Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One (18 page)

“A thing?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of a
thing?”

“A manly
kind.”

“A manly
thing?” she smirked.

“Yeah.”
“Sounds dirty.”

“Perve.”
Tamara laughed. “Fine, be all secretive. I gotta go.”

I stepped aside
and made room for her to pass in the hallway. Tamara took a few
steps and stopped, looking back at me over her shoulder.

“It’s okay to
talk, you know.”

“Talk?”
“Yeah. About what happened.”

“Oh.” I blinked
a few times, various emotions swelling in my gut. None of them
actually making any sense to me.

Tamara looked
down at her feet for a moment. “I mean … I know we aren’t really
friends.” She looked up shyly, surprisingly so. “Well, obviously
we’re friends. I just … I’m saying this all wrong.”

I suck at
talking when it gets real. This is usually when I keep my mouth
shut.

“It’s just …”
Tamara let out her breath in a huff and met my gaze again. “I see
you here most every day. You’re smart and funny. You’ve always got
a one-liner that helps make my day, no matter how stressed I am
from school.”

I felt myself
blushing again. I’d been doing that a lot lately.

“You listen to
me when I am worried about school. I mean, you really listen – not
like the guys just trying to get in my pants.”

I sighed
quietly. Score one more for the insensitive douchebags of the
world.

Tamara’s eyes
got very deep then. “And then, you weren’t here. You were gone.
Almost for real. And I realized that I talked, but you never said
anything. Not about yourself. Nothing real.”

I shrugged, a
bit uncomfortable. “Well … What’s to say?”

Tamara’s lips
pressed into a line. The moment passing. “You tell me.” Her smile
was faint and a touch wistful. “When you’re ready.” Then her phone
beeped again. She waved it at me regretfully. “I gotta go.”

“Sure,” I said,
relieved. And confused. Then as she turned away I remembered.
“Thanks, by the way.”

She paused.
“For what?”

Sour grapes hit
my empty and kicked at my bruised stomach spitefully, but I kept
the poker face up. “For keeping my van from getting towed. How’d
you know it was mine?”

“I saw you
drive it into the parking lot. That thing is unmistakable.”

“Admit it,
you’re stalking me.”

“Maybe I
am.”
“That would be awesome.”

She smiled, but
carefully. “So you talked to Mark?”

I nodded, poker
face firmly in place.

Tamara pressed
on. “Things are … okay?”

“Why wouldn’t
they be?” I said, lying to myself. I made a shooing motion. “Go on,
we’re both gonna be late.”

She waved again
with her phone, a big smile. “I am glad you’re okay, Joe.” Then
Tamara whirled away and walked quickly down the hallway to
work.

Denial. It
ain’t just for weird feelings and coincidences.

Chapter
15

I ‘d never been
to the downtown CTV studios before.

Back when
I was still a wide eyed youth my Cub Scout troop had been given a
chance to tour the old facility near Polo Park Shopping Centre. The
studio had a primo location right across the street from the old
Winnipeg Arena on Maroons Road. The place where Bobby Hull, Dale
Hawerchuk and Teemu Selanne used to play for the Jets. I ‘ll never
forget being so fascinated by all of the equipment, the cameras,
the lights. There had been a huge storage room in the basement
loaded with Hollywood style film cans of TV shows that I loved to
watch.
The A-Team
.
Dukes of Hazzard
. The
American Wrestling Association
. Plus
all of the archived footage of local news casts, street reports and
sports highlights.

The
studio itself was off limits at the time, but we were given
permission to watch the evening news being filmed from the safety
of the control room. I remember watching legendary newscaster
Sylvia Kusyk sitting at the news desk with her big smile facing the
camera, telling all of Winnipeg about something important that I
couldn’t understand. Probably just a recap of the city’s snow
removal schedule or something equally useless to eight year old me.
There were six different people working all of the
Star Trek
bridge style equipment,
with their blinking lights and dials. Everyone wore a headset as
the director sat in the back, monitoring the action.

We toured the
production room where even though it was dark out, there were
several men and women sitting at their desks working on their high
tech Commodore sixty-four computers and word processors putting
together upcoming newscasts and special presentations.

It had been a
real eye opener for young me. I had known my whole life how
exciting TV was, Lord knows I watched my fair share of it growing
up. But now I knew that this was something I could be a part
of.

For years going
through school I had dumb fantasies about working in a side office
somewhere on the second story of that tri-level building. Hammering
away on some big piece involving the Jets advancing to the Stanley
Cup Final, or the City Electing a new Mayor amidst controversy.
Going over it with Sylvia Kusyk and telling her how important the
piece was for the people of Winnipeg on CTV’s six o’clock
broadcast.

Years passed.
The Jets traded Teemu just before the team was sold to some morons
in Phoenix. The Old Barn got torn down in favor of an addition to
the shopping complex. Ms. Kusyk retired to the private sector and
the CTV studios were abandoned in favor of their new location in
the heart of downtown.

Way back in the
day this building on Graham and Carleton had been an old power
station. The steam stack is still in place today. The top floor had
.been gutted in favor of a new open concept studio for the much
reduced CTV. What once had taken up three whole floors and a cool,
dry basement to store archived film was now jammed tight into a
twenty-five hundred square foot space. When watching the news these
days, viewers at home were treated to open concept style studios
where the anchors’ desk now sat in front of the production pit
where writers and other newscasters were often seen hard at work in
the background. It was a creative solution, making it seem like an
inclusive choice that CTV was making as opposed to a concession
because they were terribly cramped for room.

They even had
to share the building. On the main floor beneath the studio was a
trendy sports pub that also extended to the rooftop directly above,
where the summertime patio was a huge hit with the professional
party goers looking for something a bit tamer than a regular
nightclub. When Cathy did her rooftop weather hits she couldn’t do
them when the pub was open for fear of drunken fools causing a
scene.

The best thing
about the new CTV Studio was its proximity to the MTS Centre. News
crews didn’t even have to go outside as the new home of the
returned Winnipeg Jets was directly across the street where the
ancient Eaton’s building had once stood. Seeing that tradition
carried over from the old studio made me smile wistfully. Both the
arena and the studio were connected by covered walkways that acted
as wintertime sidewalks for the people of Winnipeg.

As I was led
through the entry lobby I passed the small cubby area where the
administration and sales team worked away. A forty foot square area
jammed tight with desks and people practically sitting in each
other’s lap, trying to keep the station in the green
financially.

The young
intern led me past the main studio where reporters and camera
people hung out, going over the latest news feeds coming out
online. It always amazes me how much social media had taken over
the news industry. I don’t think it’s a bad thing overall as it
definitely gives more of a voice to the average citizen. But I
always think it’s goofy when respected and educated news
professionals went on about “what people were saying on
Facebook
about the news.” If I wanted
to know what Billy McNumbnuts thought about stuff, I would friend
him.

For the
record, I’m not on
Facebook
.

The intern
motioned to an area off to the side that looked suspiciously like
the set for the CTV Morning Show. Complete with a small coffee
table and two uncomfortable looking living room chairs. I nodded to
the intern and opted to stand, my stomach still gurgling
uncomfortably after the two cheese and bacon burgers I’d wolfed
down on my way over fought for supremacy. I dropped my gym bag near
the left chair and shoved my hands into my pockets, checking
surreptitiously to make sure I didn’t spill any grease on my
hoodie. It was a collector’s item after all.

Sure was a lot
of expensive looking equipment in here.

The tingle
behind my eyes at the back of my neck started again.

I clamped my
eyes shut, clenching my fingers tight in my pockets and forced
myself to breathe slowly.

Not for any
particular reason.

Why would there
be a reason?

Nothing weird
was going on.

Nope.

Voices behind
me. I focused on them while I breathed. Helped distract me.

“What do
you mean you’ve never seen,
True
Lies
? That movie is classic.”

Scoffing
laughter. “Classic garbage. No interest.”

“Seriously man, the camerawork and action are way ahead of
its time. Cameron was at his film making best.”
“Cameron should’ve stopped after the original
Terminator
. That film was a
masterpiece.”

“Oh for sure.
Razor sharp screen play. Terrific action and set pieces. Plus,
Linda Hamilton got all kinds of naked.”

“Way naked. The
only negative of that movie is how it started the whole sci-fi
trope of the female heroine.”

“True
enough.”

“Hold on,
wait.” I broke in, snapping my eyes open and looking back over my
shoulder. Two cameramen stood nearby looping cable, blinking up at
me.

“What’s up?”
asked the younger one.

“You got a
problem with female heroines? I know several ladies who would kick
your sexist asses.”

“No no
no, I love female heroines.” This was the older guy. Graying
heavily and lean with an easy smile. “But for every
Riley
and
Buffy
there’s a
Red
Sonja
or
Lara
Croft
.”

The
younger guy blinked. “I liked
Lara
Croft
.”

“Oh yeah,
Angie’s hot. But those movies suck.”

The chatter of
the studio hummed in the background as we made introductions. Jimmy
was the older guy who would be shooting the interview with me for
Cathy. Kurt was the younger guy and was helping with the lighting
and audio set up. I was immediately jealous when I saw his media
pass and learned he was also the stationary camera operator for all
Jets home games.

“It’s a pretty
sweet deal,” Kurt admitted with a smile. “Pay’s decent and it’s a
steady side gig. Given how any moron can shoot things using their
smart phones these days you gotta jump on the good jobs and hold’em
tight.”

“I know the
feeling,” I said sympathetically, thinking about the time I spend
paying the bills between both of my jobs. “But if you wanna trade,
I think you’d make a great bouncer.”

All hundred and
fifty-ish skinny pounds of Kurt laughed hard at that one.

“Cathy’ll be
with us in a minute,” Jimmy said checking his phone. “She’s running
late in her meeting. We’re supposed to get you all set up.”

“Cool.”

Getting set up
was actually pretty neat. Cathy had expressed my desire to remain
relatively anonymous to Jimmy who worked hard to make it happen. He
and Kurt set up a dark curtain behind one of the living room chairs
and had me sit in it. For the next few minutes Kurt ran back and
forth from the control room, testing lighting settings and
levels.

Jimmy set up a
monitor off to one side so I could see the results. Somehow,
despite all of the light glaring down at me, he’d managed to keep
my face in shadow. You could clearly make out the shape and outline
of my face, but it was dark enough to be indistinct.

“How’s that?”
he asked.

“You’re the
expert, but it works for me.” I nodded at him. “Sorry to be a pain
in the ass.”
Jimmy shook his head. “Man, if I was you I’d never want my face
out. Who knows if those gang members would want to finish the job?
Make sure you couldn’t I.D. them?”

Kurt chimed in
from the side. “Yeah, no doubts.”

“I guess that’s
a possibility,” I conceded reluctantly, shrugging my shoulders.
“But so what? They all got arrested on scene. There’s dozens of
witnesses and the club has cameras right at the door.”