Fly Away (Firefly Lane 2)

“The letters you wrote me in 1977. One hundred and twelve letters from a seventeen-year-old girl, asking for a job at the ABC affiliate station. I knew you’d be someone. ”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t given me that break in ’85. ”

“You didn’t need me. You were destined for greatness. Everyone saw it. Whenever I saw you on the networks, I was proud. ”

I feel a strange sadness at this. I never really thought about Fred after I left KLUE for New York. How hard would it have been to look back just once, instead of forward?

“I was sorry to hear about your show,” he says.

And there we are; facing why I am here. “I guess I screwed up,” I say quietly.

He stares at me, waiting.

“I need a job, Fred,” I say. “I’ll do anything. ”

“I don’t have any anchor spots open, Tully, and even if I did, you wouldn’t be happy—”

“Anything,” I say again, fisting my hands. Shame burns my cheeks.

“I can’t pay—”

“Money isn’t my priority. I need a chance, Fred. I need to prove that I’m a team player. ”

He smiles sadly. “You’ve never been a team player, Tully. That’s why you are a superstar. Do you remember how much notice you gave me when you got the network job in New York? None, that’s how much. You came to my office, thanked me for the opportunity, and said goodbye. This is the first time I’ve seen you since. ”

I feel hopelessness well up. I refuse to let him see how deeply his words affect me, though. Pride is all I have left.

He leans forward, rests his elbows on his desk, and steeples his fingers. Through the vee, he stares at me. “I have a show. ”

I straighten.

“It’s called Teen Beat with Kendra. It’s thirty minutes of nothing much, really. But Kendra’s a mover and shaker like you were. She’s a senior at Blanchet and her father owns the station, which is how she got a show for teens. Because of her school schedule, it tapes in the early morning. ” He pauses. “Kendra needs a cohost, kind of a straight man to keep her from overemoting. Can you play second banana to a nobody on a fourth-rate show?”

Can I?

I want to be grateful for this offer—and I am grateful, honestly—but I am also hurt and offended. I should say no. In the great reformation of my image quest, this will do almost nothing for me.

I should say no and wait for something more worthy of me.

But it has been so long. Being out of work, being nothing, is killing me. I can’t live this un-life anymore. And it can’t hurt to do a favor for this station’s owner.

And maybe I can mentor Kendra the way Edna Guber mentored me all those years ago.

“I’ll take it,” I say, and as I agree, I feel this huge weight sliding off my shoulders. A genuine smile tugs at my mouth. “Thank you, Fred. ”

“You’re better than this, Tully. ”

I sigh. “I used to think so, too, Fred. I guess that’s part of my problem. I’ll succeed here. You’ll see. Thank you. ”

Thirteen

That night, I stay up late, surfing the Internet, finding out all that I can about my new cohost, Kendra Ladd. There is precious little. She is eighteen years old, a reasonably good athlete with stellar grades and a full-ride scholarship to the UW in the fall. She apparently came up with her show idea because kids are disenfranchised and confused these days. Her goal is to “bring teens together. ” At least this was her answer in the Miss Seafair competition last year, in which she was first runner-up. A “disappointing finish,” apparently, which she wouldn’t let “derail” her.

At that, I roll my eyes and think: Listen to this, Katie. Hours later, when I go to bed, I am exhausted but I can’t sleep. The night sweats are so unbearable I get up at two and take a sleeping pill, which knocks me out; the next thing I know, my alarm is bleating.

I am so wrung out and medicated, it takes me a second to figure out why my alarm is ringing.

Then I remember. I throw the covers back and stumble out of bed, bleary-eyed. It is five o’clock and I look like something a gillnetter has dragged in with the day’s catch. I don’t suppose a show like Teen Beat has a makeup person, so I ready myself as best I can. I put on a black suit that is too tight, with a white blouse, and leave my condo. In no time, I am pulling up to the studio.