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(Seattle, Washington, 7 p.m. Tuesday, September 30, 2013)
Janet’s column had appeared in the morning newspaper on the editorial page. It talked about how difficult and personal the decision to have a child or an abortion was for a woman. She compared that to the rhetoric of the anti-abortionists—people like Mark Ryan although she didn't name him—who talked about society and ethics and rights and wrongs. For most women, she pointed out, it was a personal decision, not a political one. She alluded to a couple of stories she'd written about in the series—women who had been raped, or whose partner left when told of the pregnancy, of fetuses with profound defects. Women who made the choice to abort or to give birth based on what they thought was best.
“Sometimes there is no right answer to the question of whether to give birth,” she concluded. “Sometimes there is just the best of bad choices. And the only person who can make that choice is the mother. And the rest of us should support her as she makes that tough choice.”
The reaction started as soon as the newspaper hit the stands at noon. The website had so many hits, it threatened to shut down. Janet ignored it all. She was writing a second column about the protestors who were trying to intimidate to shut down discussion—not because the stories were flawed, but because they disagreed with the newspapers decision to run them at all.
“We created a monster,” the managing editor joked to the executive editor when he read the second column. “But damn. She can write.”
Just before 3 p.m. and the end of her day, they had another strategy meeting to discuss her appearance on Eric the Red’s show. Mac was called in to join them.
“Safety issues?” the exec said after they discussed the principle points Janet should try to make during the show. “Mac? What's your assessment?”
“Besides the fact that I think this is dumb-fool thing to be doing?” he said sourly. He rolled his shoulders to loosen them. “I think I should pick up Janet and deliver her to the studio. I would expect quite a crowd there. I wish he had agreed to do a remote interview.”
Mac shook his head. He’d been the one to talk to Eric the Red. It hadn’t been pleasant. “So, we get there early enough that we can get in through the back door before the protestors gather out front. I’ll wait for her inside. After the show, I'll get her back out and home. Seattle P.D. has promised patrols around her house,” he said.
“You think they'll come after her?” Steve Whitaker asked.
Mac nodded. "Don't know how or even why, but yeah. I think this is like adding diesel to a bonfire."
"They've been coming after me anyway," Janet interjected. "And they aren't stopping. I feel better fighting back than just taking it."
Mac grunted. He'd never been good at just taking it either. But he preferred battles where he could use his fists. The pen might be mightier than the sword, but he still found giving somebody a bloody nose to be more satisfying.
"You know Eric, right?" Janet said. "So how do I play him? Colleague to colleague? Take control? Let him feel superior? What?"
Mac considered the issue for a moment. This kind of strategy wasn't his strong suit. See the asshole, punch the asshole worked for him. But for Janet? He started to smile. "Here's what you want to do," he said, and then he laid it out for her. And soon they were all smiling.
Janet braided her hair back, muttering at her clumsiness. "You'd think that at nearly 40 I'd be able to do my own hair," she complained to Pulitzer. Pulitzer sat in the doorway to the bathroom watching as if he found her the most entertaining thing ever. She patted him on the head, and then studied herself in the mirror one last time. A bit of makeup for courage; a knit top, jeans and a black leather jacket for intimidation; and comfortable flats because the last thing she needed was sore feet. "Good enough," she told the dog. After all, it was radio, thank God.
She heard a horn honk. She grabbed her purse and headed out the back door. She peered over the gate to make sure it was Mac, mostly because she knew he'd give her a lecture if she didn't. She let herself into the passenger side of his 4-Runner and gave a long sigh.
"Good to go?" he asked.
She nodded. "Good as I'll ever be. Did I tell you I hate broadcast? Really, really hate it?"
Mac lips twitched as if he were trying not to laugh. "You might have mentioned that earlier," he said.
"Yeah. And talk radio? It’s evil."
"Probably wouldn't tell Eric that," Mac said.
She snorted.
It didn't take them long to get to the KXXX studio, a suite of rooms in an office building off of West Moreland. They were early, nearly an hour. Mac drove past the front of the building and saw no picketers out there yet. He found a parking spot by the loading dock behind the building. They got out and walked around to the front door to be let in. A security guard let them in after checking Janet's name against a list. Then he looked up at Mac.
"You're not on the list, sir."
Mac nodded. "She's had threats. I'm her security for the evening.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to him. The guard noted down the information.
"Anything I should know?"
"We expect there will be picketers," Mac said easily. "That's why we're early. When we leave, I'd like to take her out through the loading dock. Do you have access to the freight elevator?"
The guard nodded, reassured by Mac's knowledge of providing protection for a client. "Yes, sir. I can meet you outside the studio when she's done and take you out that way. We lock this door at 20 minutes to the hour and then I'll be up near the studio." He grinned. "We've had a few altercations between Eric and guests, and we've found it better to be close at hand. Not that we expect that to happen with you, ma'am."
Janet smiled. "You never know. Depends on how mad I get."
The guard paused, looked at her warily.
"Joking," she said with a wink, as she headed toward the elevator.
Mac grinned. He'd pay good money to see Janet punch the prick.
When the elevator doors closed, Mac looked at her. "One thing you should know—Eric and I don't get along. We have a history, as they say. He's probably going to toss me out of the studio. Don't worry. I'll sit out in the reception area with the guard, and I'll be able to hear everything."
Janet looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "A history?"
Mac nodded. "I gave him two black eyes."
Janet was laughing when the doors opened into the studio reception area. Mac looked over the area before letting her leave the elevator. He saw Eric Sandovan talking to another man—his producer probably—through the windows. He could see the rage flush his face when he spotted, and then recognized, Mac. A laughing Janet seemed to set him back a bit, just as Mac knew it would. He smiled.
"Get out of here!" Sandovan said furiously. His producer had him by the arm, trying to calm him down.
Mac started to say something, but Janet put her hand on his arm. "You must be Eric Sandovan," she said crisply. "I'm Janet Andrews.” She held out her hand for him to shake.
There was a hesitation, and for a minute Mac wasn't sure Sandovan was going to shake her hand. But he did, his eyes never leaving Mac.
"He's not welcome here," Eric said.
Janet shrugged. "He's not welcome in a lot of places," she said easily. "But he's staying. He'll be out here, but he drove me, and I'm not walking home."
The producer stepped forward and introduced himself. "Why don't you come on in, and we'll give you a tour. You've never been here before, have you?” He moved Eric back into the studio offices, and Janet walked with him. They looked like grownups escorting a sulking child, Mac thought. He took a chair where he could see the monitors of the studio and the control room at the same time. He relaxed his muscles and slowed his breathing. Being a sniper in the Marines had taught him a number of useful things.
Janet looked around the studio dutifully, and then with interest. She hadn't been kidding when she told Mac she hated broadcast. Oh, she consumed it, had to for her job, but she never had any interest in producing it. She preferred the anonymity of print. What used to be anonymity. Hers was gone. That was a bitter thought.
The radio studio and control room were clean. No stacks of paper unlike her newsroom, although she did spy one office with the clutter she associated with the whole newsgathering process. No surprise to learn it was the news desk. One desk, shared by two people, who obviously didn't work the night shift.
"Anything we need to know we can read out of your paper, right?" Eric said with a nervous laugh. Janet and the producer—whose name was Rick, she thought—looked at him silently. Was he really so stupid as to say that? Yes, she decided, he was. It was true that most broadcast newscasts depended on newspapers for the bulk of the newsgathering, just as newspapers depended on broadcast for the breaking news headlines. But it was a sore point with print folks—all of whom had had stories read over the air with few changes, sometimes before subscribers even got the paper.
The control room had a young man sitting at a monitor with control panels, listening through large headphones. The station played Top 40 music out of New York for most of the day. Traffic reports were cut in locally. Advertising was cut in locally. Most of the station's employees were on the sales side, not the content side.
The studio was small. Two chairs in a windowless room. The room was smaller than the bathroom at Seattle Examiner. A few awards hung on one wall. A promotional poster for Eric the Red on another. Janet rolled her eyes. Believed his own press, did he?
She watched Eric as he busied himself with mic checks and such. He was younger than Mac, who had spent four years in the Marines before going to college. Tall and thin, with no muscles to speak of. He seemed awkward in his own body. But she'd heard him on the air Sunday night—he wasn't awkward then. Just a radio nerd. Even more of a dinosaur than a print editor.
"OK," Eric said, as the producer put a lapel mike on Janet. "Here's how it will go. I'll introduce you, remind my audience about Sunday night's show with Mark Ryan. Then we'll start the interview with you. If you start to go too long, I'll motion for you to wrap it up. If you go on, I'll interrupt. Have to keep it snappy. That can be hard for you print people.” He snickered. Janet said nothing, but she heard the producer sigh. She'd send him a sympathy card when this was over, she thought.
"We break every 10 minutes for ads or station identification," Eric continued. "We'll maintain silence during those breaks, 'cause sometimes the mic can pick us up and that can cause trouble with the FCC."
Janet nodded. One “shit” could mean fines and reprimands. Given the nature of Eric's show, it was smart to maintain silence. She suspected it hadn't been his idea.
"After half an hour, we'll take callers. Callers are on a delay so that the guys in the control booth can shut down someone who might be using foul language or be totally off topic."
Or on topic but not what Eric wanted to hear, Janet thought. She kept her face blank but pleasant.
"You OK with all that?"
"Sure," she said. "Do I answer the callers directly? Or do you?"
Eric nodded, as if that were a good question. "Sometimes the caller will direct their question to one of us. Otherwise, watch me. I'll gesture to you, if I want to you to take it."
A voice came over a speaker. "Eric, you're on in five."
Eric took his seat, gestured her into the other one. She settled in. Poker face, she reminded herself. But damn, this was going to be fun.
Eric did an intro and then turned to Janet. "So Janet, quite a few accusations going around about you."
She smiled. "Such as?"
"That you and your newspaper were out to get the pro-life movement because you are pro-abortion, and therefore biased. Let's start with that."
She nodded. "Eric, are you pro-life or pro-choice?"
"Ah, my personal beliefs have nothing to do with my show."
"Then how do mine?"
Eric looked alarmed. "No one is accusing me of bias."
"Of course you're biased. You get paid to be biased. That's what this show is all about. It's opinion. It's biased. So, lay it out there. Are you pro-choice or pro-life?"
He swallowed. "Pro-life, I guess."
"Have you ever had unprotected sex?"
"Whoa, now. You can't ask me that! How about I ask the questions?” He laughed but it sounded nervous. "I told you my position, let's hear yours."
"OK. I think abortion is a horrible thing, but in the end, it has to be a woman's choice to have a child. And that's the law, as well. But our series wasn't about whether abortion is right or wrong. Have you read the series?"
"Well, not all of it. But I most certainly have been hearing about it."
Janet smiled. "Hardly the same thing is it? I mean I hear about your show, but that's not the same thing as listening to it myself. So, you haven't read the series but you're willing to judge it. Well, let me summarize the key points for you and your listeners in case others haven't read it either."
In the reception area, Mac smiled. The guard looked at him and said, "Damn that's rough. She's got him on the run. I haven't seen that before."
"At the paper, people say don't argue with Janet; even when she's wrong, she'll win," Mac said.
"Is that true?" the guard said laughing.
Mac shrugged. "I asked her that. She looked baffled and said... ‘when am I wrong?’"
"Must be a bitch to work for her."
"Best boss I've ever had. She's smart. She's well informed. And best of all? She takes care of her people."
"Can't fault that," the guard agreed, not taking his eyes off the monitor. He seemed fascinated watching Eric go down.
Eric tried to interrupt Janet's summary, but she ignored him, until finally he said, "We need to hear from our advertisers—we'll be right back."
Janet stopped, sat back in her seat. Eric started to yell at her, but she motioned to the light above the door. It was red—no talking. Eric opened his mouth, then closed it in frustration. Mac had looked up the FCC warnings for KXXX—Eric had caused quite a few of them and received a couple hefty fines. He might be bringing in the listeners and therefore keeping the advertising rates high, but the station managers wouldn't be happy with another fine.
"OK, we're back. So, let's get back to you personally. Mark Ryan said you're biased because you've had an abortion and should never have been allowed to report on it. True or false?"
"False," Janet said calmly. "I've never had an abortion. What about you?"
Eric laughed. "Obviously not."
"Never had a girlfriend get an abortion?"
"No!"
"Never had a scare?"
Eric squirmed a bit, looked toward the reception area where Mac sat. He had to wonder how much Mac might know about him and his personal life. "Once."
"And what was your decision?"
"Wasn't my decision to make!" Eric said. "It was hers!"
Janet smiled. "Exactly. Your decision was to have unprotected sex with a woman who wasn't your wife. A sin, to use Mr. Ryan's term."
"You say you haven't had an abortion. Mark Ryan says you have. Who do we believe?"
Janet laughed out loud. "Well, I guess, you should believe me. After all, I'd know, now wouldn't I?"
Desperately, Eric said, "Let's take some callers. First, we've got Mark Ryan on the phone. As you all may remember, Mark was here with us on Sunday. Mark, you have a question for Janet Andrews?"
"First, let me ask Mr. Ryan something. Mr. Ryan, did you read the series of articles the Examiner published? Eric has already admitted he hasn't read them."
"Yes, I did," the man said. "And it was lies from beginning to end."
"In particular, what did we get wrong? We have a strong policy about running corrections and allowing opinion pieces to correct errors. We haven't received any requests for either."
"You had no right to imply that honest, God-fearing men are making money off of doing God's work!"
"But they are. A lot of money. Let's take your clinic, the Pregnancy Care Center. It takes money to operate it, pay your wages, the wages of others in the clinic. Who provides that money?"
"None of your business. We're a private corporation," Ryan said coldly. "Why don't you ask Planned Parenthood that question?"
"We did. I thought you said you read the articles. Planned Parenthood gave us their financial records, and we could verify them because they're required to be transparent. They receive federal funding. None of the so-called counseling centers would provide any financial data. No transparency."
"Transparency? Let’s talk about transparency," Ryan said furiously. "Why aren't you willing to be transparent about your own abortion? About your betrayal of your family?"
"I've already stated I have never had an abortion," Janet said steadily. She willed herself not to clench her fists or show any signs of stress that Eric could pick up on. "I find it interesting that I'm the one who’s been targeted. None of my colleagues who wrote the majority of the series have been attacked. But I've been picketed, threatened, and harassed. Why is that?"
"How would I know? I have nothing to do with any of that. But within the Christian community, we know you were pregnant at 18. How can you deny that?"
Janet smiled sadly. "I haven't denied it. I was pregnant at 18 and chose to give my baby up for adoption. I was raped, Mr. Ryan. And I made the decision that I could not raise the child of my rapist. Isn't that the choice you counsel at your Care Center?"
There was silence—the sin of all sins in radio. "We'll be right back for our next caller," Eric said hurriedly. "After a word from our sponsors!"
Eric took callers for another hour. Janet didn't so much as raise her voice. She listened carefully. Asked each caller if they read the series. Asked them questions. Shouldn't the counseling centers be transparent about the money they received and how they spent it? Could they tell her what verse in the Bible forbids abortion? What about taking care of widows and the orphans?
"The Bible forbids us to kill, dear," said one sweet-voiced lady. "And abortion is killing."
"Do you believe in military service, ma'am?" Janet asked.
"Yes, I do. We have an obligation to serve our country. To protect our freedom."
"But isn't that killing? In Iraq—weren't women and children sometimes killed? One of my heroes has always been Senator Hatfield from Oregon—he opposed abortion. But he also opposed the Vietnam War. Killing was killing, in his book. Makes sense don't you think?"
"He sounds like a good man," she said doubtfully. "But we have to protect ourselves!"
"Yes, we do," Janet said kindly. "And sometimes, protecting oneself means that there are no good choices, only the lesser of bad ones. And that's the position that women find themselves in when they choose to have an abortion. That's the position I found myself in at 18. Raped. Pregnant. I chose to have the baby and give it up for adoption. But others might have to choose differently. "
Eric knew a closing answer when he heard one. "That's it for tonight," he said quickly. "Janet, thank you for coming to the studio tonight. It's been an interesting evening."
"Thanks for having me, Eric," Janet said.
In the reception area, Mac stood up and clenched his fists. "That prick."
"What?" said the guard, alarmed.
"He just told all of his listeners where Janet was. Come on, we've got to get her out of here now."
Mac pushed open the door to the studios, ignoring the guard's spluttering caution about the silence required. "Janet, we need to leave now," he said firmly. He shouldered his way between her and the other men and used his body to move her to the door.
"OK," Janet said. "Boy I’m tired."
"You need to be alert," Mac said. "Eric just announced to his audience that you're here. There are already picketers out there, but best guess? More are on their way."
"I didn't mean...," Eric said with alarm.
Mac ignored him and headed toward the elevator pushing Janet along in front of him. The guard trailed along behind. "Freight elevator?" Mac asked.
The guard nodded and led the two of them around a corner. He unlocked the call button and pushed it. Mac was almost vibrating with adrenaline. "Janet, you need to listen to me," he said. She looked at him obediently. "When the elevator stops at the bottom, we're going to be just inside the doors of the loading dock. I'm going to go first, then you, then our guard here. I want you to walk quickly to the car and keep your head down. No matter what happens, no matter if there is no one or 100 people out there—you walk straight to the car. I'll use the remote to unlock the doors as soon as we reach the car. You open it, get in, and lock it. You hear me?"
She nodded tiredly. "Follow you to the car. Open the door, get in, lock it. Don't look around. Ignore everything. I can do that."
Mac looked at her as the guard opened the freight elevator door. The broadcast had taken a lot out of her, but she'd done a phenomenal job. It could have been a disaster, he thought, but she pulled through wonderfully. Couldn't have been easy to talk about her rape? He shook his head.
"You did great in there," he said gently as they descended in the elevator. "You wowed them. And made Eric look like the idiot he is. Made my day."
She laughed. "Glad it made someone's."
"Probably not Mark Ryan's," the guard said. He answered his phone and listened for a moment. "Right," he said to his partner who was still at the ground floor reception desk.
"The protestors have filled the lobby," he told Mac. "So far we've been able to keep them from going any farther. He says the monitors only show protesters in front of the building out on the street. Makes sense—maximum visibility there."
Mac nodded. It wasn't the run of the mill protestors that worried him. He was more concerned about that angry young man from the other night. And there was Tim Brandt. If he pieced things together? What would he do? It would only take one wacko with a rifle....
The guard unlocked the door to the loading dock. "I'm not going to leave the building," he said. "You two go for it. When you get to the car safely, I'll close the door. Then I'm needed up front."
"Thanks, man," Mac said, shaking the guard's hand.
Mac stepped into the doorway, did a fast scan, as he moved to the left and down the steps. No reaction. Janet followed behind him. He was almost at the car door when he heard a shout from the alley.
"She's back here!" someone yelled out.
"Shit," Mac said as he pressed the unlock button on the key fob. Janet opened the door, climbed in, and locked it. He was settled in with the key in the ignition when the first of the protestors came into view. He backed into a three-point turn, and headed out of the alley, hoping that the protestors came from only one direction. Janet clenched the panic bar but said nothing.
Mac ignored the protestors and gunned it. If they got knocked about, it was their problem. One person jumped back, pounding his protest sign on the hood of Mac's car as they passed by, then they were onto the street and headed away from the studio. Janet sighed, and leaned her head against the headrest.
"Thanks for taking care of me," she murmured and then fell fast asleep.