She never got to see me hit my zenith, interviewing presidents and senators and congressmen.
I’d like to think she’d be proud of me, even if she wouldn’t agree with the network’s politics.
One afternoon before she died, when we were alone in her room at the hospice facility, Mom admitted to me that she never voted for Dad, not even inthe primaries.
We both laughed like hell over that. It was the last time she really smiled or laughed, as far as I know. She died a few weeks later.
It nearly brings me to tears wondering if, had I brought Christopher home to meet her, she would have liked him.
I strongly suspect she would have.
I’m also glad that I look like Mom. Dad’s taller than me, at six-two, with a hawkish nose and muddybrown eyes. I got Mom’s blonde hair, her blue eyes, and a shorter, slim build, even though I’m only five-eleven.
“Jesus, Kev,” James says by way of greeting when I emerge from the lobby and climb into the front passenger seat of our rented van. “What thehell, man? What were you doing?”
“Guy can’t take a crap in peace?” I shoot back.
That earns me snickers from Lou and the rest of the crewbecause they think I’m kidding.
Well, except Lou, who knows me well enough to know that’s exactly what I was doing.
I make it through filming my bumps and the other appearance and finally can change into my short-sleeved shirt and ditch the tie and jacket. Meanwhile, huddled under the shade of a picnic tent, me and Lou and another PA work on the interview packages on our computers. At leastthere’s a cool breeze off Tampa Bay now, sweeping north into downtown Tampa, where we’re at, and that scours the worse of the swampy feeling out of the air.
DC received three inches of snow this morning, which is slated to turn into icy slush by tomorrow.
Two levels of Hell, between both of my hometowns—frosty and fucking hot. I can’t win.
When I get a moment alone with Lou, I pull him aside.“Let’s talk to Henry about not using this guy as our field producer.Everagain,” I add.
He smirks. “Want them to send him to Lauren’s show?”
I shudder. “God, no. Iloveher.” My ex-wife and I are friends, thank goodness. I consider her my best friend.
Lou scratches the back of his head, running fingers over thinning grey hair that he keeps so short it’s nearly buzzed. “I still haven’t figuredout how you two are so friendly. I have three ex-wives, and none of us can stand each other.”
“You just haven’t divorced the right woman yet, Lou.” I grin. “Don’t worry, the perfectly wrong woman for you is out there somewhere.”
* * * *
I’ve slotted the interview with Senator Samuels to lead the hour, because in all honesty, she’s the most important one. She’s a Democrat, and if I can scorepoints with her, as opposed to scoring points against her, on the back of my successful interview with Evans it could really help my relationship with the Dems on Capitol Hill.
US Senator ShaeLynn Samuels arrives tonight escorted by a uniformed Hillsborough County sheriff’s deputy. I feel a slight pang of disappointment that it’s not a Secret Service agent. I love their suits.
At forty-five,the Senator is only a couple of years older than me. Her black hair falls longer than shoulder-length, but I’ve rarely seen her wear it loose. Tonight she’s pulled it back low on the nape of her neck in a tidy ponytail. She also wears glasses, but she frequently wears contacts in DC. Behind those glasses, her intense grey eyes bear flecks of granite and midnight, and she watches me with shrewd cunningthat brings to mind a patient tiger with a slightly rumbly tummy.
She’s attending the Lightning game after our interview, so she’s wearing jeans that can’t be seen where she’s sitting on our mobile set, and a black tank top that, when she dons a navy blue blazer, looks like a put-together business suit.
Only me and my crew—and the live audience—saw that she arrived carrying the blazer and wearinga Lightning home jersey emblazoned with the name and number of their current lead goalie. She pulled off the jersey and swapped it out for the blazer before touching up her makeup.
While my crew is helping her get her mic and IFB situated, I lean in and offer my hand. “Thank you for doing this tonight, Senator Samuels.”
Her handshake feels every bit as firm as any man I’ve interviewed, and maybefirmer than a few of them. “You’re welcome, Mr. Markos. I watched your interview with Lieutenant-Governor Evans this morning. I was impressed.”
I fight the urge to blush, even though I’m secretly pleased by her praise. “How so, Senator?”
“Just when I think you’re a hopeless conservative, you flag that you’re a secret moderate.” From the way the outer edges of her eyes crinkle, I think she’steasing me.
Ithink.
