fine.”
“I hope I'm not calling too early.”
Uncomfortable with her personal tone, he hesitated, then said, “No.”
“Oh, good. Listen, I just wanted to check in. Do you have a couple of minutes?”
She was young-sounding and definitely energetic, but who the hell was she? Another crackpot caller? Her voice didn't sound the least bit familiar.
He asked, “I'm sorry, but who is this?”
“Oh, how stupid of me. It's me, Melissa. And I'm just calling regarding your request.”
“My request?”
“Yes, it was faxed to me last week. Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you.”
Todd stretched his mind this way and that, but he couldn't quite get a handle on it. Just as he didn't know her voice or her name, nor did he know what in the hell she was talking about.
Melissa said, “So do you have a couple of minutes to visit with me?”
This wasn't making any sense, and he said, “I'm sorry I'm not tracking you here. You're calling regarding a fax?”
She laughed in an almost too familiar way. “No, no, Todd. I'm calling you regarding the interview with Tim Chase. They faxed me your request from Hollywood. I'm Mr. Chase's publicist.”
Suddenly Melissa, who was obviously not Minnesotan at all but oh-so-casual Californian, had Todd's complete attention. He sat forward in his chair and cleared his throat. Just sound cool. Just sound collected. And intelligent.
She continued, saying, “Didn't anyone from L.A. call to let you know I'd be in contact?”
“Actually, no.”
“Oh, I'm sorry! And here I'm calling out of the blue and babbling on and on.”
“That's okay. I'm just pleased someone's calling me back. Thank you very much.”
“Of course. It's my job, after all. Actually I'm calling you this morning because I saw you on TV last night, you know, at ten o'clock. Nice work.”
“Thanks,” replied Todd.
“It's so sad, though. Was he really just a kid?”
“Yeah, just seventeen.”
“Do his parents know yet?”
“That's a good question. Actually, I don't know.” Trying to get control of the conversation, Todd said, “But if you saw me on TV last night that means you must be here in town.”
“Yeah, I am. I flew in with Tim ten days ago.” In a light way and with a slight giggle, she added, “I travel just about everywhere with him.”
Which meant, of course, she had power. Big power. Todd had no idea if she worked for Chase or if something like a studio had in fact hired her to keep an eye out on one of their biggest investments. Regardless, she was obviously the gatekeeper—a purposely sweet, cheery one at that—to one of the most powerful Hollywood stars. So what was this call? The nice letdown? Was she calling to tell Todd that, no, he didn't get the interview? Perhaps. And perhaps he was getting this call simply because he was part of the media and Tim Chase's keepers certainly didn't want to piss off anyone who could make ripples, however small.
“So,” Melissa continued, keeping the spotlight on Todd, “what are you going to do? I mean, is there anything new on the case?”
“Not really. Not yet.”
“So was the kid gay?”
“Well, the police haven't confirmed it yet, but, yes, he was,” replied Todd, finding it odd that she was taking such an interest. “He was a teenager and he was gay and he was a runaway.”
“Wow. How sad. And now he's dead. What are you going to do next? I mean, do you have another report to do?”
“Oh, yeah. One at five and then a larger one at six.”
“I see. So do you have to talk to the police again?”
“I've got to talk to everyone—the police, people in the apartment building where he lived, his friends, and hopefully his parents.”
This, he thought, even as he spoke, was weird. Publicists didn't keep you on the phone for seemingly no reason. They had better things to do, like press releases to write, influentials to schmooze, not to mention about a million phone calls to make. So what was going on here? As friendly and
“I hope I'm not calling too early.”
Uncomfortable with her personal tone, he hesitated, then said, “No.”
“Oh, good. Listen, I just wanted to check in. Do you have a couple of minutes?”
She was young-sounding and definitely energetic, but who the hell was she? Another crackpot caller? Her voice didn't sound the least bit familiar.
He asked, “I'm sorry, but who is this?”
“Oh, how stupid of me. It's me, Melissa. And I'm just calling regarding your request.”
“My request?”
“Yes, it was faxed to me last week. Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you.”
Todd stretched his mind this way and that, but he couldn't quite get a handle on it. Just as he didn't know her voice or her name, nor did he know what in the hell she was talking about.
Melissa said, “So do you have a couple of minutes to visit with me?”
This wasn't making any sense, and he said, “I'm sorry I'm not tracking you here. You're calling regarding a fax?”
She laughed in an almost too familiar way. “No, no, Todd. I'm calling you regarding the interview with Tim Chase. They faxed me your request from Hollywood. I'm Mr. Chase's publicist.”
Suddenly Melissa, who was obviously not Minnesotan at all but oh-so-casual Californian, had Todd's complete attention. He sat forward in his chair and cleared his throat. Just sound cool. Just sound collected. And intelligent.
She continued, saying, “Didn't anyone from L.A. call to let you know I'd be in contact?”
“Actually, no.”
“Oh, I'm sorry! And here I'm calling out of the blue and babbling on and on.”
“That's okay. I'm just pleased someone's calling me back. Thank you very much.”
“Of course. It's my job, after all. Actually I'm calling you this morning because I saw you on TV last night, you know, at ten o'clock. Nice work.”
“Thanks,” replied Todd.
“It's so sad, though. Was he really just a kid?”
“Yeah, just seventeen.”
“Do his parents know yet?”
“That's a good question. Actually, I don't know.” Trying to get control of the conversation, Todd said, “But if you saw me on TV last night that means you must be here in town.”
“Yeah, I am. I flew in with Tim ten days ago.” In a light way and with a slight giggle, she added, “I travel just about everywhere with him.”
Which meant, of course, she had power. Big power. Todd had no idea if she worked for Chase or if something like a studio had in fact hired her to keep an eye out on one of their biggest investments. Regardless, she was obviously the gatekeeper—a purposely sweet, cheery one at that—to one of the most powerful Hollywood stars. So what was this call? The nice letdown? Was she calling to tell Todd that, no, he didn't get the interview? Perhaps. And perhaps he was getting this call simply because he was part of the media and Tim Chase's keepers certainly didn't want to piss off anyone who could make ripples, however small.
“So,” Melissa continued, keeping the spotlight on Todd, “what are you going to do? I mean, is there anything new on the case?”
“Not really. Not yet.”
“So was the kid gay?”
“Well, the police haven't confirmed it yet, but, yes, he was,” replied Todd, finding it odd that she was taking such an interest. “He was a teenager and he was gay and he was a runaway.”
“Wow. How sad. And now he's dead. What are you going to do next? I mean, do you have another report to do?”
“Oh, yeah. One at five and then a larger one at six.”
“I see. So do you have to talk to the police again?”
“I've got to talk to everyone—the police, people in the apartment building where he lived, his friends, and hopefully his parents.”
This, he thought, even as he spoke, was weird. Publicists didn't keep you on the phone for seemingly no reason. They had better things to do, like press releases to write, influentials to schmooze, not to mention about a million phone calls to make. So what was going on here? As friendly and
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