Stay Tuned

Chapter 9

Joe swiveled in his chair, bouncing one knee up and down, while Drew shifted from side to side behind me. They were like teenagers at their first prom, gangly and awkward.
    
“Would you two quit it? You’re making me nervous, Drew, and I’m not the one in front of the camera,” I chided, taking a small bite of a stale Honey-Bun. “No more vacations for you, if you’re going to come back more keyed up than you left.”
    
Drew eyeballed me. “Well, ‘Mother Hen,’ I hear you’re adding babysitting anchors to your list of duties here at WSGA.”
    
“Ha. Ha. You know I was just trying to help—” I covered up half my face with my notebook, and shot an inquisitive look at Joe. He shrugged.
    
“Didn’t hear it from him.” Drew cut in. “Alyssa was whining about it in the break room. So, no more champagne for Tim after-hours at the station.” He smirked. “Unless we’ve got a web-cam going and I get to supervise.”
    
The two fist-bumped and smirked like teenagers at a high school football game.
     
“Gosh, great, Drew. That sounds fabulous,” I crinkled up the Honey-Bun wrapper and tossed it at him.
     
He dodged it and laughed. Still smiling, Drew leaned in to the mic and nodded at Joe. “Alyssa, you two ready to go?”
    
On set, Alyssa surveyed Dr. Freeman, who nodded. “We are.”
    
The plan was for Alyssa to take the questions I’d selected from viewers and delicately rephrase them so as not to offend or reveal identities. She had a stack to choose from. Alyssa did better sticking to a script, and didn’t ad-lib often, but Drew wanted to give this a shot.
    
“Let’s get ’er done,” Drew pretended to chomp on an imaginary cigar.
    
Alyssa straightened and gave a final glance to the mirror she kept Velcroed under her seat. She checked her toothpaste-white smile one last time, twisted both earrings, and pursed her plumped-up lips. If Dr. Freeman noticed, she was too polite to give any indication that Alyssa was overly self-absorbed. I gave a fleeting thought to inviting a psychiatrist on the show, but the urge to analyze Alyssa’s childhood might be too overwhelming. Or bizarre.
    
As scripted, Alyssa introduced the concept of the show and ran through the ground rules.
    
We were ready.
    
“Dr. Jennifer Freeman, welcome,” Alyssa said and glanced at her notes. “It’s great to have you here with us today. Our viewers have sent in lots of questions!”
    
“I’m glad to be here,” Dr. Freeman smiled.
    
“We’re focusing today, of course, on women’s issues. Many of our WSGA viewers have asked about the importance of yearly mammograms. What’s the current recommendation?” Alyssa asked.
    
“It depends greatly on a number of factors, including a woman’s age and family history of breast cancer,” Dr. Freeman replied, turning toward the camera like a pro. She went on to explain the risks and benefits of mammography—without a series of clichés or lots of doctor-speak.
    
I loved this woman.
    
Alyssa leaned forward. She brushed off an imaginary piece of lint from her skirt and glanced at her script. “The next question comes from…Lois…Sneedlemeister, in Warner Robins.”
    
This caught Drew’s attention. He started to ask, but I held up a hand and I began flipping through my stack. There was no Lois Sneedle-anything, to my recollection. Nope, nothing. I shrugged and looked back at him.
    
“Fine,” he rubbed his chin. “Maybe Alyssa came up with something on her own. Let her go with it.”
     
Bad idea.
    
“And so, Dr. Freeman, what would you say to Lois, who wrote in with a dilemma about these dozen or so itchy, red patches in her private area?”
    
Drew, who had just taken a swig of coffee, spit out his mouthful in a spray across the room. I choked. Joe shook his head and chortled out loud.
    
Dr. Freeman, the good sport that she was, took it all in stride, recommending that Lois see her gynecologist for STD testing.
    
Alyssa wrinkled her forehead, offered a blank look, and gripped her script a bit tighter. “STD? Perhaps you can explain STDs to our viewers.”

“Sexually Transmitted Diseases, like Chlamydia, Gonorrhea, Hepatitis, Herpes—”

With every STD Dr. Freeman added, Alyssa became a shade paler.

“Houston, we have a problem,” I quipped in a whisper. As I was about to offer a gentle reminder to stay on topic into Alyssa’s earpiece, Drew interrupted.

“No. No, no, no. Cut the mics,” Drew yelled. “Wait a damn minute.” Everything came to a screeching halt. Joe pushed back from the board. Drew stormed out of the room and onto the set. By the time he arrived, Drew had composed himself.

He patted Alyssa on the shoulder and whispered in her ear. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Stick to the script, he mouthed.
    
Ever the gentleman to outsiders, Drew thanked Dr. Freeman for her patience and explained that the show would be edited for commercial breaks. One of the camera guys ran and fetched Dr. Freeman a glass of water.

Drew reappeared and motioned for Joe to resume recording.

Alyssa tossed her hair and began with a viewer’s inquiry about supplements for women with calcium deficiency. Easy peasy.

After Dr. Freeman answered, Alyssa leaned in again and lowered her voice an octave. “Very interesting and helpful. Now, I’m sure there are viewers out there who are wondering about supplements for these STDs you mentioned earlier?”

Dr. Freeman’s jaw dropped. I almost screamed. Drew was out of the room before I could stand up. This time, he asked for a word with Alyssa off-set. Joe and the crew dissolved into howling laughter, tears streaming down their craggy faces.

Drew barreled back into the small room. “Jesus Christ, my blood pressure. She’s going to kill me. How difficult is it to follow directions?” No one breathed. Joe crossed his eyes and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling.

“If she veers off-topic again, Melissa,” Drew warned and dabbed his face with a crumpled tissue. “I want you to—”
    
He never had a chance to finish.

Alyssa smiled into the camera. “Welcome back. Our next question is from a viewer, Penny Abernathy, in Dublin. Dr. Freeman, Penny asks if there’s any truth to the old wives’ tale that a woman can go blind from giving oral sex.”

“Shit! Dammit! That’s it,” Drew threw his hands up in the air. “I can’t take it. Get someone else, anyone, to finish this mess.

I scrambled to page Tim Donaldson to the set.
    
“Christ! Elmo from Sesame Street could do a better job. Oral sex, pornography, pole dancing, what’s next?” Drew yanked off his tie. “Alien babies?”