When the Cameras Stop Rolling.... Connie Cox

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      As they cut the microphones, Eva looked over at her guest with a very revised opinion of him.

      “Nice job. We didn’t have a chance to introduce ourselves.” Not able to resist the jibe about his lateness, she held out her hand. “Eva Veracruz.”

      “Mark. Sorry to be late. I had an emergency right before I left.”

      “Since you work in E.R., I’m thinking that’s a typical job hazard, right?”

      “Yes, it is.” He put a hand on the leg of his scrubs. “This time it required a wardrobe change. That’s a suit I’ll never wear again. I didn’t think you’d want me showing up wearing blood and guts.”

      “You’re right. Scrubs are a better choice.” Again, she had to revise her opinion of him upwards. If he kept this up, she might actually end up liking him. “We have a short question-and-answer session with the audience and then we’re done. Maybe we could—”

      Before she could set up a coffee date he cut her off. “How can you answer medical questions without being a real doctor?”

      “Not a real doctor? What do you mean?” But Eva knew what he meant. She’d heard it from too many people before.

      She didn’t look like most people’s typical stereotype of a doctor and the studio make-up and hair department didn’t help, playing up her sexuality for the ratings.

      But, then, why should she have to de-emphasize her femininity? Wasn’t it about time for women to stop having to prove they could have both brains and bosoms?

      Her producer waved his hand for her attention. “Live in …” He made finger motions for five, four, three, two and then pointed at her.

      Gesturing for Mark to stand, she did the same, self-conscious that the skirt of her clingy dress could use a straightening tug where it had crept up her legs. Usually, her lab coat covered problems like that. But adjusting her skirt length now would only draw attention to the problem.

      Microphone in hand, she said to the camera, “Ask the Doc is back and ready for our live audience’s questions. If you would like to be a member of our audience, send an email to the address now on your screen. We’d love to answer your questions in person, too.”

      This was the tricky part of the show and required great time management from her.

      The producers saved it to the end so they could adjust the time if the guest speakers went long—which they had with Mark’s inventive way of presenting heart attack symptoms. But he’d made a dry list of symptoms memorable and that’s all that counted for such a frightening and deadly medical emergency. The audience would be wildly receptive to him and have many questions for such an approachable man.

      But there was always at least one, often more than one, in the audience who got too personal for public television. That same person usually rambled, hanging on to the spotlight as long as possible. Eva’s job was to divert them while seeming sympathetic. Some days this worked better than others.

      This was the only part about her job she would avoid if she could.

      She walked toward the audience, feeling Mark right behind her, obviously not needing her cue to move center stage. “Now, who has questions?”

      The first hand up was from a staff member the producer had planted in the audience. He set the tone of intelligent yet brief questions. Eva wasn’t too thrilled about her producer’s subterfuge, but show management wasn’t her job, as they often reminded her. She was the expert—the talking head—not the boss. And her paycheck paid many bills, including her grandmother’s nursing-home supplements and her huge student-loan debts.

      A frazzled woman in the third row began jumping up and down in her seat with that certain body language that said, I’m here to tell you my whole life’s medical history on television and I dare you to try and stop me. Eva took care to avoid eye contact.

      Looking past the woman’s raised and waving hand, she pointed to her undercover staff assistant.

      But before she could reach the assistant with the microphone, Mark thrust his own microphone into the jumping woman’s face.

      He put his arm around her shoulders to still her fidgeting as the camera moved in close. “How can I help you today?”

      Eva thought the woman would swoon right then and there. All they needed was someone to faint on set to lose those sponsors who were hanging in there for them.

      Instead, the woman grabbed the microphone and held it close to her mouth to speak into it.

      From the corner of her eye Eva saw the alarm on her sound engineer’s face as he shoved slide knobs to lower the volume before the woman’s voice blasted everyone’s television speakers into mush.

      But Mark purposely covered the woman’s hand and pulled the microphone away to the proper distance.

      Eva was beginning to suspect he’d done this kind of work before.

      The woman cleared her throat. She was now red in the face. “Ever since I was a little girl …” She stopped talking as she teared up.

      Mark patted her on the shoulder. “Deep breath.”

      The woman gave him a watery smile. “When I get excited, I can feel my heart try to beat out of my chest, then it just seems to stop and I feel dizzy.”

      Mark raised his eyebrows as he wrapped his arm more securely around her. “Are you feeling that way now? Have you ever passed out?”

      “Once or twice.”

      “Please, have a seat.” Mark helped her into her chair and whipped out his stethoscope. With a shiny white smile, Mark asked, “May I listen to your heart?”

      Starry-eyed, the woman nodded.

      The man had charisma, no doubt about it. But that bit about her not being a real doctor still stung. Being pretty—or in his case extraordinarily handsome—couldn’t make up for being mean.

      As Mark took the time to listen to the woman’s heart, the producer instructed a camera to zoom in on Eva, expecting her to fill in the dead air space. So much for thinking Mark had live studio experience.

      To the camera, she said, “When a doctor listens to your heart, she is listening for several things, including a steady rhythm.”

      Of course, everyone in the world already knew that, but at this point in the show Eva would spout anything that came to mind to keep the action moving along. With Mark doing personal examinations in her public forum, her only hope of making this part of the show work was to avoid a silent studio. Any intelligent information she could pass on to her audience was a bonus.

      Wrestling control of her show away from her guest, she looked out towards the crowd. “While Dr. O’Donnell is performing his examination, does anyone else have questions?”

      Without being called on, a young man in front of her stood up. “My son has recently developed the same symptoms as that woman. His doctor has diagnosed a congenital heart murmur and is requiring a series of tests before he’ll sign off for my son to play football. He’s played СКАЧАТЬ