Gloss. Jennifer Oko

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СКАЧАТЬ a support group like I had with Roomful of Writers: Elaine Heinzman, Kevin Ricche, Martha Heil, Peter Reppert, James Riordon, Contessa Riggs and (briefly) Eric Roston. A special shout-out to Jennifer Ouellette and Erica Perl. On the face of it, it would seem that the authors of books such as The Physics of the Buffyverse and Ninety-Three in My Family might not necessarily be the best readers for a book like Gloss, but in fact a little Einstein mixed with some excellent children’s literature was precisely the medicine the book needed. John Elderkin, wherever you are, thank you for the title. Thank you to Elizabeth Shreve for your endless publishing wisdom, and, along with her, to Emily Lenzner for the jubilations.

      Thank you to my friends and colleagues at CBS News.

      Writers usually work in solitude, but this writer wouldn’t be able to get anything done if it weren’t for friends like Tula Karras, Jenny Trewartha, Jan Trasen, Julie Ziegler, Jennifer Howze, Sasha Gottlieb and Liza Vasilkova.

      This book was sold shortly after the birth of my son, Jasper, and published shortly before the birth of my daughter, Laila, and it took an amazing amount of help from my family to assure that I had the time, space and energy to be a producer, a writer and a good mother all at the same time. Annette Oko, Ben Oko and Helen Dimos—thank you for the love you have showered on Jasper, Laila and their mom. Thank you to my brother Daniel Cohen and his wife, Stephanie Cohen, who have been tremendous cheerleaders throughout my writing career (and my life!). And to my parents, Sue and Arnold Cohen, it sounds trite but I really have no words to thank you enough. My husband, Michael Oko, continues to amaze me with his patience, his kindness, his enthusiasm and his belief in me. And it is Jasper and Laila who have helped me see all the blessings and joy.

      Thank you.

      gloss (glôs) n.

      1 A surface sheen, often referring to cosmetics used to enhance the lips.

      2 A superficially or deceptively attractive appearance.

      3 A smooth-coated, slick media format.

      The obscure we eventually see.

      The completely obvious, it seems, takes longer.

      —Edward R. Murrow

      PART ONE

      gloss (glôs)

      n.

      1 A surface sheen, often referring to cosmetics used to enhance the lips.

      2 A superficially or deceptively attractive appearance.

      3 A smooth-coated, slick media format.

      The obscure we see eventually. The completely obvious, it seems, takes longer.

      —Edward R. Murrow

      PROLOGUE

      I DIGRESS.

      When I was little, the adults laughed and said I had a vivid imagination. It was a good thing. But by the end of my elementary years it was a source of heated conversations in parent-teacher meetings, and then, by high school, it became a source of parent-psychologist conversations, leading to parent-neurologist conversations, leading to a career as a television news producer, and ultimately, to where I am now. Which is to say, my tendency to take off on flights of fancy, and my general inability to focus ironically brought me to a place of fancy-less focus: the Federal Detention Center in Alexandria, Virginia. My lawyer grins Cheshirelike and insists we will win. No fear, he says, this will end soon, you will write a book, a movie deal will be in place and, years from now, you will look out over the veranda of your Hollywood Hills home, sipping chardonnay and laughing at this little adventure. Wake me up after the second coming, I tell him, when I’m in a good mood. Most days I tell him to shut up and give me whatever paper it is that I need to sign.

      I wasn’t always this surly. In fact, I’m not always this surly. I like to think of myself as personable. My fellow inmates seem to like me. They say things like “you ain’t so bad (dramatic pause) for a white girl.” And, when we are dancing around the cell block to entertain ourselves (my friend Galina in the neighboring cell can scat like she is channeling a Slavic version of Betty Carter), they tell me I move like a sista’ and that I could easily have a starring role in a hip-hop video. I’m not sure if I’m flattered or not, but I think many of my outside peers would savor that as a compliment. The whiter you are, the more privileged your background, the more being “ghetto” is supposed to be a coveted commodity. I never understood this trend, the rich boarding school boys with droopy pants, walking with the lilt of a drug lord thug. Wispy wheat-haired lasses showing their palm and saying in a staccato cadence, “Talk to the hand.” I appreciate the grit and flavor such mannerisms represent, but wouldn’t it make more sense for people to want to mimic the rich and powerful? Of course, I’m not sure which would be more absurd, a prep-schooled, Ivy-educated, wavy-haired, nose-sculpted young woman like myself trying to talk jive (if jive is still spoken) or a middle-class, third generation mixed Eastern European young woman, also like myself, trying to act like a Vanderbilt.

      Like I said, I digress. But that is actually not so off point. Because really, what got me here, into cell block six, had a lot to do with people (yours truly included) trying to appear like something they are not: morning television.

      Dear New Day USA—

      I watch your show everyday and have for years. But yesterday, I noticed that Faith had changed her hair style. I don’t like it. She looks much better with a side part.

      Sandy Franklin

       Winona, WI

      CHAPTER ONE

      “THIRTY SECONDS TO AIR!” THE STAGE MANAGER skipped over the wires strewn about the floor and jumped behind the row of semirobotic cameras.

      “Shit!” The frail makeup artist rushed forward, armed with a powder puff, and dived for Ken Klark’s shiny, pert nose. The white dust settled and she was gone, out of the shot.

      “Ten seconds!”

      Klark stroked his chiseled chin, smoothed back what there was to smooth of his ever so trendy, close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair, and ran his tongue over his neon-white teeth. Four thousand dollars in caps right there. He had expensed them to the network, which did not contest.

      “Five seconds!”

      He tugged his dark blue blazer behind him once more and sat up cocksure.

      “Three! Two!” On the unspoken count of “One” the stage manager mimed a gunshot at Klark, who smiled, leaned a bit forward, waiting a beat for the zooming camera lens to settle on him.

      “Good morning, everyone! It’s a New Day, USA!” he said. “Today is April 4th, and this is ZBC News. I’m Ken Klark.”

      “And I’m Faith Heide.” A small, bobbed blonde in a fitted red sweater popped up on the screen, emitting a girl-next-door smile into eight point five million homes.

      And I’m fucked, I thought as I ran into the control room behind the set, twenty minutes late. You are supposed to check your graphics and chyrons before the show, not when it’s already live on the air.

      The eyes of the executive producer were illuminated by the wall of monitors at the front of the СКАЧАТЬ