we may have a better
chance than we think”
“I
hope so,” Lindsay said, but she couldn’t bring herself to share her employer’s
optimism, no matter how much she wanted to.
***
Ron
Sharp reached down and helped Bradford Hopkins pin the small microphone to his
lapel, wondering as he did why he didn’t feel guilty.
Earlier
in the morning, when he’d given the Ruskin information to a courier with
instructions to deliver it ASAP to Newstalk host, Mark Holden, he reflected on
his service to Hopkins and realized that he’d known all along that his boss was
– for lack of a better descriptor – a complete slime-ball.
Doubts
about Hopkins’ character had always been in the back of his mind, but he’d
allowed his own desire for fame and power to get in the way of the ethics and
values he’d always considered important.
But
he knew now that values were more than slogans. Values were what made a man do
the proper thing; they were what made a man set wrong to write, even when the
price of doing so may be his very career.
“My
head feels awful today.” Hopkins’ voice was tinged with anger, as if his
overindulgence in alcohol the night before was somehow Ron’s fault.
“Well,
maybe we can get your lawyer to write a threatening letter to Jim Bean for
making your liquor too strong,” Ron said. “Or maybe you should try drinking
less.”
“Are
you making fun of me?” Hopkins was in no mood for joking.
“No,”
Ron said. “But you knew the interview was early today.”
“Well
so did you,” Hopkins’ hissed. “You should have locked that damn liquor cabinet
long before you did.”
Ron
smiled to himself and kept silent. What was the use of preaching personal
responsibility to a man who thought the concept should only apply to other
people?
“There
you go; you’re all hooked up.” He stood and looked into the monitor. Even with
makeup, Hopkins looked like shit. Good.
Mark
Holden walked over to the table and extended his hand to Hopkins, who managed
to plant his best, winning smile on his sickly looking face as he shook the
host’s hand.
“Sorry
I’m late,” said Holden. “I had some last-minute research to do in my office
before coming down here.”
Ron
hoped that last minute research involved the Ruskin case and Hopkins’
subsequent perks from the developer. Lord knows he’d paid the courier enough to
get the package to the Newstalk offices.
But
if Holden had gotten it, he sure wasn’t letting on. The host had a total poker
face, and Ron knew he’d just have to sit on the sidelines and wait and see.
“Are
you sitting in on this?” asked Holden.
“No,”
he said. “I’ll just watch.”
“He’ll
come on if I need him to come on,” Hopkins said, casting an irritated glance at
his campaign manager. It was another thing Ron hated about the man; he was so
completely insecure that he always had to remind everyone around him that he
was in control. Even when he was drunk. Even when he was not in control at all.
“Good
enough.” Holden took a seat across the table from Hopkins as Ron left the set
and walked over to where a cameraman as giving hand signals. He watched as the
man indicated by finger count the seconds left before the two were on air live.
Five, four, three two, one…
“Good
Morning, citizens,” Holden said by way of his trademark greeting, “and welcome
to Newstalk Live, where newsmakers shape what you” – he pointed directly
at the camera – “will be talking about tomorrow.
“Today
we have Bradford Hopkins, Republican candidate for the U.S. Senate. Welcome
Senator Hopkins.”
Hopkins
nodded and smiled. “Thank you for having me, Mark. And I’d like to thank the
citizens of this fine state for putting us ahead in the latest poll. Apparently
they’re looking past the glassy surface of Clara Faircloth’s campaign and
seeing that it’s more shallow than they thought.”
In
Lindsay’s apartment, Clara snorted loudly. “Dear God, what a line,”
chance than we think”
“I
hope so,” Lindsay said, but she couldn’t bring herself to share her employer’s
optimism, no matter how much she wanted to.
***
Ron
Sharp reached down and helped Bradford Hopkins pin the small microphone to his
lapel, wondering as he did why he didn’t feel guilty.
Earlier
in the morning, when he’d given the Ruskin information to a courier with
instructions to deliver it ASAP to Newstalk host, Mark Holden, he reflected on
his service to Hopkins and realized that he’d known all along that his boss was
– for lack of a better descriptor – a complete slime-ball.
Doubts
about Hopkins’ character had always been in the back of his mind, but he’d
allowed his own desire for fame and power to get in the way of the ethics and
values he’d always considered important.
But
he knew now that values were more than slogans. Values were what made a man do
the proper thing; they were what made a man set wrong to write, even when the
price of doing so may be his very career.
“My
head feels awful today.” Hopkins’ voice was tinged with anger, as if his
overindulgence in alcohol the night before was somehow Ron’s fault.
“Well,
maybe we can get your lawyer to write a threatening letter to Jim Bean for
making your liquor too strong,” Ron said. “Or maybe you should try drinking
less.”
“Are
you making fun of me?” Hopkins was in no mood for joking.
“No,”
Ron said. “But you knew the interview was early today.”
“Well
so did you,” Hopkins’ hissed. “You should have locked that damn liquor cabinet
long before you did.”
Ron
smiled to himself and kept silent. What was the use of preaching personal
responsibility to a man who thought the concept should only apply to other
people?
“There
you go; you’re all hooked up.” He stood and looked into the monitor. Even with
makeup, Hopkins looked like shit. Good.
Mark
Holden walked over to the table and extended his hand to Hopkins, who managed
to plant his best, winning smile on his sickly looking face as he shook the
host’s hand.
“Sorry
I’m late,” said Holden. “I had some last-minute research to do in my office
before coming down here.”
Ron
hoped that last minute research involved the Ruskin case and Hopkins’
subsequent perks from the developer. Lord knows he’d paid the courier enough to
get the package to the Newstalk offices.
But
if Holden had gotten it, he sure wasn’t letting on. The host had a total poker
face, and Ron knew he’d just have to sit on the sidelines and wait and see.
“Are
you sitting in on this?” asked Holden.
“No,”
he said. “I’ll just watch.”
“He’ll
come on if I need him to come on,” Hopkins said, casting an irritated glance at
his campaign manager. It was another thing Ron hated about the man; he was so
completely insecure that he always had to remind everyone around him that he
was in control. Even when he was drunk. Even when he was not in control at all.
“Good
enough.” Holden took a seat across the table from Hopkins as Ron left the set
and walked over to where a cameraman as giving hand signals. He watched as the
man indicated by finger count the seconds left before the two were on air live.
Five, four, three two, one…
“Good
Morning, citizens,” Holden said by way of his trademark greeting, “and welcome
to Newstalk Live, where newsmakers shape what you” – he pointed directly
at the camera – “will be talking about tomorrow.
“Today
we have Bradford Hopkins, Republican candidate for the U.S. Senate. Welcome
Senator Hopkins.”
Hopkins
nodded and smiled. “Thank you for having me, Mark. And I’d like to thank the
citizens of this fine state for putting us ahead in the latest poll. Apparently
they’re looking past the glassy surface of Clara Faircloth’s campaign and
seeing that it’s more shallow than they thought.”
In
Lindsay’s apartment, Clara snorted loudly. “Dear God, what a line,”
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