Love at 11 - By Mari Mancusi Page 0,86
and pride. But you know what? I’m honest.” He cleared his throat. “And now that you’re investigating all this, something tells me I’m going to be real happy I’m not involved.”
“Yes, sir, you are.” I motioned for Jamie to turn off the camera. “Listen, Bob,” I said. “Are you sure you want to be telling me this stuff? I mean, not that I don’t appreciate you doing it, but isn’t it dangerous?”
Bob shrugged his thin shoulders. “Don’t matter much if it is,” he replied. “Truth is, I’m dying. Got the cancer. Doctors say I only have about a month to live. And I’m itching to get into Heaven, though I ain’t done much to deserve it. Maybe this will end up helping me out some with Saint Peter at them pearly gates.”
My heart went out to him. What a rough life he’d lived. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s all right, I’ve come to terms with it all. And I’m glad the other two are finally going to get their just desserts. You let the DEA know that I’ll be happy to talk to them once they open the investigation.”
I thought of Mr. Mann and wondered, once again, what side he was on. “I will,” I replied.
We thanked him again and walked back to the SUV in silence. I didn’t know for sure about Jamie, but I for one was blown away by the revelation we’d heard inside. It was like every puzzle piece fit into place. Every “i” was dotted, every “t” crossed.
Now all I had left was to write my story and get it on the air.
SAMPLE EMMY-AWARD WINNING SPEECH
(Just in case!)
Oh, wow. I’m so surprised. I didn’t even prepare a speech because I honestly didn’t think I’d win. After all, there were so many great entries in my category. (Name competition here––you will seem like a good sport.)
First of all, I’d like to thank the Academy. And God. And Jamie Hayes, amazing photographer and love of my life. Check out the big rock he just put on my finger, ladies and gentlemen. (Hold out big engagement ring (hopefully!) and pause for applause.)
I’d also like to thank our main anchor Terrance Toller, star of “Terrance Tells All,” who actually did absolutely nothing but read the piece and make sure his hair looked good for the stand-ups. (Pause for laughter.) But Terrance, we love you anyway––even if you are a pompous ass most of the time.
Oh and I would not like to thank my family. After all, my dad’s infidelity and my sister Lulu’s drug abuse nearly caused me to lose my sanity before the piece even had a chance to air! And mom––wherever in the world you’re currently shopping––you’d better bring me back something cool. And not one of those T-shirts that says, “My mom went to such-and-such a place and all I got was this lousy T-shirt” either.
And lastly, I’d like to thank you. My adoring fans. Especially Diane in the front. Diane Dickson, that is. Who flew all the way out from New York to offer me a position at Newsline. And yes, I’ve accepted the position!
(PAUSE FOR TREMENDOUS STANDING OVATION!)
Chapter Seventeen
I held my breath as Terrance scanned the script. Waited for him to whip out his red pen. To mutilate the words that I’d spent so long crafting. To tell me that I sucked as a writer and his pet Chihuahua could have written better.
So I waited. And waited.
He flipped to the last page without making a single mark, then replaced the other pages on top. He looked up, wearing a strange expression I couldn’t read.
“You can tweak it,” I said, lamely, when he didn’t speak.
“Are you kidding? This doesn’t need tweaking.”
Oh, great. He hated it that much? “Or rewrite it from scratch,” I amended. “If you want.”
Please don’t want to, I begged silently. Please let me have this one story the way I want it.
“Rewrite?” Terrance looked down at the paper and then up at me. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t change a word.”
I almost fell over backward. “You ... you wouldn’t?” Was this some kind of sick joke? I figured he’d at least ask if we could shoot him doing a ride-along with border patrol or something equally lame.
“No. This is the best piece of journalism I’ve seen in the last ten years. You’ve covered all the angles. It’s fair. It gives all the facts. You’re uncovering a major scandal that has been going on for years and no one—not even the DEA—has any clue