A Charitable Scandal

The Morning Interview

Or perhaps I just hadn't watched enough of Mornings with Mariska to truly appreciate the woman's skill.

"Well folks, believe it or not, I've run out of questions for Ms. Jeffries." She gave a little laugh and I couldn't help but sigh with relief. However, as I turned to the slightly giggling audience, I saw that the timer was far from done. My smile twitched, but I did all I could to remain confident that Mariska was about to usher in an early commercial break.

Blissful ignorance is always short lived.

"You see," continued Mariska with a subtle hiss to her words, "we had planned to introduce you personally to the charity, 'Coding a Future,' but Quinto Technologies has not provided an opportunity to film this fledging organization that they've so kindly taken under their wing. Nor have they provided any of their own footage for us to use."

If the audience had any reaction to that news, I couldn't say. My blood started to pound as loud as drums inside my ears and my eyes lost focus from staring at the timer, which seemed to have slowed tremendously. Still, I didn't miss the venomous smile as Mariska turned her attention back to me.

"So maybe Ms. Jeffries can help us out and provide some proof that Quinto hasn't set up some facade for a fake charity."

Silence.

I don't know if everyone just stopped breathing or if it was just me. Whatever happened to the audience, to the crew, to Mariska, I didn't know. All I knew was that the crushing silence and the heavy beat of my heart pressed in upon me and pushed the air from my lungs. Before me, Mariska so effortlessly laid out my own fears, my own trepidations. She did it all right there, on a stage with thousands of eyes watching.

I struggled for what felt like eternity. I wondered if the seconds ticked slower for me, but slipped by like rushing water for everyone else in the studio. Time twisted and contorted around me, whispering in my ear that every second it took me to come up with an answer, another seed of suspicion was planted in the public's mind. I had to say something.

"You're right," I said, chewing on the words as they tumbled from my mouth. I pulled my gaze from the timer and looked directly into the eyes of the tigress who'd rather bat around her prey than kill it mercifully. "You're right," I repeated as I swallowed down my dignity, "it is unfortunate we haven't been ready for you to film. But we are ready now."

"What?" Mariska didn't gasp, fumble, or flinch. Instead, she recalculated. The muscles relaxed in her face and her eyes looked beyond me as she churned over my words. However, it was too late. She should have pounced when she had the chance. Blood was in the water and I wasn't going to wait for the kill.

"I'm here to offer my sincerest apologies for not being more prepared for coming on your show. We've been so excited by this charity and the gala that we've been tripping over our own feet a little bit. However, we realize how important it is that the public becomes familiar with the charity in order to ensure that the organization has a long and impactful life. Which is why I'm prepared to set up not just a day for you to bring your cameras in to film, but also an interview with the charity's coordinators."

This earned me a twitch, a subtle pull at the corner of her mouth and a little flare of her nostrils. I wondered if perhaps I had broken the poor woman, but once the audience started to applaud, the spell was shattered and the host soaked in their approval.

"Well," she said with an exuberant smile, "sounds like we'll be revisiting this exciting charity and Quinto's glitzy gala some time next week. So stay tuned folks!"

She then introduced the commercial break and I was pulled off the set by the producer before I could get a real response from Mariska on my offer.

I was then taken back stage and shuttled into a little sitting room where the boy wonder and his family also waited to meet Mariska at the end of the show. I took a vacant seat and looked to the television screen anchored to the wall. The break ended and Mariska reported on some national news with a flawless smile. I looked over to my companions and found Brandon mumbling numbers as his mom coached him through the digits, which she, in turn, read off her phone's screen. With a sigh, I sunk into my seat and closed my eyes so I could properly reflect on all the flimsy promises I just made in front of all the people who truly mattered. I wondered what the execs and that woman, Tamara, thought of my little boast. I wondered about Alec.

After discussing the chilly early autumn temperatures across the country; speaking with a young man who had a successful food truck business; and welcoming the boy band Zero Misdirection, the show finally came to an end. I had up to that point, feigned sleep to avoid the youthful entrepreneur who had worn a perky enthusiasm around him during his interview with Mariska. As expected, once he was brought back into our room, he immediately jumped on Brandon's family with a handful of business cards. Fortunately, Brandon's dad took right to conversation with the man and I was left with my thoughts. However, I couldn't fake it anymore and the moment I stood up with a stretch to follow the others out the door, the young man leapt over with a card and desperate pleas to contact him about catering the gala. I smiled and offered some more empty promises. I was getting good at lying.

Backstage, Mariska made her way through the group with elegant speed. She wished Brandon luck and gave his parents a gift bag that included a shirt, mug, and a gift card to a local diner. She then graciously accepted her third card from the entrepreneur. Finally, she reached me.

"Well," she said with a smirk, "I'm glad you at least didn't back down. You did good, though I don't envy the reception you may be getting once your return to the office."

"Thanks?"

"Listen kid, I mean it. I do believe you are excited about this charity and that those promises you made today are ones that you have every intention to keep, even if you just made some decisions you may not have been licensed to make. I really am trying to compliment your quick thinking. However..." She took a deep breath and what faced me was a look of sincere concern. "I do think you haven't quite figured this all out. I can tell it's sitting back there somewhere. I see it ticking behind your eyes. I know that look. It's the same one I see in the mirror every day."

"Thanks?"

"You are something," she said with a laugh. "I'm rooting for you, you know? Which is why I'm trying to give you some advice. If you really do have an office set up somewhere, it's because someone spooked Quinto. Something tells me it may have even been you."

I couldn't give her a response other than my lips going tight and thin. That alone was enough to lengthen her smile.

"Money talks. It can talk you right out of trouble. Which is what Quinto is hoping to accomplish, but it can also tattle your darkest secrets. Money leaves trails you know. Strangely enough, the massive profits Quinto has seen over the past year is oddly quiet. I'd say it's downright missing. Wouldn't it be a funny thing if the cash was getting embezzled and Quinto decided to create a charity to pad the books so no one becomes the wiser?" She tapped her finger against the side of her chin as she talked and watched me from the side of her eye. I gulped down something unpleasant and my face scrunched at the awful taste coating my tongue, which had gone completely dry. "Listen to the money, kid. And good luck on your little soiree."

I managed a nod and then Mariska left. A producer led me out, but I didn't know how I got there. It was all a blur. The sounds of the crew, the smell of the polished floors, the look of the towering lobby. None of it registered. I only recalled the sound of the old vents, the stench of the musty air, and the sight of the teetering boxes of junk in that rat hole that was supposed to be the charity's office. I could only consider Carmen's abrupt relocation after she told us the address for the charity. I could only wonder why Alec needed to have me under control.

I stood out in the noontime sun, the air dry and biting at my chapped lips. The light, sharp and hot, cut through the crystal clear sky while the city rumbled with the sound of people flowing through its veins. I didn't know what to do, how to react to Mariska's words, or what my next step should be, but I did know it was lunch time and I was hungry. I headed for food, grateful to let hunger supersede any of the hundred other concerns that beat against my skull.

***

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