The Newsmakers by Lis Wiehl Page A

several other aides. Kay’s husband, Bert Winters, is also there—he’s older than she is, with a casual confidence, soft-spoken and self-effacing, known for standing by his woman and raising prodigious amounts of money for her campaigns.
    Erica has been fighting all day to stay focused. She curses this break—the pause in the intensity of the work allows her mind to return to the news she got from Mark. She wants to tell Greg but she has to handle it very carefully, since Mark’s actions were both illegal and unsanctioned by GNN. And who are the perpetrators? Why haven’t they claimed credit? Terrorists are usually quick to trumpet their carnage. Her wheels start turning, carrying her away from the moment. She wills herself back to here and now.
    Lesli, Erica’s associate producer, has hired Lisa Golden, LA’s organic caterer to the stars—a woman of about forty, scrubbed and earnest—who has worked for Nylan several times when he was hosting parties in town. The kitchen island is filled with an array of salads and dishes so glistening and artfully presented they almost look fake. Golden describes every dish down to its last non-GMO grain of rice. When she’s done, she introduces her assistant, a Hispanic teenager. “This is Arturo Yanez, who comes to me via Recipe for Success, a program that trains at-risk youth for jobs in the beautiful world of food. I’m a proud supporter.”
    â€œHow wonderful!” Kay exclaims.
    Arturo smiles with a modest pride that can’t disguise his anxiety.
    â€œArturo has made you individual tamale pies for today’s supper. Does he have any takers?”
    â€œMe-me-me,” Kay says.
    Arturo opens the oven and carefully removes one of a dozen small baking dishes. He puts it on a plate with a fork and hands it to Kay, who takes a bite. “De-lish,” she pronounces. Not for the first time, Erica marvels at her warmth and charm, which flow as naturally as water.
    There are other takers on the tamale pie, but not Erica. Food is the furthest thing from her mind. The most important fifteen minutes of her career are coming up. She steps into a quiet corner of the kitchen and reviews her notes. Since the earlier segments covered Kay’s life and career up to this point, she’s going to get right to the billion-dollar question. A little shiver runs up her spine—she’s not sure where her excitement ends and her anxiety begins. Hair and makeup are set up at the kitchen table and she sits down for a quick touch-up. And then her mind—which seems to have a mind of its own—goes back to the unknown hackers, the terrorists , and then to the crash itself, and then she hears the man’s scream as his body is crushed between the ferry and the seawall.
    Lesli comes into the kitchen. “We’re all set. It’s five minutes till we go live.”
    Erica stands up. Kay comes over, locks arms, and leads her into the living room. “I’m so glad I’m doing this with you ,” she says. Then she burps, a discreet burp but still. She smiles sheepishly. “Why aren’t the cameras rolling when you need them?”
    Erica and Barrish sit facing each other in straight-back chairs in front of the fireplace. A fire is roaring and the air-conditioning is on—only in LA. Final adjustments are made in the sound and lighting. Greg, who has put on his headset and is communicating with the network back in New York, stands beside the cameraman and looks through the lens. “You both look terrific.”
    â€œOh, we’re women of substance, we don’t care about that ,” Kay says. Laughter ripples through the room, the tension is lightened, and Erica feels a sudden wave of confidence—and affection for this woman. Imagine her in the White House!
    â€œThirty seconds,” Greg says. The room grows still. Kay sits up a little higher, puts on her game face. Erica takes a deep