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only an inch of shampoo left in the bottom.” She looked at Paul and smiled. “I’ve always wondered what to do about that.”
    “Oh, I know,” Paul replied. “That is a toughie.”
    Someone passing in front of the monitor looked at the screen, then rolled his eyes.
    I straightened in my seat. Okay, I clearly had my work cut out for me—no argument there. I needed to improve not only the show, but its reputation, even internally at IBS.
    “Also,” said Paul, “we’ll have more on the flooding in Iowa. Finally, some better weather news on the way for those folks.”
    I raised my eyebrows. Better than flooding ? Really? Apparently the bar for improving this show wasn’t set too high.
    Colleen broke in. “So please join us tomorrow and”—she paused dramatically for her sign-off—“thank you for spending your morning here at Daybreak .”
    “Take care, everyone!” Paul said with a wave at the audience.
    Colleen nodded like a queen issuing a last-minute pardon. Which, given the quality of the show, wasn’t too far off. “ Goodbye .”
    I sighed.
    The guard behind the desk looked at me. “You interviewing at Daybreak ? Assistant? Intern?”
    I patted my hair. “Actually, um, I’m the new executive producer over there.”
    “Another one?” the guard scoffed.
    “Excuse me?”
    The guard lifted his hands in surrender. “Just saying. Don’t unpack.”
    Great. Even the security guard thought I couldn’t hack it. Maybe the straightening iron hadn’t worked as well as I’d hoped.
    Just then, I saw a man walking toward me. “Becky Fuller?” He extended his hand.
    I popped up and accepted it. “That’s me.”
    He gave me a weak smile. “I’m Lenny Bergman.”
    “Associate producer,” we said at the same time.
    “Yes,” I went on. “I know who you are. You started out at WABC, then two years at CBS, been here thirteen years.”
    “That’s right,” he said, impressed. Lenny was in his forties, a bit portly, with hair in need of a cut and a carriage like he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Was this what it was to work at Daybreak for thirteen years? This constant look of defeat?
    “My only question is, why didn’t they bump you up?”
    “Not for me,” he said.
    I shook my head. He didn’t want a promotion?
    Catching my disbelief, he shrugged. “I did it for a couple of weeks once, then they put me back at number two.”
    “Why?”
    “Apparently, the crying was distracting.”
    Oh. I forced myself to nod, as if I understood.
    “But you’ll love it,” he said as quickly as possible. “It’s a great job.”
    The security guard snorted.

 5 
    A fter the requisite stop at HR to fill out all my paperwork and pick up my ID badge, Lenny led me into the bowels of the IBS building. Our first step was a long, long trip down a surprisingly rickety elevator for such a new building. Next, we traversed a series of increasingly shabby and narrow hallways while Lenny filled me in on the schedule.
    “Our morning meeting is at five A.M .,” he explained to me.
    “Isn’t that a little late?” I asked. Even at Channel 9, we had more than a two-hour window for last-minute adjustments.
    We flattened ourselves against the wall as a bunch of tech folks passed, toting cables and props. The hallway went on, tunneling its way to what might as well have been the center of the earth. Here and there lay disused pieces of office furniture. I twisted and turned to avoid bashing into things as I tried to keep pace with Lenny, who clearly knew this rabbit warren like the back of his hand.
    “It’s just that,” I said, as he sidestepped a dead potted ficus, “I’m used to early hours.…”
    “Hmm,” said Lenny, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Maybe we need better donuts.” He started pointing places out as we drew closer and closer to the control room—break room this way, ladies’ room down that corridor—but I couldn’t get past the schedule.
    “At the Today show,” I