Page 31 of Making It Live!

Nelson

Jimmy wasn't exaggerating.

The words had been living in my head for three days.I'd tried to evict them.I'd tried logic — Jillian was being Jillian, it meant nothing.It was the kind of throwaway compliment people gave each other all the time.Jimmy and Jillian were best friends, and they talked about everything.It would be strange if my name hadn't come up at all.

Then I'd tried anger — how dare he discuss me with Jillian Morris?Jillian had some nerve saying it to my face.How dare any of this be happening in my building?

Nothing worked.The words sat there, warm and uninvited, and every time I thought I'd buried them they surfaced again, always at the worst possible moment.

Like now, as I sat in Bruce's office listening to him talk about ratings with the breathless excitement of a man who'd just discovered he might survive the quarter.

"The numbers are extraordinary, Nelson.Extraordinary."Bruce was standing behind his desk, because sitting down would apparently not adequately convey his enthusiasm.His hand was on his tie.It had been on his tie since I walked in."The 25–54 demo is up six points in two weeks.Six points!The Vasquez interview alone generated more social media engagement than our last three sweeps periods combined.The network is thrilled."

I watched his hand move from the tie to the desk to the tie again.Knot, straighten, release.Knot, straighten, release.A metronome of anxiety disguised as celebration.

"The network is thrilled," I repeated.

"Thrilled," he confirmed."Nelson, the board wants to talk about expanding the format.A possible second hour.Weekend specials.They're looking at this as a model for—"

"Bruce."

His hand froze on his tie.

"You hired an executive producer for my show without my knowledge or consent."I said it the way I said everything that mattered — quietly, precisely, without heat.Heat was for people who needed volume to be heard."You signed a contract with Mr.Goodman and let me discover the hire during a live broadcast.The fact that the numbers are up does not erase this."

Bruce's fingers tightened on his tie.I could see the exact moment his survival instinct kicked in — the calculation, the risk assessment, the frantic search for the response least likely to get him killed.

"Nelson, I understand your frustration—"

"Do you?"

"—but you axed every candidate we brought you.Three EPs in eighteen months.The talent pool was drying up.Nobody wanted the chair.Jimmy Goodman was—" He swallowed."He was the best option available, and his credentials are—"

"His credentials are not the issue and you know it."

Bruce's hand dropped from his tie.For a moment he looked at me with something that was almost honesty."Nelson.The show is the best it's been in years.You know this.The numbers don't lie."

He was right.The numbers didn't lie.The numbers were obscene, and they were obscene because Jimmy was brilliant.The show was better, my delivery was sharper, and none of these facts made me feel anything other than trapped.

I stood.

"If you ever make a hiring decision about my broadcast without consulting me again," I said, "I will not write a memo.I will walk into the board meeting myself and tell them exactly what I think.Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Bruce said.

I walked out.Behind me, I heard him exhale the breath he'd been holding since I sat down.

* * *

The earpiece went in at 6:55.

It was a small thing — flesh-colored plastic, molded to the curve of my ear canal, no different than the one I'd worn before.Every anchor in television wore one.It was a tool that delivered information from the control room to the talent, and that was all it did.

Except that for the last two weeks, putting in the earpiece had become something I had to prepare for.The way you prepare for a needle at the doctor's office — you know it's coming, you know it's necessary, and you still have to brace yourself for the moment it pierces skin.

I fitted it into my ear and felt the familiar weight of it settle.In a few minutes, Jimmy's voice would be there.Not across a room.Not through a phone.There.Inside me.Closer than a whisper, closer than a breath, arriving without warning directly against the most delicate nerve endings in my body.

I straightened my jacket.Charcoal tonight.Then I positioned my water glass and looked at Camera Two.