go down, and in that time Bianca de Woody had made the seven p.m. slot her own. Anchor-woman Madri Michaels was no friend of mine. Still, I felt bad for her, and I felt bad for me. Madri was just a year older than me and she ranked slightly higher in the newsroom food chain.
âHeard anything about this murder on twenty-seven?â
âSpoke to the guy who found the body. A cleaning man. Heâs pretty shook up about it still,â Phil said.
Iâd spoken to the cleaning guy, Dom Lecastro, too, through an interpreter as Mr. Lecastro didnât speak much English. Heâd only just started doing the twenty-seventh floor, didnât know anything about Kanengiser, and hadnât seen anything.
âIâm cleaning the north wing on thirty-five tonight,â Phil said on his way out of my office. âAll the Xerox rooms are on that side. Should be able to get something for you tomorrow.â
âThanks, Phil.â
There was a commotion outside the door, and Tamayoâs voice saying, âIâm going. You donât have to push.â
I went out and saw her flanked by two security guards.
âWe caught her smoking in a cleaning-supply closet near Sports,â said one of the guards to Jerry, who was shaking his head.
There were few places you could still sneak a smoke at ANN. A couple of people had been caught on video smoking in the stairwells and one of them was fired because it was a third offense.
Okay, take a high-pressure place like a newsroom where people are staring at bad news for hours on end, add job insecurity, big egos, and troubled marriages, then ban smoking so the whole place is having a nic fit. And what do you have? Endless good cheer and camaraderie. You bet.
âIâll look after her,â Jerry said, taking custody. He and Tamayo went into his office.
âAre you nuts!â he shouted at her. I pressed my ear to the glass. I heard him open that big drawer full of résumés.
âSee these?â he said. âThese are the résumés of all the people who want to replace you. â¦â
What an asshole.
After Jerry finished chewing her out, Tamayo brought me my mail and my faxes. She was such a startling presence. Maybe it was that shock of white-blond hair atop that semi-Japanese face, or maybe it was just her anarchic personality coming through.
âI canât remember what I did with your phone messages,â she said. âCan I give them to you later?â
âListen,â I said. âThis is really important. If a woman calling herself Maureen Hudson Soparlo, also known as âAunt Maureenâ or âAunt Mo,â calls, Iâm not here.â
âEver?â
âEver. If she calls, Iâm out on a story, wonât be back until really really late, if at all.â
âGot it,â she said.
âWrite it down, okay?â
Tamayoâs heart wasnât really in her jobâher dream was to be a full-time stand-up comicâand she didnât do a very good job in Special Reports (although she was a crack comic). Often absentminded, sheâd wander off in midsentence. Sheâd take milk from the minifridge in our conference area and forget to close the door. By the time it was discovered, Jerryâs liverwurst would be spoiled. Sheâd lose phone messages and forget to pick up tapes.
To make up for these shortcomings, I had to do a lot more work, and I did, because it was worth it just to have her around for comic relief and to harass Jerry, since I couldnât, due to my new Positive Mental Attitude.
âSomeone told me to say hi to you. Who was it? Oh, Howard Gollis,â Tamayo said.
âHeâs insane.â
She gave me a pot-calling-the-kettle-black look.
âHeâs a creative personality,â she said finally. âHe goes to the edge. You thought it was attractive when you saw him perform.â
She was right. When I saw him the first time, when
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