Page 14 of Child of Mine

Six months in, I got my first real job: running tape for reporters. I was over the moon, feeling like I was actually a part of getting the news from the street to the screen. My trip up the ladder was lightning quick after that until, before I knew it, before I’d even been in the city two years, I was celebrating a promotion to assistant producer in the investigative division of the prime-time newsmagazine.

And then, the night that changed everything. The night I met the woman I thought I had a chance at making mine, and the night I found out my dad had died at the age of fifty-five.

I went home for the funeral and never went back to New York. Some other guy stepped into the job I’d worked so hard to get at the network. Some other guy probably has the girl I left behind the night I met her.

It’s odd that I think about her more often than I do Christine. My sister’s choice for me is a very nice, very pretty girl that I’ve known since the third grade. The other girl, the one I only know as Izzy, haunts my dreams. We were only together for a few hours, but every moment of that night is seared into my memory. Pale blue eyes that danced with amusement when she caught me celebrating on the rooftop. All I had to do was touch her hand and a bone-deep desire lit me up from the inside out. When the sides of her mouth lifted a fraction of an inch, I needed to feel that smile with my own. I’ve never had an encounter like it, before or since.

If we’d had the chance to get to know each other for real, would we have been able to sustain that passion? Probably not. But it might’ve mellowed into something else. Something equally special.

My parents had that kind of relationship. I don’t know—and I don’t want to know—about the passion, but they worked side by side for thirty-odd years and were always kind to each other, always making each other laugh. Every once in a while, my dad would stop in the middle of the house or the store or the greenhouse and just hold out his arms. Without a word, my mom would step into his embrace. They’d just stand there for a few moments, and then they’d go back to what they’d been doing.

It never occurred to me to do anything like that with Christine.

It’s the truth that I’m not leaving because of her. I’m leaving because since my dad bought me a camera, I’ve been making stories with it. I’m addicted to the feeling I get when something I’ve made gets someone to see a subject in a new way. I need to make a difference with a camera one way or another, and that’s not going to happen in little old Raleigh, North Carolina.

So, I’m leaving the nest again, headed to a different city in the Northeast and a different kind of job, but one that I hope will get me back on track.

I’ll admit that a tiny part of me took the job because of its association with Izzy. She was in the originalBoom’sfirst season, so maybe there’s a chance someone is still in touch with her. Maybe there’s a chance that she’s not married to someone else. Maybe there’s a chance that we could find that spark again.

But first, “We have to get to Boston, right buddy?” I ask my faithful hound as I scratch him behind his silky ears.

Chapter 3

“Last week onAll His Children: Michael disturbs Barbara by saying that you can’t depend on a father’s love. This disillusionment was created when he discovered his father at Janine’s. Meanwhile, Rosa has an unsettling experience.”Soap Opera Land,June 1989

BELLA

As I walk through WGBH’s glass doors, I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia. The scent of the building is exactly the same as it was fifteen years ago: a mix of the lemony cleaning fluid they use on the floors, a musty smell I associate with the miles of cable snaking through the studios, and—I swear—an aroma of garlic that clings to the set of Julia Child’s kitchen, still tucked away in a corner. Adrenaline courses through my veins, just as it did before every rehearsal and performance. Back then, once I put on the striped rugby shirt we all wore, I could focus that energy into my performance.

Too bad I don’t have that armor today.

Or Izzy’s fearlessness. My heart is filled with worry, but my head is equally full of determination. I don’t know if I’m capable of stepping out of the carefully constructed blind I’ve built for myself, but something’s urging me to take a few baby steps into the light. Since talking to Carol at the fundraiser and on the phone the next day, I haven’t been able to stop a flow of ideas for how we could makeBooman even better show. Anticipation buzzing behind my solar plexus, I approach the receptionist and let her know I have an appointment.

When I was thirteen and a cast member, I thought everything about Carol Ferris was super cool: from the mod outfits to the long hair held back with brightly colored headbands to the neon lipstick that framed her wide smile.

I remember feeling safe with Carol too. Like I couldn’t really screw things up. Some of the APs were a little more uptight and the director would sometimes lose patience if we messed up too many takes, but Carol always had a way of finding the good, even in a mistake.

Being onBoomkicked off my love affair with television. Even though that particular relationship ended badly, I do have many happy memories from this time in my life. Besides, it’s not like I’d be in front of the camera if I were a producer.

So, once we get the small talk out of the way, I pull out my notebook. Before I get too far down my list of ideas, however, Carol laughs and holds up a hand. “I’m happy that you’re raring to go, but let’s save the brainstorming until the whole team’s together.” Hand over her heart, she explains, “I oversee all of our local programming, then James—do you remember James Wheeler?”

“Was that ‘don’t call me Jim’ James?” The face of a gruff cameraman about Carol’s age comes to mind.

“That’s him,” Carol says with a smile. “And he still prefers James. He’ll beBoom’s new executive producer. We have a new hire from North Carolina coming in to direct. He’s getting a tour of the facility now, which I didn’t think you needed.”

“Since I spent so many hours prowling around it?”

“Exactly. Anyway, I’m happy to hear your thoughts, but you’ll be stepping onto a moving train. We have the cast in place. The next steps are narrowing down which audience suggestions we’ll use and mapping out the shooting schedule.”

I’m still not sure if this is a job interview or if she’s offering me the position. “I’m probably being a little obtuse here, Carol, but are you talking to other people? For this job?”

Her smile is hopeful. “We are officially, but I’d really love to have you on board.”

“Even though I don’t really have experience?” Probably not the thing to emphasize, but I don’t want to oversell myself.

“You have experience that the rest of us don’t have.”

I nod. “My mom said the same thing, that I might be a good advocate for the kids.”

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