This time, she did look skyward.
“You’ll never get an interview with him,” Mercedes insisted.
“Bet there’s some real good dirt though,” Mac mused, totally not listening to Mercedes but staring at Jessie.
“He’s back at Waterford Farm,” she whispered, feeling something low in her gut and deep in her soul. “That place is heaven on earth.” Until it’s time to leave for hell.
“So, what, you grew up near this guy?” Mac asked.
“I practically lived at his house from the time I was nine until I was sixteen. His sister and I were besties.”
“You keep in touch with her?”
She shook her head.
“Could you call her?”
Mac was relentless sometimes. “I don’t know, Mac. It’s been, like, seventeen years.”
“This is the kind of interview they want, Jessie.” His upper lip glistened, a sure sign he smelled a scoop. “Someone no one else has. Someone with a decent story, some color, and dirt. That’s your specialty.”
“I have a better idea,” Mercedes said, wedging herself into the conversation. “Let’s skip this guy, and I’ll get the CEO of FriendGroup. That’s the real story. He’s one of the richest men in the world.”
Mac looked interested. “Could you get him?”
“Of course. I happen to know someone who used to work for a woman who slept with a guy who went to college with his wife.”
Mac started laughing. “See what I mean? Bulldozer.”
“You said ball-breaker,” Jessie reminded him.
But Mac’s attention had shifted from Jessie to her competition. “Try and get him, Mercedes. I think the PTB would like that. A lot. If not, use your Hollywood connections on some of these other names. I think that’s what they’re expecting from you.”
She grabbed the paper and folded it efficiently. “Done and done. Now, I’m going to the florist. Good luck with your dog guy, Jess.”
Jessie didn’t bother to respond to the subtle dig.
“Jessie, listen to me,” Mac said softly after Mercedes was gone. “In confidence, between us, they’re leaning toward you.”
She eased back in the chair, letting his words hit, processing them, deciding if he was playing her or trying to motivate her.
“I know you think Mercedes is…” Mac searched for a word.
Beautiful. Better. Blessed. “Formidable competition,” she said.
“Yeah. But you are a superior journalist,” he said. “I think her, you know, style counts for a lot, but you have the chops. You have to work your magic, and I think this Kilcannon guy is the perfect place to start.”
She felt her shoulders sink and looked down at the name, so mired in the past and so long ago. “The connection is…nonexistent.”
“Every connection is with you.”#p#分页标题#e#
She looked up at the accusation, a physical sting hitting her chest. “Excuse me?”
“I mean you like your distance from people.”
“You just said I rip secrets and tears from them.”
“Yes, that’s how you do it…in print. You stay unemotionally involved, and that has worked beautifully for you, like a therapist digging into people’s dark stuff. But on TV? Totally different. You have to have a connection with the camera and the subject. That’ll be your challenge.”
She stared at him, taking the advice, which she had to admit made sense.
“If you do that?” he continued. “With your journalistic instincts? The sky is the limit for you, Jessie. Isn’t that what you want?”
Was it? A limitless sky. Bet it was cold up there in space. “Of course.”
“That’s what I told them in the meeting. Your career is everything. Mercedes, well, she’s marrying that Wall Street dude. Who knows how long she’ll stick around?”
She eyed him, wondering if he was subtly suggesting Mercedes would have a baby and quit. Mac could be woefully unenlightened.
“This job is your life, Jessie, and they know it upstairs in broadcast, and I know it. I’ll help you. I can watch out for you and help move things along on this end.”
“I want to win fair and square.”
He snorted softly. “Then I’ll just be in your corner, but you have to give me the story of a lifetime.”
She gave in to a wry laugh. “No pressure or anything.”
“Come on.” He put his hands together in a prayer position, like he was begging her. “You know where this guy lives, Jessie. What’s stopping you?”
Going to Waterford Farm. That old feeling of being on the outside looking in, of longing to be part of something bigger, of aching to fit there but knowing she never could.