The Manny. Holly Peterson

shine, baby!’

      Erik and Goodman had barely spoken to me since Theresa went to the rival network, even if she hadn’t broken any new news.

      ‘Our affiliate in Jackson, Mississippi, is trying to get the new tapes; the local newspaper reporters are all over it,’ Charles continued. ‘No one’s got anything yet. The station manager called Goodman to see if he could use his big network muscle with Theresa Boudreaux. I guess they knew we were close to getting the interview, even though we didn’t. Or I guess you didn’t.’

      ‘Thanks for reminding me. What do you think is on these tapes? What could be on that woman’s mind …?’

      Abby screamed at me, ‘Would you please just call Leon Rosenberg and stop asking dumb questions we don’t know the answer to?’

      I dialled, remembering I had hung up on him during our last conversation. His impossible secretary answered once again.

      ‘It’s Jamie Whitfield from the NBS Evening News. I need to talk to Leon.’

      ‘Hello, Ms Whitfield. I will have to …’

      ‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to “see” if he’s in, Sunny. I know he’s in. That’s why I’m calling him. There’s a breaking story with Ms Boudreaux.’

      ‘We are aware there is a breaking story, but unfortunately about twenty reporters have called before you this morning. So I think it’s only fair …’

      I tried to be polite while saying, ‘Would you please tell Leon Rosenberg I will personally throttle him if he doesn’t pick up this phone?’

      ‘No need to get overexcited once again, Ms Whitfield. I will put your name on his call sheet in the order …’

      ‘That’s just not going to do.’ I stood up and talked into the phone as coldly as I could. ‘Our anchorman Joe Goodman and a team of NBS lawyers are standing right in front of me and will destroy your entire law firm with a story we have on the shelf about your unethical practices. I will personally see to it that we mention you by name, Sunny Wilson.’

      No response. Five seconds later: ‘Hello, Jamie.’ Rosenberg picked up. ‘No need to traumatize my secretary every time you call. She is doing exactly what I told her to do. You really doing a story on us?’

      ‘No.’ I had to laugh. ‘Of course not.’

      ‘Jesus, you scared even me this time.’

      ‘Sorry, Leon. And I really want to apologize for hanging up on you the last time we talked. That was very rude and uncalled for. How can I make it up to you? You know, everyone at NBS thinks you do a phenomenal job. And we know how hard you work to protect your clients.’

      ‘Cut the shit, Jamie. I know I owe you one. I always play fair, especially with the pretty ones like you.’

      What a pig.

      ‘Of course it doesn’t hurt you’re Joe Goodman’s producer.’

      I rolled my eyes. ‘OK. What have you got for me?’

      No answer. Was he playing games? Did he have anything? Were there really more tapes?

      ‘And don’t forget the handsome shot I put of you in that Brioni suit walking your client out of her waffle house. The other networks just had the shot of her alone. But not NBS. NBS not only had twelve seconds of you in that suit but also mentioned you by name.’ I mimicked Goodman’s deep voice. ‘“Boudreaux shown here with her high-powered attorney Leon Rosenberg leaving her café in Pearl, Mississippi.” Goodman didn’t think we needed that in. I thought you might be pleased to see it. Of course I did think that would seal the deal for the interview with her.’

      ‘I get it. I already got it. I owe you.’

      ‘That’s convenient. I feel the same way.’

      ‘Why don’t you just get on your knees and start puckering up.’

      I made a loud kissing noise. Charles put his finger down his throat in solidarity. Pause. No answer. ‘I’m still waiting, Leon.’

      ‘Are we alone on this line?’

      ‘I promise. Let me just put you on hold one sec.’

      I looked at Abby and Charles and scrunched my eyes closed and crossed my fingers on both hands and then my legs. Charles turned around and picked up the extra receiver and pushed mute while keeping the phone on hold. Abby was so jittery she could have stuck to the ceiling like Spider-Man.

      I motioned 3-2-1 with Charles so that he could surreptitiously hear the conversation. It wasn’t the first time I needed him to listen on a call – we’d done this a hundred times. Leon finally spoke in a low voice. ‘There are more tapes.’

      ‘More tapes? Between Theresa Boudreaux and Huey Hartley?’

      ‘Hmm-mmm.’

      I gave the thumbs-up sign to Abby. Charles’s eyebrows danced up and down like Groucho Marx’s.

      Leon continued. ‘And no one’s heard them but me.’

      Abby passed me one of her index cards. ASK HIM TO CONFIRM HOW GOOD THEY ARE.

      ‘How good?’

      ‘Makes the ones that aired on Seebright’s show sound like the Teletubbies having a tea party.’

      Another card. ASK HIM EXACTLY WHAT IS ON THE TAPES.

      ‘I need details, Leon. This is a serious news organization. I can’t go to Goodman with innuendo.’

      ‘OK. But you’re not a serious news organization if you care so much about Theresa Boudreaux. Get over yourself, cutie-pie.’

      ‘I’m waiting, Leon.’

      Still nothing.

      ‘Leon?’

      He answered, ‘How about the fact that Congressman Hartley likes to go in the back door?’

      ‘The back door of the waffle house?’ I asked. Charles shook his head and put one hand over his forehead and then lay down on the sofa.

      Abby kept mouthing, ‘What? What?’

      ‘Maybe I didn’t give you the original tapes because you are so very dumb, like all those pretty girls. Maybe you should do the weather instead of producing? Ever think of that?’

      ‘The back door of her house?’ I didn’t get what he was referring to. Charles sat up and started waving his arms in the air, shaking his head wildly NO!

      Leon answered slowly. ‘No. Doggie style. From behind. Literally behind, if you get my meaning here.’

      ‘Doggie style,’ I repeated, in a surprisingly businesslike manner. I had to pace around in little circles to help myself take this in.

      Abby bulged her eyes open, the tension and electricity visible in the clenched veins in her neck.

      ‘Leon, give me a few seconds.’ I looked at Charles. He nodded his head and motioned for me to remain calm. On one of my trips to visit with Theresa, I had gone to a prayer breakfast attended by Huey Hartley. I remembered how he always spoke like a preacher delivering an outdoor sermon in a thunderstorm. Fornicators will no longer be put on a pedestal by the elites of this country. God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve! While the liberal media focuses on securing the rights of homosexuals to marry, while they make their assault on families, unborn children, the Ten Commandments and even Christmas nativity scenes, I, and you, the good people of Mississippi, are going to change the conversation of this great nation of ours!

      I recovered my equilibrium. ‘Mr Married former minister. Former owner of the PBTG Christian television network. Current red state US House of Representatives Congressman Huey Hartley with four children says on a tape to his waitress girlfriend that he prefers the doggie-style position?’

      I looked