Other people

Forty-four Francine

I couldn't wait for my interview with Mr. Straws. That show with Butterball started a chain reaction in my head. For the first time, I had not been putting stuff together for others to use, but speaking my own mind, I loved it! If my vocation wasn't in broadcast, it had to be in something like it. Dealing with Butterball not in someone's drawing room but on the air, live, with people listening to me skewer him, gave me the biggest high I've ever had in a work situation. It wasn't work, it was play, and people got paid for it! And the notoriety was not incidental. My ego was flowering.

Straws's first name turned out to be Henry. He was wearing one of those suits with overly wide lapels and slanted pockets, Cardin or something Italian. He popped up from his chair and came around to shake hands enthusiastically. His shoes had tassels.

"Do sit down," he said, hovering over me for a second or two before retreating behind his desk.

He put the fingers of both hands together as if in contemplation, which gave me a chance to observe his face. I'd guess him to be about fifty. His hair was just slightly longer than World War II. A blow-dry would have looked ridiculous with that oversized bow tie. His face had no distinguishing feature, an okay nose, everything in place, what my mother used to call "nice looking" because there wasn't a single obtrusive feature.

"It was good of you to come," he said.

This is my break, my chance, I'd have come if you worked in Alaska, I thought.

"There are a few questions I would like to ask."

"Certainly."

"I take it you have no previous broadcast experience."

"Not really," I said. Why didn't I have the guts to just say plain no.

"You did extremely well for a virgin the other night," he said.

"Thank you."

"Miss Audrey will be on leave for a month, five weeks actually, and I'm thinking of trying out five guest hosts, all female of course, with an eye to the future."

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. "I had thought I was being considered as a possible replacement for Miss Audrey."

"I don't know where you got that. Miss Audrey has a contract with some time to run."

"I thought there was some dissatisfaction."

"With her format. It may be correctable. You do realize that if we try you out for a week, you'd have to read commercials as well as do interviews?"

"Does Miss Audrey?"

"She did at first."

"And now?" I asked.

"She negotiated them out of her contract after her first few years. We think it was a mistake. Our advertisers believe that when the interviewer reads the commercials, it lends strength and authenticity."

Mr. Straws, I will read commercials standing on my head to get this chance. "I understand," I said.

"Some of the contenders for our fill-in spots are thinking of trying some variation in the format. I'm giving them a chance to do that. Do you have anything in mind?"

"In mind?" I sounded like an idiot to me.

"Formatwise," he said.

Look, Mr. Straws, I'm just an amateur who wandered into a lucky break. I'll have to wing it. Francine, get a hold of yourself you're onstage.

"Mr. Straws, I'm kind of an hypocrisy specialist."

He laughed, thank God. "You practice it?"

"I study it. Mr. Straws, does a touch of vulgarity offend you?"

He liked that.

"Miss Widmer," he said, "in the media one is surrounded by it. A touch wouldn't be noticed."

"Oh I'm not thinking of a vulgar format, I just want to explain how I see myself."

He was looking at me all over. I hoped he was also listening.

"Somewhere along the line," I continued, "I developed a first-class shit detector."

He flinched at the word.

"My boss at the U.N.," I quickly continued, "has found it very helpful in his work. Hypocrisy is one of the most widely practiced and least studied phenomena. It's universally employed, not just in diplomacy and business, but even in love affairs. Therefore, a subject of interest to everyone. For instance…" I stopped. Was that me talking? My wings had wings.

"Go on," he said.

"Suppose every guest I interviewed was loosened up by being asked to tell us about who they thought was the biggest liar in public life. Two virtues. Everybody is interested in somebody publicly reciting chapter and verse about a liar they know. And if he-she is a public person, I guess we could keep it libel-proof if it weren't malicious."

"I'm amazed at the way you think," Straws said. "I mean that favorably."

"Not like a girl."

"I didn't mean that."

I looked at him and didn't say a word.

After a moment he said, "I guess I did mean that. I suppose that's what you mean by your S detector? Do you think something like that can be sustained night after night?"

"Do you think we'll run out of hypocrites?"

He made some notes on the pad in front of him.

"Miss Widmer, have you ever been given any psychological testing, TAT, Rorschach, things like that?"

"No."

"Do you think you could handle call-ins?"

"The cranks?"

"We prefer to call them our listeners."

"Mr. Straws, you saw me handle Butterball. Do you think I could handle call-ins?"

He scratched the scratch pad with his pen.

"If you were on the air, Mr. Straws, you'd have to answer or we'd be stuck with dead air."

"Unless you picked up the ball. The responsibility would always be yours."

"You've been testing me."

"Are you squeamish about sex?"

"Are we on the air or off the air?"

"On."

"Don't you get a few seconds' delay on the call-in questions?"

"Yes, of course. The producer monitors those. I meant a guest in the studio, when you're on live."

"You mean what do I do if someone tells me their preference is necrophilia? I'd say how convenient."

"I think you'll be all right on your feet."

"I thought this program was conducted sitting down."

"Very nice. Miss Widmer. Ad libbing is the whole thing. I have one reservation."

"About…?"

"You. You might get bored with the trivial discussions that go on night after night."

"It'd be up to me not to bore myself. Or the listeners."

"I wouldn't worry about the listeners. They've been with Lily Audrey for years. They're used to lapses. The problem all the guest hosts will face will be their loyalty."

"To her?"

"Yes. Your advantage is that their loyalty seems to be greater to the station." He stopped doodling. "Miss Widmer, if we decide to use you as one of the substitute hosts, do you think you could get a week's leave of absence from the U.N.?"

"Oh that's no problem. It's just I'd feel inhibited on the air if I were still employed at the U.N. I'd have to resign."

"I wouldn't dream of having you resign for a one-week assignment."

"I could take that risk. Perhaps if I—" His mind seemed elsewhere. "If in a week's trial I did as well as the other night with Butterball, you might find some other spot for me while you rode out Lily Audrey's contract. Or does that seem too speculative?"

"You're quite a daring young woman, Miss Widmer."

"I thought that might be a characteristic you were looking for." It was at that second I knew that I had given him a cue he had been looking for.

"Miss Widmer, while I wouldn't dream of you taking a risk like that for one week, I assume you don't have family responsibilities, budget obligations?"

"I'm single."

"There was a man with you the other night…"

"A friend."

"A good friend?"

I laughed nervously. "Not at the moment."

"I see. Well then, perhaps we can go into this further at dinner, perhaps later this week."

He stopped. I said nothing.

"In fact," he went on, "my wife's traveling in Europe, we could meet at the apartment for a drink, unless you preferred a nightcap afterward."

Clunk. It couldn't have been more explicit.

"Mr. Straws—"

"Call me Henry if you like."

"Mr. Straws, I am very excited about the prospect of this chance to show what I can do. On the air. I do want us to get to know each other better. Professionally. But I've had three very recent experiences, one rape, one attempted rape, and one seduction. I suppose the casting couch is somewhere in between, but I don't think I can hack it. If it's a job requirement, the answer is no."

He did the thing with the tips of his fingers again, then said, "You've made that clear."

"I trust it won't matter."

"Miss Widmer. I don't think you can risk giving up your existing position for a one-week trial that, frankly, has little chance now—" he paused over the now " — of leading somewhere more permanent here. I also think, if you will forgive me, that you are a tad ambitious for someone with negligible experience in broadcasting, and that you would soon find any routine interview show not to your liking."

"It wouldn't be routine," I protested.

"You'd get restless quickly, I can see that, you'd want to move on and up. Ambition is commendable, but without a cooperative attitude on your part… where are you going?"

I had stood up without realizing it.

"Mr. Straws," I said, "I am going to make it my business to find out who is the biggest competitor you have, and get a job with him paying nothing if I have to, and work my way up so fast you'll never know what happened to you when I'm on opposite your highest-rated show. I do thank you for this interview."

And I was gone. I did not slam the door. Oh George Thomassy, you would have been proud of my exit, you jealous son of a bitch.