"Do we get the same…benefits package… as you?" asked Neely, playfully batting her eyes."And do we get to check… references… during our jobsearch?"
"Of course," I said. "You don't want youraudience buying a product you haven't tried yourself, do you?"
***
Nine months later our network, ConsolidatedBroadcasting, had raised several eyebrows in the industry.
The four top affiliates ofa network best known by its programming for the sophistication challenged (apolitically correct television term for white trash) were showingremarkable ratings growth in local news.
Jillian had turned theWindy City on its ear with her hire (after what she calls anexhaustive search) oftwenty-eight year old J. T. Farrell, a sandy-haired blue-eyedanchor from East Deliverance, Arkansas who had put himself throughcollege as a male stripper. When pictures of Farrell wearingnothing but a collar and cuffs were leaked to a local tabloid(amazing how that happens, huh?), photos of his perfect six-footphysique (with a discreetly added black bar) were splashed underthe headline ChicagoBare. Overnight ratings jumped twentypercent that day while "Farrell nude" became the top Google searchin the metro area.
Jillian paired Farrellwith forty-one year old Jennifer Lorton, a spunky brunette withdevilish green eyes framed by a few character lines. Lorton hadbeen out of the business for three years but got with the programreal quick, knocking out a three-part series titled "Sex in aFlash" that featured three local fortysomething women and theirtrophy bucks while discussing the effects of hot flashes on thelibido. As a reward, Jillian threw Lorton a bone (sorry, bad choiceof words, but accurate) by delegating the reference checking duties of thecurrent search for a weekend anchor.
I'd really thought Rica would have thehardest problem, Southern California being obsessed with youth andall. But the real Silicon Valley surprised me.
Since Angelinos are used to such hardhitting journalistic fare as "Smiling Naturally White Using Botox"and "Regaining Your Balance After Large Implants" one would thinkthey'd have little use for a female anchor who actually qualifiedfor a ten year high school reunion. But apparently Hollywood'saging actresses (those over twenty-nine who found roles hard tocome by) saw the debut of Rica's new anchor team as a watershedmoment. Rica found a Meg Ryan lookalike named Carolyn Baynard, whois in her mid-forties but remarkably well preserved. She's also themaster of the double entendre' ad lib, which, when directed towardher co-anchor, sends a clear message to the viewer that the mansitting next to Carolyn is her catch of the day. (The other part ofthe subliminal message is, "Honey, this could be you.")
Carolyn's co-anchorarrived with a built-in promotional campaign. Rica bypassed theviewing of resume tapes and those pesky journalism requirements,Los Angeles being what it is, went directly to an advertisingagency and tabbed well-known underwear pitchman Dirk Anderson.Southern Californians couldn't go a mile without seeing a billboardthat featured his ripped abs being caressed by tighty whiteys thatleft nothing to the imagination. Thirty-year-old Dirk had amazingchemistry with his co-anchor, and the two were an immediate hit. Onone occasion Carolyn said, "Dirk Anderson is on assignment tonight," paused, raisedone eyebrow, and had every woman in LA wondering if the guy wasunder the anchor desk.
His five part series, "Boxers or Briefs" wassimply a no-brainer. But teaching Carolyn how to shop for men'sunderwear using a tape measure and a balloon was a stroke ofgenius.
Rica, of course, said his references wereperfect, and that he made the gum fall out of her mouth when shehad an orgasm. (I'm still not too clear on Brooklyn sex metaphors,but she smiles when she says it.)
Neely took a page out of Rica's book, butreversed things a bit, since Texas is, after all, the beautypageant capitol of the world as well as the setting for weirdcheerleader crimes. For her female anchor she chose former NFLcheerleader Dawn Mullaney, a sultry brunette Texan in her earlyforties who had retained a body that still cried out for hot pants,boots and a halter top. So Neely got them for her, then sent her totry out for a cheerleading squad with women half her age. Her dancemoves had every cowboy wondering if the hitching post outside thebarn would be better served standing vertically in the bedroom.
Since Texans like things bigger, Neelyreached down into a tiny market and came up with Iowa sportscasterNick Hallinger, a twenty-nine year old former linebacker who hadblown out his knee during his rookie year with the New York Giants.At six-foot-five and 240 pounds, Hallinger looked as though hecould bench press Toyotas, but his kind blue eyes and wavy darkhair led you to believe he'd save a stray kitten.
Then Neely took things a step further,deciding to ditch the traditional anchor desk and have both anchorsstand during the entire newscast. Dawn barely came up to Nick'sshoulder, and between his impressive stature and her killer legs,they looked like the top of a wedding cake. Dawn made it a habit toalways sign off first at the end of the newscast, then turn andlook up longingly at her co-anchor who told viewers, "Have a greatnight," before looking down and smiling at Dawn.
As always, a local tabloidmanaged to dig up pictures of Dawn on a cheerleader swimsuitcalendar and Hallinger during a bare-chested weigh-in from a bowlgame (there are those damned leaks again!) Under theheadline Rah-Rah and Ga-Gathe photo splash made the anchor team hotter inDallas than jalapenos.
So at this point you're probably thinking,"Hey, Syd saved her job with great ratings and women over thirtyall over the country are re-thinking their sex lives." And you'd beright.
But given enough ointment, there's always adamned fly.
It's Scott Harry, the trophy buck who helpedsave our New York affiliate.
He's in love.
And you won't believe who the object of hisaffections is.
***
"He's inlove? Withyou?" askedJillian.
I bit my lower lip and nodded slowly. Theendless sound of slot machines provided audio wallpaper as I turnedmy attention back to the casino buffet breakfast. I shoveled aforkful of pancakes soaked with syrup into my mouth and savored therush of the sugary sponge. The conversation stopped,
