Once Eliza got to the Broadcast Center Monday morning, she had little time to dwell on the burglary. Her schedule was packed, starting with an eleven-thirty interview booked with a Nobel Prize winner up at Columbia University who was doing research on Fragile X syndrome. Keith asked Eliza if she would mind if Farrell Slater, another Evening Headlines producer, accompanied her. The “Bowl” wanted to move up the commuter-relationships piece to air this week, and with only two days to get it together, Keith wanted to screen the tapes they had shot over the weekend and get working on a script.
“Sure, Keith. That’s fine.”
The producer was chewing a cuticle as he stood in her office doorway. There was no good purpose in letting Keith squirm. Eliza decided to go ahead and let him off the hook.
“Keith, come in for a minute, and close the door.”
Obediently he followed her instructions and took a seat in the chair she offered him.
“I think we have to clear the air here, Keith.”
He nodded silently, keeping his eyes averted downward. His hands gripped the armrests and Eliza noticed the bitten fingernails. Poor guy.
“Look. What happened was wrong. You know that and I know that, Keith. But you are a strong producer and have worked very hard to make sure that our stories are solid. On a professional level, I value you very much. But that’s it.”
He raised his head and looked up at her pathetically.
“God, Eliza, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t sleep at all last night worrying about it. I don’t know what I was thinking. Something like that will never, ever happen again. I swear to you,” he said solemnly.
The lines of Eliza’s mouth were set firmly as she stared at Keith, assessing the sincerity of his words.
“All right, then. Let’s move on.”