Love at 11 - By Mari Mancusi Page 0,60

perhaps possibly added one too many, um, shots of a certain kind?”

Terrance scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. Obviously I couldn’t be subtle here.

I swallowed. “What I’m trying to say is, we need to take out some of the shots of you.”

“Some of the Terrance shots? You can’t take out the Terrance shots,” the anchor exclaimed, shocked. “A Terrance piece must have Terrance in it! The audience expects it. The fans demand it.”

I didn’t know what I found more disturbing—seeing Terrance so upset about being taken out of the piece or him referring to himself in a Bob Dole–like third person.

I shrugged, taking the coward’s way out. “I know you what you mean. But Richard insisted. You know how management is. I’m just a lowly producer. What can I do?”

“Well, to start, you can tell him that a Terrance piece needs Terrance. Why would I bother to do a segment if I wasn’t going to be in it? The segment is called ‘Terrance Tells All.’ How can Terrance tell all if the audience does not see Terrance doing any of the telling? Is Terrance some sort of invisible superhero? No, I think he is not.” He stamped his foot in emphasis, and I had to bite my tongue to stifle a giggle. He looked so wide-eyed and anxious. Horrified, even. An expression you might see on a man who’d been told dingos had eaten his baby.

“I’m sorry, Terrance,” I managed to say, straight-faced. “I don’t know what to tell you. Why don’t you go talk some sense into Richard? I’m sure he’ll listen to you.” I wasn’t at all sure of this, but at least that would take the pressure off me.

Nodding, Terrance rose from his seat and patted his anchor-perfect hair. “Yes. I will do that. Good day, Madeline.” And with that he stormed off.

I sighed. If this place were filmed for a reality show, everyone would think it had been exaggerated for television.

I turned back to my computer-assisted reporting project. Who was Reardon Oil? I hit LexisNexis first, this great subscription-based web service, which archived newspaper and magazine articles. You could type in a key word and BAM! Out popped hundreds of articles. If anything had ever been written about Reardon Oil, Lexis would find it.

Only one article popped up. A story about a fundraiser for Senator Gorman, held back during his first election bid. Reardon Oil evidently gave quite the campaign contribution to our favorite Republican. Could it have been a bribe of some sort?

As if he read my mind, David picked that moment to waltz into our cubicle and sit down.

“Hey, Maddy, did you know Senator Gorman blinks twice as many times per minute than Democratic challenger Bill Barnum?” he asked with a completely straight face. “They did a study. And we’re live at five with the exclusive results.”

“Fascinating.” I chuckled. “And this should change my vote, why?”

“Well, according to the taxpayer funded study, more blinking means you’re more likely to be lying.” David blinked a few times himself, in illustration.

“I see. In case anyone wasn’t completely convinced of Gorman’s truth-telling after his lower gas price promise last election?”

“Oh, Maddy! Our viewers can’t be expected to remember something as tedious as campaign promises,” David said. “They need something simple to focus on.” I laughed. “So true. And what is the promo department calling this story? Blinking Bad Guys?”

“Oh no, much better than that. They’re calling it ‘Lying Through Your Lids.’”

“Beautiful. Congrats on getting to be a part of such an election-changing story.” I patted him on the back.

“Indeed, I cherish these moments and think how lucky I am to be a part of democracy in action.”

“Not to change the subject,” I said, “but have you ever heard of a company called Reardon Oil? Big contributor during Gorman’s first bid for senator?”

David narrowed his eyes in thought. Then he shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Though it’d make sense since it’s an oil company. Before he was elected senator, Gorman worked for the California Environmental Protection Agency. He would have had to sign off on any oil drilling applications. Make sure they’re not damaging the environment, that sort of thing.”

“So whoever owns Reardon Oil could have promised him a big bribe if Gorman would sign on the dotted line for something not on the up and up?”

“Why, Maddy, It’s not bribery! It’s called lobbying. And what are you implying about our illustrious senator?” David asked in feigned horror. Then he laughed. “Sounds like the Gorman I know