"That's right," Marder said. 'Timing couldn't be worse. The day before I leave for China. It's a very popular show. The whole damned country will see it."
"Yes," she said.
"Then the woman said she wanted to be fair, that it always looked bad if the company didn't respond to allegations. So if the president wasn't available to talk to Newsline, maybe some other highly placed spokesman would."
"Uh-huh..."
"So I'm seeing this twit in my office tomorrow at noon," Marder said.
"On camera?" Casey said.
"No, no. Background only, no cameras. But we'll cover the IRT investigation, so I think you'd better be there."
"Of course."
"Apparently they're going to do some terrible story on the N-22," Marder said. "It's that damn CNN tape. That's what's started it all. But we're in it now, Casey. We have to handle this as best we can."
'I'll be there," she said.
THURSDAY
AIRPORT MARINA
6:30 A.M.
Jennifer Malone awoke to the soft, insistent buzz of the bedside alarm. She turned it off, and looked over at the tanned shoulder of the man next to her, and felt a burst of annoyance. He was a stuntman on a TV series, she'd met him a few months back. He had a craggy face and a nice muscular body and he knew how to perform ... but Jeez, she hated it when guys stayed over. She had hinted politely, after the second time. But he'd just rolled over and gone to sleep. And now here he was, snoring away.
Jennifer hated to wake up with some guy in the room. She hated everything about it, the sounds they made breathing, the smell coming off their skin, their greasy hair on the pillow. Even the catches, the celebrities who made her heart skip over candlelight, looked like soggy beached whales the next day.
It was like the guys didn't know their place. They came over; they got what they wanted; she got what she wanted; everyone was happy. So why didn't they go the fuck home?
She'd called him from the plane: Hi, I'm coming into town, what are you doing tonight? And he said, without hesitation, Doing you. Which was fine with her. It was sort of funny, sitting in an airplane seat next to some accountant bent over his laptop, the voice in her ear saying, I'm doing you tonight, in every room of your suite. Which, to his credit, he did. Not subtle, this guy, but he had lots of energy, that pure California body energy that you never found in New York. No reason to talk about anything. Just fuck.
But now, sunlight streaming through the windows ...
Damn.
She got up from the bed, feeling the cold air-conditioned air on her naked skin, and went to the closet to choose the clothes she would wear. She was doing pretty straight types, so she picked jeans, a white Agnes B. T-shirt, and a navy Jil Sander jacket. She carried them into the bathroom, ran a shower. While the water was getting warm, she called the cameraman and told him to have the crew ready in the lobby in an hour.
While she took her shower, she reviewed the coming day. Barker first at nine, she'd film him briefly with some aviation background to warm him up, then break to do the rest at his office.
Next the reporter, Rogers. No time to do him at his newsroom in Orange County; she'd start him at Burbank, another airport, different look. He'd talk about Norton with the Norton buildings behind him.
Then at noon, she'd talk to the Norton guy. By then she'd already know the arguments from the other two guys, and she'd try to scare Norton enough that they'd give her access to the president
And then . . . let's see. The ambulance chaser later in the day, briefly. Someone from the FAA on Friday, for balance. Someone from Norton on Friday, as well. Marty would do a stand-up outside Norton, the script wasn't prepared but all she needed was the intro and the rest was voice-over. B-roll of passengers boarding, going to their doom. Takeoffs and landings, then some good crash shots.
And she was done.
This segment was going to work, she thought, as she stepped out of the shower. There was only one thing that troubled her.
That damned guy in the bed.
Why didn't he go home?
QA
6:40 A.M.
As Casey came into the QA offices, Norma glanced up at her, then pointed down the hall.
Casey frowned.
Norma jerked her thumb. "He was here when I came in this morning," she said. "Been on the phone for an hour solid. Mr. Sleepyhead's suddenly not so sleepy."
Casey went down the hall. As she came to Richman's office, she heard him say, "Absolutely not. We are very confident of how this will turn out No. No. I'm sure. Hasn't a clue. No idea."
Casey stuck her head in.
Richman was leaning back in his chair, with his feet up on the desk, while he spoke on the phone. He appeared startled when he saw her. He put his hand over the phone. "I'll just be a minute here."
"Fine." She went back to her office, shuffled through papers. She didn't want him around. It was time for another errand, she thought
"Good morning," he said as he came in. He was very cheerful, big smile. "I got those FAA documents you wanted. I left them on your desk."
"Thank you," she said. 'Today I need you to go to Trans-Pacific's main office."
'Transpacific? Isn't that at the airport?'
"Actually, I think they're in downtown LA. Norma will get you the address. I need you to pick up back issues of their inflight magazine. As far back as they go. At least a year."
"Gee," Richman said. "Couldn't we have a messenger do that?"
"This is urgent," Casey said.
"But I'll miss the IRT."
"You're not needed at the IRT. And I want these magazines as soon as possible."
"In-flight magazines? What are they for?" he said.