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through. I
tell her, “That still doesn’t change the fact that I’m not saying a word about
the documentary. If you’ll pardon the pun, that graveyard is… classified.”
    “Wah-wah-waaaah,”
she says, imitating the bad-joke horn from ancient cartoons. “Very funny.”
    “I’m serious,
Coeburn. Not a word.” I don’t know why, but I feel like giving her something. A
little tidbit. Just enough to sweeten the tea because maybe, just maybe, if I
ever get back in the spotlight, she’ll remember I was nice to her once. I wiped
the muffin crumbs from my hands. “How ‘bout this? I’ll give you a little nugget,
which is one hundred percent off the record, got me?”
    Lauren locks her
lips with an invisible key.
    “The only thing I’ll
say is that whoever put out that press release is screwed because I
haven’t even agreed to the documentary yet. No fancy pens, no dotted lines. Not
even verbally. I’m trying to decide how I want to approach it.”
    “Holy shit. Are
you for real? They released the news without formalizing it first? Are they
mental?”
    “Still off the
record, okay?” She nods. “Wild guess says that Carla Hancock realizes that I
wouldn’t mind getting back on camera, and this is her way of, you know,
dangling the carrot. Something I can’t resist. Baiting me.”
    “I assume you’re
going to do something about it.”
    “That’s the thing.
I don’t know. Ask for a retraction? File a lawsuit? Should I go ahead with the
filming and earn a few million? It’s all up in the air. And I’m not even sure I want to do it. Anyway, I’ve said enough. There’s your nugget.”
    She may be the
host of a reality television review show, but before that she was a standup
comedian, and before that, she was a reporter for a mid-sized station down in
L.A. Those old journalistic tendencies are crawling out from where she buried
them long ago. I can see the curiosity and the excitement in the way she subconsciously
licks those fabulous red lips and lowers her voice. “Do you think Mike Long did
it? Last time I checked up on him, he was offering to sell whatever soul he had
left to the highest bidder. Lots of rumors about his financial situation going
around. Maybe he gave the okay to leak it since he’d stand to gain the most.”
    “No comment.” I pick
up the remains of her cranberry muffin and take a large bite, as if having a
full mouth will block any future words.
    “It wouldn’t
surprise me if Carla did it. Some scummy shit like that has her name written
all over it.”
    I push my coffee
away and pick up my worn paperback copy of a Carter Kane novel that I’ve read
at least seven times. “No comment.”
    “C’mon, Ford. Give
me a little. Friend to friend.”
    If I had any
liquid in my mouth, I’m sure I would’ve comically spewed it all over her face
because it’s such a ridiculous suggestion. “Friend to friend? You’re kidding
me, right?”
    “At least tell me something juicy.”
    “I gave you a
nugget and that’s it, Coeburn. No more, no way.”
    “Something behind
the scenes. Something that our readers can really chew on. I mean, come on ,
this is gold. I can get you exposure. We can blow this up. The whole thing. I
can help you go public with the fact that they’re trying to railroad you into
this. It’ll be huge.”
    I stand up from
the small table and wince when the metal chair legs screech across the slick
concrete flooring. Can’t a guy make a dramatic exit without the embarrassing
side effects? I tell Lauren, “Nope. Not a chance.”
    “Please?”
    “I’m not going to just hand you higher ratings. Apology accepted, yeah, but that doesn’t wash
away all your sins, and I’ll be damned if I do you any favors. Get off my case,
get away from me, and take those godawful heels back to L.A. They don’t go with
that dress. You look like a hooker that’s trying too hard.”
    Cheap shot? Yep.
Damn straight. Felt good, too.
    But really, they
don’t go with the dress.