Crusader (28 page)

I looked toward the Chili Dog and saw Gene waiting to make his entrance. He was a very convincing-looking Santa. Then, everyone in the rotunda, including me, turned to watch a great commotion near the entrance. The front end of a big RV appeared in the doorway; it rolled past SunBelt Savings and the mall office. I looked at the driver's seat and saw Bill's grim face. He was hunched over, clutching the wheel like a sea captain in a storm. The RV finally came to a halt just short of the food court.

A group of people gathered immediately to gawk at it. The RV was about thirty feet long, nearly as long as a county bus. The words
ANGELA LIVE
and
CHANNEL
57 were painted on it in several spots.

Bill opened the door on the passenger side, the side toward us. He left it open for a couple of minutes, like he was getting some air. I thought about approaching him, maybe even stepping inside since I was an intern, but there was something about Bill's posture in the driver's seat that told me to stay away. Then I heard a murmur from the crowd. People started to point toward the mall office. I turned with them in time to see Angela del Fuego, in a red pantsuit, walk in. She was with Mrs. Knight and a big blond guy with a portable TV camera.

Betty walked by me, drinking a smoothie from the Garden of Eatin'. She said, "Who's that?"

I told her, "It's Angela del Fuego."

Betty scoffed. "Oh. What a joke."

"What do you mean?"

"Those phony nails? That phony hair? Come on."

I couldn't believe she had said that. I asked her, "Well, what about your hair?"

Betty seemed surprised at the question. She replied, "Black is not phony. Black is not anything. It is absence. Bright red is presence. A phony presence."

I had no idea what to say to that. I heard the sound of someone clearing his throat loudly and deliberately. I turned toward the sound and met Bill's stare. He was now standing on the tile of the rotunda, holding the remote soundboard in front of him like a basket of eggs.

He asked me, "You're the intern, right?"

"Right."

"Start interning. I need to set up the soundboard right here, in front of the truck, where I can protect it."

I said, "Okay."

"Get the stand and the hardware. They're right inside the door."

I stepped up into the RV. I turned to the left and saw a packet of iron legs and clamps, neatly bound with black electrical tape. I picked it up and went back out to Bill.

Bill was looking very perplexed. He clearly didn't want to set the expensive soundboard down anywhere inside the West End Mall. I asked him, "Where do you want me to set this up?"

The question seemed to surprise him. He stated, "You couldn't set this up," but then asked, "could you?"

"Why not?" I peeled off the tape and laid out the four legs on the rotunda tiles. After all my Arcane promotional display assemblies, this was simple. I clamped the legs together in the only way they could possibly be clamped, and I stood the stand
upright. Bill examined it for a moment, trying to decide if it would hold or collapse. Then he delicately placed the soundboard on top. I handed him two remaining clamps, which he used to attach the board. Then he pressed a pair of plugs into the floor outlet.

Bill stepped back. He said, "Okay. I need you to stand here and make sure nobody touches the board. That's all you have to do. Just stand here and—"

I interrupted him, "I can't do that. I'm part of the man-in-the-street interview, up at the mall office."

"No, you're not. Not if you want this internship."

Maybe Bill thought that was a scary thing to say to me, but it didn't scare me a bit. I thought of a couple of things to say back to him right away. The best one was, "That's what Angela told me to do. Do you want me to tell her that you said I can't?"

Bill blinked rapidly. He backed off immediately. "No. No." He muttered, "Just stay here for two minutes while I call McKay."

He spun around and got back into the truck. I could hear him call the studio and ask for Mr. McKay. They started talking about the broadcast, the director's cues and stuff. Stuff that I wanted to learn about. I listened as best I could, until I heard, "Hey, cuz! What're you doing?"

I turned and saw Karl. He was standing dangerously close to the soundboard. Uncle Frank was right behind him, but he was looking at the Santa setup. I said, "I'm just watching the equipment for a minute."

Karl said, "Cool." Then he reached a long white finger over, touched a sound-level button, and slid it upward. An earsplitting shriek flew out of the mall public-address system.

Bill bounded angrily out of the truck. He yelled at me, "What was that?"

This time I couldn't think of an answer. But Karl could. He said, "That ... was feedback, dude."

Bill rounded on him. His eyes darted to Karl's finger, still poised criminally close to the sound-level button. "Don't touch that again! Ever! That thing's worth more than you are!"

Uncle Frank turned around. He walked slowly past Karl, right up to Bill. He stared directly into Bill's eyes for several long, intimidating seconds. Bill tried to return his stare, but his shoulders began to sag. And then he took a step backward, as if he was going to fall. His voice croaked out, "Please do not touch anything out here. It's very valuable." He retreated back into the truck.

Uncle Frank turned toward me. "Who was that?"

"That's Bill. He does the remote broadcasts for the studio."

"You're working for him?"

"Partly. I'm supposed to watch the equipment, but I have to be in the mall office, too."

Uncle Frank nodded. "I see. Well, go ahead down to the office. I'll watch the equipment for you." I must have really reacted to that, because Uncle Frank actually smiled. "It'll be okay. Bill and I have an understanding now."

I ran down toward the mall office. Angela was talking to the blond camera guy about how to shoot the interview. I waited until they finished their planning. Then she turned to me. "Hey, you're the intern, right? You ready for the show?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm really looking forward to it."

"Good. Stand over there by the old guy." I took my place by the back wall, next to Mr. Lombardo. Then I heard Angela whisper, "Here they come."

We all craned to look at the mall entrance. Philip Knowlton appeared first. He stood just inside the entrance doors, looking out. Then a stocky, red-faced guy walked in. I said, "Is that Mr. Lyons?"

Mr. Lombardo snorted. "No. That's gotta be a bodyguard."

I felt dumb. A tall man came in next. He had a full head of
gray hair, and he was wearing a very expensive-looking blue suit. He also had a great tan. I ventured to say, "That's him, right?"

"Right. That's Mr. Big Shot."

Mrs. Knight led the group of three men toward the office. Once inside, she introduced Philip Knowlton to Angela. Angela flashed a particularly dazzling smile. "I know Mr. Knowlton. How are you, Phil?"

Mr. Knowlton smiled back as best he could. "Not bad, Angela. How are you? Let me introduce you to the candidate. This is Ray Lyons. Ray, this is—"

Mr. Lyons took an energetic step forward and extended his hand. "You don't need to tell me who this lovely lady is. My wife watches you every day. My daughters, too."

Angela put on a pretend pout. "What? You don't watch me?"

Mr. Lyons put on a pretend look of his own. He said in a low voice, like it was a secret, "Don't tell anybody. But sometimes I do."

Angela laughed politely. Mrs. Knight laughed loudly. Then Mr. Lyons turned and pointed to the red-faced guy. "And this is Joe Daley. Joe was a Florida state trooper for twenty years. Now he's with us, and we're real glad to have him aboard."

Mr. Daley waved bashfully at Angela. She put him at ease with, "How you doin', Trooper?"

Sam walked in wearing a
SAVE THE MALL
T-shirt. Philip Knowlton stared at the shirt and snapped, "Wait a minute, who are you?"

When Joe Daley heard that he got up and took a step toward Sam.

Sam answered, "I'm Samir Samad. Man on the street. I'm supposed to be here for an interview."

Knowlton shook his head slowly. "Not in that shirt, you're not."

Sam feigned innocence. "What's wrong with the shirt?"

"It's this simple: Either you get another shirt, or I get another minority."

I thought Sam would get angry at that, but he didn't. He looked at Mr. Lyons. Then he answered, "If the shirt offends anyone, of course I'll change it." And he went back out.

Angela said to me, "You're part of the man-in-the-street thing, too, right?"

"Right. I'm the young person."

Mr. Lombardo growled, "I guess we know what that makes me."

Sam returned two minutes later, wearing a black sport jacket buttoned up over the shirt.

Angela concluded, "Okay. Everybody's here. Let's do it."

It was hard to tell if Angela or Philip Knowlton was running the show. They were both telling people what to do. Angela finally asked him, "Are you ready to tape?"

Knowlton answered, "We can begin, but I reserve the right to interrupt this at any time. The candidate is not here to talk about mud wrestling, or cross-dressing, or anything like that. He's here to talk about the issues. Understood?"

Angela was cool. "Of course I understand. Anyway, you can edit out anything you don't like, Phil. You know that."

"It needn't get to that point." Knowlton added, "Those who do not abide by the rules stand outside, thrusting their microphones at the candidate and shouting questions that never get answered. Understood?"

"Of course."

The cameraman positioned himself in front of Angela with a big camera sitting on his shoulder. He said, "Can I get an ID, Angela? From both of you?"

Angela looked at the camera. "I'm Angela del Fuego."

The cameraman turned to Mr. Lyons. He followed her example. "I'm Ray Lyons."

The cameraman said, "Thank you. Ready."

Mrs. Knight stood right next to him and started to count backward, "Five, four, three..." She mouthed the last two numbers silently, then Angela began to speak.

"Welcome to
Meet the Candidates,
Channel Fifty-seven's exclusive look at the men and women running for Florida's top offices. In this segment, we will meet Florida Senate candidate Ray Lyons." The cameraman turned and focused on Mr. Lyons, who smiled easily, showing his white teeth. "Ray Lyons is one of Florida's most successful developers. His projects include the Gold Coast Mall, the West End Mall, which is where we're meeting today, and the Century Towers community."

Angela turned and flashed a dazzling smile at the candidate. "Ray, I'd like to start with a personal question. Where did you get that gorgeous tan?"

I could almost feel Philip Knowlton tighten from his perch behind the camera, but Mr. Lyons handled the question well. He laughed openly and told her, "Thank you, Angela. That's a Florida tan. I got it from growing up here and living and working here my whole life. Can I ask you, where did you get yours?"

Angela shot a sly look at the camera. "A tanning parlor on Las Olas Boulevard." Mrs. Knight laughed loudly. Angela continued. "Mr. Lyons—"

"Call me Ray."

"Okay. Ray, like many Floridians, I'm a transplant from another state. So tell me, what was it like growing up here?"

Suddenly Philip Knowlton walked from behind us right into the picture. Angela gave the "cut" sign to the cameraman, drawing a finger across her throat like she was slashing it. She looked at Knowlton. "Was it something I said?"

Knowlton explained to her, "I don't want Ray to sound like some old geezer who lived here during the Civil War. We want to stress that Ray is youthful and energetic."

"Okay. How about if he talks about raising his family here?"

Knowlton smiled. "All right. That's good. Are you comfortable with that, Ray?"

Mr. Lyons told him, "Sure. How about if I tell the story about Richard and the golf clubs?"

Knowlton thought for a moment, then decided, "I don't think so, Ray."

Mr. Lyons said, "Why not? What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. But I need to think some more about Richard and the golf stuff."

"What? Is there something wrong with golf now?"

"No. I just don't know how well your voter base relates to it. Let me get some stats. For now, why don't you go ahead and say something about your other kids."

Mr. Lyons didn't look happy. He paused for a moment. Then he shrugged and looked at Angela. Angela asked him, as an aside, "What's your wife's name, Ray?"

He told her, "Estelle."

Angela made the "roll tape" sign to the cameraman, twirling her finger like a fork in spaghetti. She said, "How many children do you and Estelle have, Ray?"

Mr. Lyons smiled broadly. "Three children. All born and raised in Florida, and all still living here. Richard's the oldest. He went to Saint Francis Xavier Prep here, and then to the University of South Florida. Then there's Christie and Annie."

Knowlton interrupted, "Shouldn't that be, 'Then there are Christie and Annie?'"

Mr. Lyons stopped smiling. He clenched his jaw. "I don't talk that way, Phil."

Angela added. "Yeah, Phil. You don't want him to sound like some college professor."

Knowlton nodded his agreement. Angela signaled the cameraman, whispering, "Pick it up where you were, Ray."

Mr. Lyons resumed smiling. "The girls both went to Our Lady of Lourdes Academy. Christie married a Florida Gator, and Annie married an FSU Seminole, so we got it covered in our family."

Angela laughed. "It sure sounds like it." She looked over at Knowlton, who smiled. Then she looked into the lens and switched tones to say, "Now I'd like to bring in our man-in-the-street segment for today."

She turned to look at us. "Folks, thank you for coming." Angela smiled at us as the cameraman turned. We all stared blankly into the lens. "Please introduce yourselves and ask your question of the candidate."

Mr. Lombardo took the lead. He said, "I'm Tom Lombardo. I run the drugstore here in the—"

But Philip Knowlton interrupted him. "We don't need that."

Mr. Lombardo glared at him. "What?"