the demos break out?"
"They're a hit with women 18-34," I said."And 34-49 is off the charts. Check out our sweeps series on beachsafety." I flicked the remote and the video cut to a shot of ScottHarry walking on the Jersey Shore in a bathing suit, talking aboutthe importance of sunscreen.
"You don't need sunscreen if he's providingthe shade," said Jillian. The other two still had their jawshanging open like the mouth-breathing shoppers at Wal-Mart as theshot tightened up for a high-def look at Scott's pecs.
"Are the guys watchin'?" asked Rica. "Notthat it really matters."
"Incredibly, they're holding steady," Isaid. "They apparently don't miss the pageant fembots. Andconsidering our network's prime time lineup, it's nice to seepeople switching over to catch our news product."
"Yeah. Trailer Park True Confessions isn'texactly a great lead-in," said Jillian, cocking her head toward aposter that featured a rusted Camaro and a cheap blonde woman whoseroots had been dyed brown.
"Enough with the ratings," said Neely, whowas staring holes in the monitor. "Just how did you manage to hirethis young buck for our fledgling network?"
I muted the sound and turned back to them."His agent told me he couldn't get arrested by the big networks andhe'd do anything to get to New York. So I appealed to his sense ofambition. Then I checked his… references."
Jillian cocked her head to the side. "Syd,are you saying--"
"That's part of my new hiring manual," Isaid. "And it's the unwritten part of his contract. If he wants tokeep his job, he stays on my to-do list."
"What made you pair him with CarolineJensen?" asked Neely.
"Do you want to watch women who are youngerand prettier?" I asked.
"If you could find women who are younger andprettier than us, no," said Neely, sticking her nose in theair.
"And what do women our age want?" Iasked.
Slowly, all three began to nod.
"So, this is our new playbook?" askedJillian. "Find our own versions of Scott Harry and partner him witha competent middle-aged woman?"
"Exactly. Your guys don't ever have toreport, just read. I don't care if you find them at a modelingagency. Hey, the men have been hiring that way
