[Author’s disclaimer:
The
following is an original work of fiction based on the television series Sports
Night,
created by Aaron Sorkin, and produced by Imagine Entertainment and Touchstone Television.]
[ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMERS: Time Warner Cable
is
a service mark of AOL Time Warner.
AP and Associated Press are trademarks of the Associated Press.
The team names “Baltimore Colts” and “Arizona Cardinals” are trademarks
of the National Football League.
The team name “St. Louis Cardinals” is a trademark of Major League
Baseball.]
SPORTS
NIGHT
INTELLECTUAL PROPERTIES
Chapter Three
Enter . . . Stage Left
Twenty-five minutes to pre-show, Dana was nowhere to be seen.
Normally, she would be lingering in the bullpen, or checking the wires,
or jousting with Dan or Casey or Isaac about one thing or
another. But she wasn’t doing any of those things. And
Natalie needed to find her. A friend
from her college days who worked for the Associated Press had called
Natalie
about the Stratosphere news - they were about to break the story
nationwide.
“Is it true?” her friend had asked. “They’re taking possession
immediately?”
“I can’t confirm anything, Jeff,” Natalie replied. “That’s not my
department.”
“Jesus, Natalie, we’re off the record,” he said, doing his best
impression of taking offense.
“When it comes to CSC business, I’ve learned the hard way that ‘off the
record’ doesn’t exist.”
Jeff exhaled into the phone. “Fine. I just thought you’d
want to know. The AP is flashing it across the business and
sports wires at six o’clock Eastern time, with or without your
confirmation.”
Natalie frowned. “Why then? Why not wait to send it until
after we’ve made an announcement?”
He paused, then said, “It’s a scoop, Natalie. You remember what
those are, right?”
She could almost see his smirk. It was time to see how strong the
friendship was. “Jeff, you’ve got to let us unleash this.
The last time we
were beaten to the punch about our own fate, it was more than
embarrassing – we were humiliated, and on our own turf.” She
decided to add something that might satiate him. “I saw them
writing the piece earlier today, for broadcast at the top of the
prime-time edition.”
“So an announcement is coming?”
“Yeah,” Natalie lied. “At the open of the show.”
Jeff was quiet for a moment. “I’ll talk to my boss. We
might be
able to push the alert back a half-hour. Maybe. But Nat, if
I
don’t see it, I don’t know exactly what I’ll be writing about in the
follow-up.”
She caught his drift. So Natalie needed to talk to Dana.
She found Dana in her office, oddly enough, parked behind her desk,
working rather furiously at pushing papers into folders, dotting old
I’s and crossing new T’s. “Uh, you’re working? Now?
Before pre-show?” Natalie asked.
Dana didn’t look up. “That’s what I do, Nat. I work
here. And I want to continue to work here. So I’d better
look like I belong in the regime.”
Natalie shut the door behind herself. “The Associated Press
knows. Somebody told them.”
“Somebody told them?”
“He asked me for confirmation.”
“He?”
“Jeff. He’s a friend of mine from college.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No. Well, not really.”
“Oh. Was he the short guy with the round head?”
“No, Jeff’s tall. Remember, I brought him to the Christmas party?”
Dana frowned. “Which party?”
“Christmas, this last one.”
“And he’s tall? I can’t picture him.”
“Dana, he wanted confirmation.”
“About Stratosphere?”
“No, about you hating Casey’s girlfriend,” Natalie said off-handedly.
Dana stopped shuffling, and locked her blue eyes onto Natalie’s brown
ones. “I don’t hate Sheri. I don’t.” Dana shook her
head. “Hate’s not a strong enough word. And where did that
come from anyway?”
“I hadn’t mentioned it yet today. So what are we going to do?”
“About Sheri? Dangle her off a bridge, maybe.”
“Not funny.”
“Yes, it is.” Dana tried not to savor the image forming in her
mind, and found the best way: getting back to business. “I guess
we’ll make an announcement. Did your friend give you a clue
regarding time?”
“Six-thirty, Eastern, at the latest.”
“So I guess we’ll get to prevent a scoop. Have Dan or Casey write
something up for the open. Nothing too involved, just the basics.”
“Yeah, something like CSC’s in the hands of another large corporate
entity, please enjoy us while we last.” Natalie frowned, hard.
Dana offered a wry smile in response. “Hey, hey, still open,
remember?”
Natalie forced the corners of her mouths up again. “Right.
A brave
face and all that. Now I’m off to spread good cheer.” And
then
she was.
Dana shook off her smile after Natalie was gone, and went back to work.
The sunlight was fading nicely now, and The Big Apple was beginning to
earn its reputation once again. Little by little, lights
flickered to life on street corners and through building windows, and
grew brighter and livelier as the seconds passed. The people on
the streets were moving away from the workplaces, and toward the places
where they could rest.
Chris watched it all from his new office, letting the changing mood out
there change his in here. She would have loved this view of the
city, Chris decided. No, he wasn’t sitting above the clouds,
looking down upon the
masses scuttling from one steel and glass structure to another, heady
with
authority and position, and that’s precisely why she would have loved
it.
“You’ve got a lot to be proud of,” he could almost hear her say, “but
not
that much.” Then she would have smiled, and that would have
melted
him. Looking into the gathering dark of the night sky, he could
practically
see that sweet expression.
But not quite.
Dan was grinning from ear to ear as he strode to Bob Epperson’s former
office. Tomorrow, it would be Chris Murphy’s, but for tonight, it
was unoccupied, except for boxed-up memories, memoranda, and the tapes
Bob had acquired for Dan. Bob had the tapes, and he kept
them. Dan would’ve put a year’s
pay on it. Granted, he didn’t have much time to find them right
now,
maybe twenty minutes, tops, then it was time for pre-show, and then the
show,
but after all that? All the time in the world.
Of course, Dan reasoned, if Bob’s office was in disarray, or if he’d
packed them in a box that was buried under a billion others, they’d
take a lot longer to find. But Bob Epperson had the tapes, and he
hadn’t turned them over
to anyone else yet, Dan was sure of that.
He reached for the doorknob.
Chris heard his cell phone ring. He plucked it from his coat
pocket. “This is Murphy,” he said.
“Chris,” a familiar voice said. “You’re actually there?”
“I hope so, Brian,” Chris replied. “Checking in on me, huh?”
O’Rourke chuckled. There was a crackle of static. “You
didn’t expect this call?”
Chris frowned. Of course, Brian called. He always
did. It’s
called tradition. It’s also called keeping the reins tight.
Chris
lost the frown before he replied, replacing it with a half-smile. “I
would
hope by now that you would trust me to be on site, on time, bright-eyed
and
bushy-tailed, and all that jazz.”
“Known you too long for that, Chris.” O’Rourke sounded bored. “So
how’s CSC treating you so far?”
“As well as I could have expected.”
“No rough patches yet?”
“Lots of eyeballs, no run-ins.” Chris re-thought his words, then
added, “Well, nothing I can’t handle.”
O’Rourke was quiet for a moment, then said, rather coolly, “I told
Isaac Jaffee
to welcome you. Did he?”
Chris tried to keep his voice light. “Very graciously.”
“A creditable effort on that lie,” O’Rourke said.
Chris groaned. “Fine. He made it clear that I’m not invited over
to dinner anytime soon. And he’s also sure that I’m going to
break the damn channel. History being what it is, I can’t say I
blame him,” Chris said. “But I am hopeful that we can – ”
“ – settle into a stable and positive working relationship?”
There was
the boredom again.
Chris shrugged. “Sure, that’s as good as anything I could have
come up with.” He noticed the lights in the office across the way
snapping off. “Still haven’t talked with Rydell yet.”
“Wow,” O’Rourke said. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”
Dan had heard the ring tone. It had stopped his hand an inch from
the doorknob. Then there was that voice, unchanged after all
these years. Dan craned his neck closer to the door, just to be
sure he wasn’t imagining things.
He wasn’t.
That was Chris Murphy’s voice. He was talking to someone
important, Dan could tell. His tone was that of a pure
sycophant. Dan recognized that in particular. It was
something Murphy excelled at – probably because
he’d practiced it so often – and it made Dan nauseous.
And then Dan heard his last name. The way Murphy said it, like a
picky seven-year old talking about broccoli. Dan frowned harder.
“The thing about it is,” Dan believed Murphy was saying, “I don’t have
a clue
what to say.”
Then Murphy’s yes-man voice was quiet for a minute.
Then a laugh. “I don’t think I could say that,” Murphy said.
“Asshole,” Dan hissed.
The videotapes would have to wait until later, he decided. The
wardrobe ladies were going to get an early visit instead, and then he’d
give his copy a quick once-over, maybe even find a sandwich. With
time to spare, he
thought.
As Dan found his way back to the elevator, he felt his mood lighten a
little more. He didn’t feel like having to deal with Murphy
today, and by leaving
now, he wouldn’t have to worry about receiving memos from Corporate
about
not killing the new boss.
Chris paused in mid-laugh. Was there somebody at his door?
Dan, maybe? He thought he might have heard someone, and he began
crossing the room to check –
“Why so quiet? Paranoia flashback?” O’Rourke asked.
- and that brought Chris back. “No,” he said. “Just thought
someone was knocking.” Chris decided to talk business. It
would keep him
from having to deal with the Dan issue for the moment. “How’d the
meeting
with Time Warner Cable go?”
O’Rourke’s voice found a distinctly different pitch. “Meh.
Hard to read them. They say they’re willing to strike a deal, and
I tend to believe them, but we’re still miles apart on pricing.
And QV’s blood, still being in the water and all, means we’re probably
going to have to give a lot more leeway, fee structure-wise, than we’d
like.” O’Rourke seemed to pause for dramatic effect.
“Any way you slice it, until CSC is the toast of cable television, and
Stratosphere’s channel free-and-clear, the operators are going to have
the muscle at the bargaining table.” O’Rourke’s voice
darkened. “The board’s going to love hearing that.”
The board. Chris had almost forgot. “The meeting’s at ten
tomorrow, right?”
“Ten in Denver. Noon in New York. So dial in around
quarter-to, that way you can make your report first thing – and avoid
embarrassing your boss.”
“Last thing I’d want to do, Brian.”
“Remember that.” Then O’Rourke was gone.
Chris slid the phone back into his pocket. He went back to the
door and opened it wide. Nobody in the hall, and it didn’t look
like anybody had been there. Chris shut the door again. He
probably was being paranoid. First night jitters, sure, he
thought. He also thought that he could use a good, stiff drink
right now.
Thank God there isn’t one around, he mused.
Natalie caught up to Dan as he was stepping off the elevator.
“Hey, Nat,” he said, giving her a disinterested smile, not stopping for
anything more.
She took to his pace. “Dan, would you do something for me?”
“Virtually anything. Name it.”
“We’re making the announcement at the top of the show.”
Dan stopped in his tracks. “The announcement? About
Stratosphere?” His voice was tight.
“Yeah,” Natalie replied.
“Wasn’t that supposed to happen tomorrow? A press conference,
lots of
whoop-dee-doo, all that?”
“Yes. They’re still doing the press conference, but we’re first
out of the gate.”
“Why now?”
“Remember Jeff?”
“The
non-ex-boyfriend who’s an AP writer?”
“That’s the guy. Dana didn’t remember him.”
“I
do. He passed out in my office. What about him?”
“He
called me trying to get confirmation. Apparently, somebody leaked
it to them, along with some details. He told me that he’d try to
hold it back from the wires until we had a chance to break it
ourselves, but he’s not going to give us long.”
“So she needs someone to read a statement.”
“That’s exactly it. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“She needs it written first. Then read.”
Dan shook his head. “Why ask me?”
Natalie tried her best ‘offended’ voice. “Because you’re the best
writer in the business, and more than that, when our viewers hear it
from you, they’ll believe that we’ll be okay, even if we don’t feel
that way.”
After pretending to consider this, Dan grimaced. “You couldn’t
find Casey, huh?”
Natalie shook her head. “He must have slipped past the guard
dogs.”
Isaac peeked into Dana’s office, and found her busy on some
housekeeping –
namely, reshuffling pages in her show book. She seemed to be
sweating over them, trying to put them into an order that other people
could comprehend. It made him smile a bit, until he realized that
she was probably doing it for Chris Murphy’s benefit, and she shouldn’t
have to do that. The smile
was gone as he rapped gently on her door, just as she raised her
eyes. “Excuse me, Dana, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, “but
I just wanted to say good night.”
She took off her reading glasses, and set them on the desk.
“You’re going now? Before pre-show?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s been a long day, and what I need right now
is not here. No offense.”
“None taken,” Dana replied. Then, carefully, she added, “I
heard a little of the – nastiness – from outside your office.”
Isaac shook his head sadly. “Sorry about that. Murphy and
I, we
don’t have a good past. He asked something of a flippant question
relating
to that, and...” Isaac’s words drifted away as he noticed the look
on
Dana’s face. There was no need to involve her in his feud, he
decided,
continuing, “...and I don’t really feel like dwelling on
it.
It’s too late, and I’m too tired.”
“So you’re heading home?” Dana asked, reaching for her glasses again.
“Not right away. I called an old friend; we’re meeting for
dinner. After that, I’ll be at home.” Isaac paused.
“And tomorrow too, I think.”
Dana froze. “Are you feeling all right, Isaac?”
Isaac smiled at the question. “My health is fine. My
emotions, though, they’re a little out of sorts. I just need a long
weekend. I’ll
be better on Monday.”
That seemed to satisfy her for the moment. Still she started to
ask, “But the show – ”
He was ready to block that maneuver. “ – is in good hands,” he
interrupted, and added, “Trusted hands.” He emphasized
‘trusted.’ “So have a good show, and call me if there’s an
emergency.” Isaac started out the door.
“We’re making the announcement. Apparently, the AP is about send
a flash
over the wires,” Dana said.
“At least we got a heads-up this time. Do what you have to do.”
“What about Murphy?” Dana asked, stopping him.
Isaac didn’t turn around at first. “Tell him I’m taking some
vacation days, and you’re able to speak for me on all show-related
issues. Again, good, trusted hands.” And then he turned
back to meet her eyes. “Dana, dear, we’re in the early rounds
yet. Nobody’s throwing in the towel.” Then he was out the
door, saying quite clearly, “Especially me.”
Natalie looked over at Jeremy, who was at his seat in the booth,
sifting through
some paperwork of his own. It was all research: a handful of NFL
trade
histories, a three-season statistical overview of the Cleveland
bullpen,
the last five winners at Daytona and their best lap times, plus a few
other
mind-twisters that only the hardest of the hardcore sports junkies
would
even want to know. He was glancing at the sheets, then setting
them
aside when he seemed satisfied that he’d absorbed the most pertinent
information.
She knew his routine. He did this when he was ticked off at
someone, specifically her. The last time they broke up – for the
absolute, once-and-for-all, final time, she added – he spent five full
days committing the complete statistical history of the Baltimore Colts
to memory. She knew this because every time she passed his desk,
his nose was buried in some yellowing text, and she could hear him
whispering Johnny Unitas’s game-to-game completion-to-touchdown ratio
over and over to himself.
Time to warm the air between them. “Jeremy,” she started, “I
apologize for this afternoon.”
He didn’t look over at her. “Forget it.”
Still icy, she thought. “No, I won’t,” she said, trying her best
to sound chastened. “I’m sorry you were embarrassed. We
shouldn’t have been spying; you were right.”
Jeremy stopped reading his research, but he still didn’t turn his eyes
to her. “Fine. I accept your apology. Now, can we
bury this topic?”
Okay, the conciliatory approach wasn’t working. “I don’t want you
to be mad at me. We have to work together and keep the show going
and if
we can’t be civil to each other – ”
His head turned at that. “Civility? You want
civility? Then
stop talking to me, dammit.” His words had a stinging snap to
them.
Natalie frowned as she watched him climb from his chair and leave the
booth. He passed Dana at the door. She gave him a confused
look, to which he
replied, “I left something at my desk.”
Natalie noted Dana’s attention shifting to her, followed by a furtive
headshake. Natalie sighed. Jeremy was probably heading for
his jai-alai archives.
Dana watched as the techs moved about the studio, adjusting light
levels on
the set and the background, re-marking fixed camera positions, and
running a few lengths of cable out of camera shot. Pre-show had
two stated –
and necessary – purposes, Dana knew, both of them technical: it was a
good, dry run for cue calls in the booth, and it allowed for repairs,
big or small.
The side benefit? It brought everyone together and focused their
attention, which was something desperately needed, tonight of all
nights. She watched
as Casey and Dan walked up to the desk and found their chairs.
They
were going through their parts like always, reading ins and outs off
the
Teleprompter, occasionally interrupted by the director, who was running
them
from cue to cue.
Everything was normal, Dana told herself. Still doing Sports
Night, still working at CSC. Still here, she thought.
Except Isaac. Isaac had taken his leave of them. Abandoned
them, even.
Dana shook her head at that thought, and tried to breathe easy.
She’d been in charge of the show a bunch of times, and when Isaac’s
condition was gravest, she’d had to make some extremely tough choices
without any input from him.
Isaac wasn’t abandoning anyone, she thought, trying to convince herself
of something she couldn’t guarantee.
An opening line from the studio reminded her to break in to the
machine-like precision of the rehearsal. “Casey?” she said into
her headset. “We’re going to push the Cincinnati - Baltimore trade into
the thirties, so maybe put together a tease for the opening and at the
first break.”
Over the monitors, she watched Casey nod. Not a problem, he was
saying. The director continued the cue call, and Dana resumed her
fretting. She was remembering her first glimpse of Chris Murphy,
trying to compose himself
in a hallway, and not doing it very well. Maybe he wouldn’t show
up.
She could always hope for that.
“We’re out. Two minutes back,” the director’s voice called over
the studio P.A. Casey swiveled around in his seat, taking a sip
from his water bottle, while one of the wardrobe assistants showed him
the jacket for
the early show.
Dan leaned over to his friend. “Did you see that piece on the
Cardinals that Jeremy did?”
“Arizona or St. Louis?” Casey asked.
“St. Louis. They’ve got a fight on their hands at second base
come Spring
Training.”
“Yeah, the kid from the Triple-A club, he’s something. Good
hands, great
bat. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t get a serious look,” Casey
said.
“Yeah,” Dan said, as the wardrobe people finished up. As they
were laying
out a selection of ties for him, he said quietly, “Listen, Case, could
you
do something for me?”
“So we weren’t just making chit-chat,” Casey said with a small
smile. “Could I? Yes. Will I? That’s another
question.”
Dan lowered his voice. “Natalie asked me to make the
announcement.”
“The announcement? The Stratosphere one?”
“Can you think of another announcement we’d be making?”
“I thought that was happening tomorrow morning.”
“We’re about to be scooped,” Dan said sadly. “That is, we will
be, if
we don’t put it out there first.”
Casey shook his head. “Well, we can’t let that happen again, can
we?”
“Would you do it?”
“Me?” Casey asked. He gave Dan a half-smirk. “Why? You
don’t want
to do it?”
Dan frowned. “I’m not the right voice for corporate duties.
I mean, that’s not to say that you’re a yes-man or anything, it’s just
that I - ”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Casey said. “I’ll do it. But you’ll
have to
stand in for me the next time they want autographs signed at the
up-fronts.”
Dan grinned. “You’ve spent that nickel.”
“Fine, then I want a favor to be named later.”
“Done.”
Chris was off the elevator and heading for the studio. No need to
put it off any longer. He figured that if pre-show had started on
time –
and the odds were good that it had – he would have a very brief window
for
his introduction. He went over his words once more as he rounded
the
corner toward the booth.
The staff was hard at work when he arrived, and he could feel the
butterflies once again flapping in his belly. It wasn’t a nervous
reaction, though, but one of a producer who’d been out of the game long
enough to forget the excitement surrounding showtime. The crew
looked tight, like a great band. They were ready for a show now,
and they’d be that way afterward, too. And for the first time
since – well, since he couldn’t really remember
– Chris Murphy felt like he was about to be something more than just a
conglomerate’s
hired gun. He felt like he was going to be part of something
good.
And he wanted that more than anything.
He tapped on the glass door, and watched the faces in the booth turn to
him.
Enter stage left, he thought.
The restaurant, Jerry’s of Manhattan, had been Isaac’s choice, as it
usually was. He hadn’t set foot inside in some time, but nothing
had changed. The lights were dim, the air was thick with the
smell of grilled beef steaks, and the wait staff sharply uniformed,
down to the pressed button-down collars and polished shoes. Isaac
smiled to himself, glad he had picked it for
their meeting. He’d huddled there with various associates on more
than
one occasion, some glad, some not, and usually not because of the
food. That wasn’t to say Jerry’s meals weren’t edible - the menu
featured good, if basic, choices from a couple of the major food groups
- but this was one of those restaurants where the atmosphere was just
right for conversation. You were afforded your privacy here, and
the better you tipped, the more privacy
you had. Isaac was led to the corner table by a tall, elegant
hostess;
a woman that recognized Isaac, but wasn’t remembered in return.
“I have one of those faces, I suppose,” she said as she walked.
Isaac tried to apologize. “No, ma’am. I’m just distracted.”
The hostess indicated a chair. “Is there anything I can do for
you?”
Isaac lowered himself into the seat. “When Mr. DiPaolo arrives,
bring him over right away. And send the wine steward now.”
Dana saw Chris Murphy up close for the first time – saw him wave, saw
him try to smile. He wasn’t hiding, and he didn’t look
angry. He was
simply dropping in, like a friendly neighbor, or a close relative.
Or the quiet loner who lived next door, she added.
Almost immediately, she hated herself for thinking that. It
wasn’t fair
to him. First impressions being what they are, he might not think
that
much of her, either. So it might be best to extend the first
olive branch.
She opened the door for him, and said, perhaps too loudly, “Hi!
Welcome
to Sports Night!” Her hand shot towards him.
This had to be Dana Whitaker, Chris mused. At least she was
over-compensating in a positive direction. He took her offered
hand and shook it, feeling her nervous energy shooting squarely into
him. He loosened his grip before she did. “Ms. Whitaker,
right?” he asked, even though he was sure that’s who he was dealing
with.
“Yes, indeed, that’s me,” she said. “And you’re the infamous
Chris Murphy.”
Infamous? Already? He ignored it. “Good to finally
meet you.”
“Yes. You, too.”
He leaned closer to her. “Listen, I don’t want to get in the way
tonight, but I did want to introduce myself to your people, if that’s
alright with you.”
Dana nodded, somewhat absently. “Sure, that’d be – that’d be
fine.” She turned to the director. “Could we call a
five-minute break, and have everybody mingle in the studio? Mr.
Murphy wants to talk to the troops.”
As the director called the break over the PA, and the booth began to
empty, Chris said, “And if you could drop by my office after the show
tonight, I’d appreciate it.”
The request threw Dana for a loop. She was still in a daze from
his first request. But she nodded in agreement again, just as
involuntarily as before. What did he want from her?
Somehow, she took him by the elbow and led him to the studio. She
noticed Casey standing, she noticed Dan leaving, and quickly at
that. And while Casey’s expression was something of cipher, Dan’s
was
crystal-clear.
The various people of Sports Night stood in a semi-circle around
Chris. At least two members of the team were missing, namely
Isaac and Dan, and he
couldn’t say he was surprised. Dan had bolted from the studio
when he
entered with Dana, giving them both dirty looks as he disappeared
behind the
set. Chris guessed that Isaac had decided to take the evening
off, and
he thought that was just as well.
He could feel the tension, the distrust, and the uncertainty radiating
from the people who stood before him. He was intimately
acquainted with those
emotions. He also knew that this was no time to feed those little
demons.
He gave himself a breath, then began to speak, in his clearest
tone.
“For the two or three of you who don’t know, my name is Chris Murphy
and
I’m the new executive producer here at CSC. I’m not here to hold
you
up; I just wanted to drop in, introduce myself, and also tell you that
I’m
a fan. Sports Night is one of the few shows on television that I
watch
regularly. I’ve seen it from the beginning, in fact, and I gotta
say,
I’m constantly impressed. You do great work here, all of you.”
Chris let the compliment settle, then said, “I know that many of you
have questions and concerns about the future. I can’t answer any
of those yet. But let me tell you about the now. There are
no changes planned
for Sports Night. Not one. That is not to say that changes
will
not occur, but that they certainly will not be happening tonight.
Or
tomorrow, or next week. And when changes are going to be made -
hell,
even when they are being considered - I won’t be making those choices
alone.
Your input and continued dedication to this program are necessary for
its
growth, and the growth of CSC, now more than ever. So for the
time-being,
I will simply observe your process. You have Sports Night down to
a
science, and I’d be a fool if I didn’t let you do your jobs.”
At that, he looked at Dana. “Thank you for your time. Ms.
Whitaker, do your show.” Then he watched as the crowd began to
disperse.
Dana looked at him. “So. After the show?”
“Bob Epperson’s old office,” Chris said. He began to leave the
studio, but not before he added, “And bring tonight’s book along.”
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2000-2003,
by The Beaumont Group.