Falling Star by Diana Dempsey Page A
Authors: Diana Dempsey
Tags: United States, Fiction, General, Chick lit, Humorous, Humorous fiction, Romance, Historical, Contemporary, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Adult, Contemporary Romance, Travel, Love Stories, Women's Fiction, Television Journalists, Los Angeles (Calif.), pacific, free, West, pageturner, tv news, fast read, Television News Anchors - California - Los Angeles
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weather-beaten
clipboard and attached a Bic to the metal clasp. With a deep breath
she pushed open the door, the wind gusting around her.
"Here's your mark." The producer girl pointed
to two strips of red duct tape laid out in a stand-here X. Natalie
set herself up, from habit angling her right shoulder toward the
camera. Behind her rose the collapsed hulk of the freeway, now
cordoned off by orange tape. And floodlit courtesy of KXLA.
Dave—big, burly, cheerful Dave, the only
other person besides her who wasn't freelance—was working audio. He
handed her the remote box for her earpiece, and as soon as she
plugged in she heard program, the drama that on Mondays preceded The KXLA Primetime News . The bird was up.
"Level okay?" Dave asked.
She nodded.
"I don't want to use a hand mike 'cause of
the wind and 'cause you'll need your hands free." He jerked his
head at her clipboard. "Here."
She strung the lavalier up under her jacket
and attached the mike to her lapel. At least she'd had the good
sense to put on thick black trousers, boots, a cashmere turtleneck,
and a tweed jacket. Even in summer it could be seriously chilly in
LA at night. She stomped her feet, partly to stay warm, partly to
stop the tremors of nervousness that coursed through her.
Dave eyed her closely as he clipped the mike
box to her waistband.
She flushed. Apparently she wasn't the only
one wondering whether Natalie Daniels would mess up again
tonight.
Maybe you've gotten soft from all those years
behind the anchor desk ...
"All set," Dave pronounced. He ambled back
behind the cameraman, a tall African-American Natalie had never
met.
"Ninety seconds back," Dave intoned.
Again Natalie felt her heartbeat ratchet
higher. She held up the clipboard to scan her script. The gusts
were so strong, she had to grasp it with both hands. The producer
girl still hadn't budged from the ENG truck, where she was locked
in conversation with Charlie. He was shaking his head and pointing
at the sky.
Natalie frowned. Was something
wrong?
"Thirty," Dave announced.
A crowd had gathered. Natalie noticed their
furtive nudges and pointings and whisperings. Was it just the
spectacle of a live news shot? Or were they thinking about her
mistake on the air? A tremor ran through her like a current. She
glanced again at her notes. I never used to get this
nervous.
You never used to fuck up.
"Ten."
She fixed her gaze on the lens and took a
deep breath. Forget everything. It's only you and the camera
now.
Seconds later the voice of her coanchor, Ken,
filled her ear. The show had opened. News video appeared on the
monitor set up at the base of the camera. "A chain reaction pile-up
on the 405 in Redondo Beach leaves three dead and six injured."
The wind gusts were now so strong she had to
plant her feet a foot apart on the asphalt just to stay in place.
She clutched the clipboard tighter in her hand. Steady, steady
...
Again Ken spoke. "U.S. military forces in the
Adriatic Sea are on high alert, reacting to yet another deadly
clash in Montenegro."
She lifted her chin and stared defiantly into
the lens, her eyes stinging from the wind. I can do
this.
"And one week after a 6 point 2 earthquake
rumbled across the Southland, authorities have substantially raised
their estimate of the damage. Natalie Daniels is live with the
latest."
Deep breath. "Ken, the damage estimate is now
over half a billion dollars, and local authorities tell me—"
"Fuck!"
Natalie ignored the outburst, which had come
from Charlie. "—they're asking for assistance from Sacramento—"
"We lost the bird!"
What? "—and plan to meet with the
governor—"
"Stop! Stop, Natalie." The producer girl ran
over, arms flailing, eyes panicked behind her lenses. The knot of
onlookers started to chatter. "We lost the bird. Charlie says it's
the wind."
"In the middle of my open?" It was true,
Natalie realized. She was no longer hearing program, just a series
of staccato clicks as Charlie struggled to reconnect
clipboard and attached a Bic to the metal clasp. With a deep breath
she pushed open the door, the wind gusting around her.
"Here's your mark." The producer girl pointed
to two strips of red duct tape laid out in a stand-here X. Natalie
set herself up, from habit angling her right shoulder toward the
camera. Behind her rose the collapsed hulk of the freeway, now
cordoned off by orange tape. And floodlit courtesy of KXLA.
Dave—big, burly, cheerful Dave, the only
other person besides her who wasn't freelance—was working audio. He
handed her the remote box for her earpiece, and as soon as she
plugged in she heard program, the drama that on Mondays preceded The KXLA Primetime News . The bird was up.
"Level okay?" Dave asked.
She nodded.
"I don't want to use a hand mike 'cause of
the wind and 'cause you'll need your hands free." He jerked his
head at her clipboard. "Here."
She strung the lavalier up under her jacket
and attached the mike to her lapel. At least she'd had the good
sense to put on thick black trousers, boots, a cashmere turtleneck,
and a tweed jacket. Even in summer it could be seriously chilly in
LA at night. She stomped her feet, partly to stay warm, partly to
stop the tremors of nervousness that coursed through her.
Dave eyed her closely as he clipped the mike
box to her waistband.
She flushed. Apparently she wasn't the only
one wondering whether Natalie Daniels would mess up again
tonight.
Maybe you've gotten soft from all those years
behind the anchor desk ...
"All set," Dave pronounced. He ambled back
behind the cameraman, a tall African-American Natalie had never
met.
"Ninety seconds back," Dave intoned.
Again Natalie felt her heartbeat ratchet
higher. She held up the clipboard to scan her script. The gusts
were so strong, she had to grasp it with both hands. The producer
girl still hadn't budged from the ENG truck, where she was locked
in conversation with Charlie. He was shaking his head and pointing
at the sky.
Natalie frowned. Was something
wrong?
"Thirty," Dave announced.
A crowd had gathered. Natalie noticed their
furtive nudges and pointings and whisperings. Was it just the
spectacle of a live news shot? Or were they thinking about her
mistake on the air? A tremor ran through her like a current. She
glanced again at her notes. I never used to get this
nervous.
You never used to fuck up.
"Ten."
She fixed her gaze on the lens and took a
deep breath. Forget everything. It's only you and the camera
now.
Seconds later the voice of her coanchor, Ken,
filled her ear. The show had opened. News video appeared on the
monitor set up at the base of the camera. "A chain reaction pile-up
on the 405 in Redondo Beach leaves three dead and six injured."
The wind gusts were now so strong she had to
plant her feet a foot apart on the asphalt just to stay in place.
She clutched the clipboard tighter in her hand. Steady, steady
...
Again Ken spoke. "U.S. military forces in the
Adriatic Sea are on high alert, reacting to yet another deadly
clash in Montenegro."
She lifted her chin and stared defiantly into
the lens, her eyes stinging from the wind. I can do
this.
"And one week after a 6 point 2 earthquake
rumbled across the Southland, authorities have substantially raised
their estimate of the damage. Natalie Daniels is live with the
latest."
Deep breath. "Ken, the damage estimate is now
over half a billion dollars, and local authorities tell me—"
"Fuck!"
Natalie ignored the outburst, which had come
from Charlie. "—they're asking for assistance from Sacramento—"
"We lost the bird!"
What? "—and plan to meet with the
governor—"
"Stop! Stop, Natalie." The producer girl ran
over, arms flailing, eyes panicked behind her lenses. The knot of
onlookers started to chatter. "We lost the bird. Charlie says it's
the wind."
"In the middle of my open?" It was true,
Natalie realized. She was no longer hearing program, just a series
of staccato clicks as Charlie struggled to reconnect
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