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Only one week after Mark moved into the physical rehab center, I found myself standing in the KLAW-TV parking lot in West Hollywood, moments away from my first official job interview in more than a decade.
This had been Jamie’s idea. She was the one who watched the show and heard their request. Just a single day after her pep-talk, she was the one who called me and told me I needed to give it a try. I had interned at San Diego’s KPAL Channel 4 News during college and had been an assignment editor until Lana was born. Working as a television reporter had been a fantasy of mine—a dream I had supposedly set aside for the sake of my children. If I was completely honest with myself, I had also been afraid of failure. Babies were a great reason to stay home.
Now, however, Good Morning LA, the nationally syndicated news program taped out of Los Angeles, was looking for a stay-at-home mom to join their small cast of commentators. The chosen candidate would work on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. She would add a new perspective to the group and represent the mommy viewers at home. It was a simultaneously terrifying and electrifying opportunity.
Within days an old producer buddy had arranged for me to record a proper resume tape and one of his editors jazzed it up. So here I was, in one big whirl-wind, dressed in a brand new tailored gray suit with a bright pink silk blouse, ready for business. More than twelve years after I resigned, I was walking back onto familiar ground, only this time, in a much bigger city.
Hearing back from Good Morning LA was like falling into a time machine and being given a do-over. They liked my tape and invited me to the studio for a mock show performance. This was a chance to not only get back into a newsroom, but to serve as one of the actual anchors.
My head throbbed. I didn’t just desperately want this, I had come to believe I needed it. Sweeping aside the voices of self doubt, I tried to ignore the shivers of nervousness and unabashed excitement. I was here to support my family. I would hold it together for the good of everyone.
***
“So you know Dan, the photog who eye-fucks all the interns?” Two women in their early thirties sat cross legged on the concrete steps smoking cigarettes and exchanging newsroom gossip. “I heard he left his wife for some nineteen-year-old chick who serves lattes at Starbucks.”
The other woman took a drag and blew out the smoke. “What a loser.”
“Totally,” her co-worker agreed, her shiny forehead perspiring under the harsh sun.
Glass doors loomed behind them, mirroring their slim reflections.
“Morning,” I waved as I pushed past them. They tilted their heads and looked at me with a cool gleam of curiosity and practiced apathy.
Another world waited for me inside. Under the glow of florescent lights, the newsroom had a magnetic energy. It was a living, breathing animal all its own. Reporters, producers, assistant producers, and assistant assignment editors rushed around the main floor as if there was an emergency evacuation taking place and they needed to grab their most precious belongings. Phones rang, faxes beeped, reporters sat in front of little television screens, fast forwarding and rewinding video while they peered into the monitors and took fastidious notes.
It was organized chaos at its finest. This place felt familiar, almost comfortable. Back in my younger days, I fed off the intensity of a bustling newsroom and all the quirky people who worked there. Another rush of adrenaline pulsed through me.
“Natalie? Over here.” A tall, attractive women dressed in a short skirt and dangerously high heels waved me toward the reception desk.
“Kim?”
“Yes, come on over.” She motioned me toward a slim blonde receptionist with a bright smile. “Brenda here has your badge. Everyone is ready for you.”
I inhaled a large gulp of air and accepted my nametag. “Should I go freshen up before we get started?”
“No, we have someone to do that for you. I’ll walk you over to the makeup room. Once Louisa’s touched up your hair and face, I’ll come back and get you set up in the studio.” Kim handed me a stack of tissue thin pink papers as we walked. “These are your scripts. You would normally get these in the morning and go over them during prep. Take a look through the stories now so you’ll be ready to go.”
My stomach danced into knots. This wasn’t going to work out. I’d do my thing and then drive back home to my real life. Until I found a sensible job, I had other more practical options for paying the bills. Like dipping into our 401K. “It’s just for fun,” I murmured under my breath.
“Did you say something?” Kim tipped her pretty head to the side and smiled at me.
“Just giving myself a little pep talk.”
“Good. Don’t worry about a thing. This is all entertainment. If you have a good time, so will your audience. Try to relax. Okay? Here we are.” She gestured her hand like Vanna White. “This is the makeup room. I’ll see you in a few.” With that she darted off, leaving me on my own.
Before I could decide what to do next, a curvy woman with thick black hair and heavy makeup breezed past me and into the brightly lit room. She looked a lot like my mother-in-law did in her fifties. “Hey, I’m Louisa. Come on over here and take a seat.”
I did as she said, sitting down in a big black swivel chair placed in front of a mirror that covered the length of the room. Large naked light bulbs shone above, highlighting my every flaw. Tiny lines zigzagged across my forehead and crept across the edges of my eyes. “Ugh, I hope you have some magic tricks up your sleeve. I’m looking far too old and tired for a close up.”
She picked up a large poufy makeup brush and dusted it in blush. “Sweetie, I’ve been doing this for thirty years. I guarantee you by the time I’m finished, you’ll look as gorgeous as an underage fashion model. You’ve got good bones. I’m just gonna do some cover up work so you don’t look like an oily ghost on camera.”
“What more could a girl ask for?” I laughed as I settled in and reviewed my scripts.
After shellacking my face, Louisa picked up a comb and a flat iron, working on my hair. Once it was smoothed out she sprayed in volumizer and rubbed it in like shampoo. From the corner of my eye, I could see her pursing her lips in thought. “Is everything ok?”
“You know,” Louisa lowered her voice and kicked the door shut. “I shouldn’t say anything, but I overhear everything in this newsroom.”
I set my scripts on my lap, feeling my stomach tighten again with anxiety. She made eye contact with me in the mirror. “The producers are saying you’re the one. They absolutely loved your tape. You are the last candidate in here and the other ladies didn’t make the cut. They were either too stiff or too desperate.”
I broke into a light sweat. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope, not at all. They’re looking for, you know, someone the ladies at home can relate to. If it’s not you, they’re gonna go through a whole ‘nother round of moms.”
“Are you sure they meant me? Natalie Delisse?” Every piece of me hoped she was right. This job would be a life changer.
“Sweetie, I’m positive. They love your whole wholesome San Diego mama thing with your sick hubbie. Viewers will eat you up.”
Before I had time to let the news fully settle in, Kim popped her head back inside the room to fetch me. “You all set?” she asked, flashing me her full set of chewing gum commercial teeth.
I wrapped a tendril of my newly quaffed hair around my finger. Louisa had puffed up the top and lacquered it in generous poofs of Aqua Net before running her flat iron over the rest. She had transformed my ordinary brunette locks into a silky polished masterpiece, worthy of a Miss America pageant. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I said to Kim.
“You look phenomenal.”
“Thanks.”
Louisa looked over at Kim. “Just give me a few more minutes. I’m almost finished.”
She spun me away from the mirror as Kim stood waiting and whipped out a few more brushes, some small, some big enough to paint on wall-to-wall canvas. I felt her darkening my eyeliner, adding shadow, and gluing on false lashes. She contoured the sides of my cheeks and applied a brighter lipstick. With a big smile, she whirled me back around in my chair.
I looked in the mirror and saw myself transformed. It was me, only in Technicolor. My brown eyes popped and sparkled. My cheek bones appeared higher, and the lines tracking my forehead had disappeared. I looked like the confident, sexy women you see on Fox evening news. I was glamorous, flawless, fearless. “Wow, Louisa.” I beamed at her in the mirror.
“You’ve been Louisa-fied.”
“I love it.” I touched at my hair and admired my reflection in the mirror. I was going into battle, and this was my war paint.
Slipping out of the makeup chair, I held tight to my scripts. “Ready.”
“Great. Follow me.” Kim led me to the set just a few feet away. Three overstuffed chairs gathered near a long coffee table on a small concrete soundstage. Two familiar faces occupied the chairs, their hair shining under a halo of hot spotlights. Primping and posturing in their cozy living room set, the two hosts acted as if they were preparing to run lines in a serious college production rather than deliver morning news and light entertainment. I fought to contain the nervous quivering in my hands and legs, to remind myself of my new warrior status.
The main anchor woman, a gorgeous leggy blonde dressed in a slinky yellow skirt suit, studied her notes without looking up to acknowledge me. Her partner stood to shake my hand.
“Jack Dillon, it’s nice to meet you. We’ve heard good things about you.” He pumped my hand up and down and motioned to his co-host. “This is Dana. Dana Aldridge. She’s not very talkative before the camera starts rolling.” Jack chuckled, charming me with his movie star smile. Dana ignored me and continued to study her notes. I imagined her bald and toothless, it made me happy.
I did like Jack. He was a man women would describe as aging with character. His classic Hollywood, well kempt salt and pepper hair and slightly weathered skin suited him.
“Great, now that we all know each other,” Kim waved her hand for me to sit in the remaining third chair. “We’ll go ahead and get you set up. Here.” She handed me a small ear piece that resembled a hearing aid. “Place this in your ear. It’s so the director can talk to you and give you instructions while you’re on air. He’ll tell you when to talk and when to wrap things up. He will also give you instructions for which camera to look at, by either saying camera one, two, or three. See how there’s a numbered sign above each of the cameras?” I nodded, taking a closer look. The large, automated cameras were mounted on intricate pedestals the size of burly, overgrown men.
“Great.” Kim handed me a little black microphone the size of a small thimble. It was attached to a skinny, flexible cord. “I’m going to lace this up your top and clip it to the edge of your blouse.”
“I know how to do it,” I assured her, taking the microphone and putting it in place. “I wore one when I made my audition tape. Plus, I watched the anchors at my old San Diego station clip theirs on every night.” I wanted to remind her I wasn’t completely new to this business. I wasn’t starting from scratch.
“Excellent.” She reached out and straightened my microphone. “Then you’re also familiar with a mic check. When the director asks for one, go ahead and talk so he can make sure your sound levels are set correctly.” Kim nodded as I spoke out loud. “One, two, three. One, two, three. Check. Check. Check.”
“Okay, great job. Why don’t we give this a run-through before we begin rolling.”
Camera One moved backward like a life sized robot and turned at a right angle to capture Dana, Jack, and me smiling into its cold black lens.
The director’s voice spoke into my ear. “Natalie, I want you to start off looking at Camera Two. Once Jack and Dana say hello and introduce you, turn to Camera One to talk. Got it?”
“Yes.” I straightened the stack of scripts resting on my lap. Have fun and the audience will have fun, I repeated Kim’s advice in my head. I could do this. I just needed to be myself, not that I was entirely sure of who that was anymore.