Part 2 (1/2)
Faith lowered her chin and raised her eyebrows in a manner intended to be teasing and lighthearted. She doubted she was fooling anyone, including the viewers. Everyone in Philadelphia probably knew about her and Mike. ”Doesn't look like my Mets'll be anywhere near a field by then.”
Chase chuckled and flashed a handsome smile in her direction. ”That's the nice thing about August. Everybody has a chance. Even your Mets, Faith.”
A round of easy laughter died out, and Faith took the cue as the camera zoomed in on her. Focus, Faith, focus. ”Each week for the past six months we've been bringing you a segment called Wednesday's Child, highlighting special-needs children who are up for adoption in Philadelphia's social services system. Tonight we take a look at six-year-old Rosa Lee.”
Saxophones led the way as the haunting strains of a child's lullaby filled the station and faded into the laughter of children playing at Jericho Park. Rosa was living with a foster family in Bethany, and the park was her favorite place to play Faith noticed that the cameraman had avoided the hundred-year-old Jesus statue, anch.o.r.ed just to the right of the play area.
Throughout the piece, a phone number remained on the screen for viewers interested in adopting Rosa. Faith watched the monitor as the camera panned in past the other children and settled on the dark-haired little beauty. Mike Dillan forgotten, Faith again savored the child's giggles as she'd done over the weekend when they'd been together for the interview. From the moment she met Rosa, Faith had felt captured by her, desperate to find her a family. Faith heard her own voice begin to sound over the footage.
”Rosa Lee's life has never been easy. Not since the morning her mother abandoned her on the steps of a Philadelphia hospital days after her birth.” The camera zoomed out from Faith strolling the park grounds, her face serious, eyes on the camera, to Rosa running alongside three other children, chasing b.u.t.terflies across the park's gra.s.sy hillside. An edit showed the same children eating a picnic lunch and a close-in shot gave the television audi-ence a first glimpse of Rosa's deformed hand. ”Rosa was born with just two fingers and a thumb on her left hand, making her one of thousands of special-needs children up for adoption across the United States.”
The monitor showed Rosa brus.h.i.+ng the crumbs from her play clothes and running back to the swings and slides. ”Rosa will always have special needs, but don't tell her that. When it comes to using her hands, she's more determined than most kids twice her age.”
The footage showed Rosa using a pencil, catching a ball, and playing tennis at the city courts. The segment finally cut to Rosa, her head tilted, long silky eyelashes batting shyly at Faith as they sat together on a park bench. ”... A mommy who'll stay with me forever. That's what I want.”
What?
From where Faith sat staring at her monitor she felt the piercing sting of betrayal. Someone had gotten to the segment and edited out the first part of Rosa's statement. She remembered how the.girl's words had pierced her heart when she'd smiled and said, ”I'm praying for a mommy who'll stay with me forever. That's what I want.”
G.o.d, I can't fight this battle any more...
Be strong and courageous, daughter, I will go before you in the battle you are about to fight What battle? The muscles in her stomach tightened at the thought. Had she correctly heard the still small voice she knew so well? I can't fight the system, Lord... You must be thinking of some-one else.
Be strong, daughter. The battle belongs to Me.
Faith felt the rea.s.suring presence of the Lord and her anger eased. It's so unfair, Father...
How could the station allow references to everything but a person's faith in G.o.d? And how could that be considered unbi-ased reporting when it was nothing but biased. Bias and censor-s.h.i.+p, pure and simple, and though Faith was not a fighter, it made her tempted to take a more vocal stand for her beliefs.
The footage of Rosa faded to a still shot of the child swinging high in the air against a deep blue sky, her eyes sparkling with love and hope and light. The camera angled back in on Faith live in the studio.
”Rosa is an Asian biracial child who is currently available for adoption to anyone with a valid home study If you're interested in adopting this precious little one call the number at the bottom of your screen and someone will help you through the process.” She glanced at her prompt and looked pleasantly at her partner. ”Ron?”
”Well take a break for a moment, but when we come back, a look at Julia Roberts's box-office hit, Where Yesterday Lives”
Faith nodded. ”Bring a box of tissues for this one...”
The break played out, and in five minutes the newscast was over.
”That's a wrap,” a director yelled from behind the camera. ”See ya tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat channel.”
A technician flipped a series of switches to cut the studio bright lights and stop the whir of the cameras just as Ron's smile faded. Right on cue. Faith watched, somewhat amazed. It was almost as though her partner's facial expressions were on the same electrical current as the camera equipment.
Faith studied him as he turned to leave. ”See ya, Ron.”
He held a hand up in her direction, not even looking back. At least he's a good actor. She turned and was headed for her purse and car keys when d.i.c.k Baker caught her attention.” Come here, Faith. I need a word with you.”
She felt the familiar knot in her stomach. What had she done now? Had he read her mind and known she was praying just to survive the half hour? Could he see on her face the way Mike Dillan's name had made her feel? She approached him and felt the corner of her lips raise a fraction of an inch. ”Yes?”
Mr. Baker was in his sixties, a gruff, hardcore veteran of television news determined to gain the favor of the network executives. For the most part Faith thought he was her ally, a professional who appreciated the quality of her work. But there were times when whatever pressure he must have been getting from the higher ups took its toll and turned him into a tyrant.
Faith had a feeling this was about to be one of those times.
She had only seen his soft side once-after her father's heart attack the month before. The station covered the story, portraying her father in a flattering light, stating that he died chasing after his life's pa.s.sion: maintaining rights for the people of Pennsylvania and the United States. Mr. Baker himself had helped edit the story making sure it included the fact that Bob Moses was survived by a wife, Betty, and two daughters-one of which was their very own Faith Evans.
The man standing before her now looked far less compa.s.sionate. ”Haven't we warned you about references to prayer?” His words sounded as if they were leaking from a pressure cooker.
Faith was tempted to look ignorant, but instead she folded her arms and maintained eye contact with her boss. ”Yes. But that wasn't my reference, it was-”
”Let me finis.h.!.+” Mr. Baker's face was a ma.s.s of angry knots. ”If I hadn't checked that Wednesday's Child segment first it would have aired that way, with that girl sharing her private prayers for all the world to hear.”
Faith felt her face grow hot. ”It's what she wanted to-”
Mr. Baker raised his hand. ”Don't speak. I'm not done.” His head was nearly bald, and in his frustration it had grown damp with sweat. ”We've been over this before, Evans. It's bad enough that our Bethany viewers know your religious stance. But surely you understand the network execs know about it, too. 'Watch her, Baker,' they tell me.” He shook his head and a choked, sar-castic huff escaped him. ”And to tell you the truth I try, Evans, honest I do. You know why I had to fix that segment?”
”No, sir, it didn't need fixing if you'd-”
Her boss gave a quick shake of his head and glared at her. ”I'm not finished! If I hadn't made that cut that would have been five G.o.d stories in two weeks. Five, for cryin' out loud, Evans. Your stories include mentions of G.o.d and prayer ten times more than the stories from other reporters. If that doesn't change, you and I both know the executives will talk.” He leveled his gaze at her. ”You remember that contract you signed?” He paused, but not long enough for her to answer. ”You start giving biased reports, and if I don't fire you the network executives will fire me. It's that simple.”
His voice was louder than before, and Faith noticed various cameramen and technical staff members scurrying off the sound-stage. ”Do I make myself clear?”
Faith had to fight back tears.
Go forth, daughter. Be gentle and take up the fight...
Not now, Lord, I can't... Her knees began to tremble.
Her boss's face grew still darker. ”I said, do I make myself clear?”
Be strong and courageous. I will go before you.
Send someone else, Father. I'm not strong enough.
Daughter, nothing is impossible with Me.
But it was no use. Her knees were already weak; if she stood up to d.i.c.k Baker now she was likely to faint flat across the man's feet. ”Yes, sir.”
At Faith's compliant answer, her boss's scowl eased. ”You're a dam good reporter. Don't get me wrong. We've...” He paused as though he didn't want to share this information with her. ”Well, we've had calls about you and Chase. There's talk about moving you up.” He pointed at her, his finger inches from the bridge of her nose. ”The network's watching, Faith. Don't do anything to ruin it for yourself.”
Her heart felt as though it had been shredded by competing emotions. The network? Was it possible? Were they really inter-ested in her for a potential national spot? Hope surged through her, then dimmed as her boss's words rang in her mind again: Don't do anything to mess it up... to mess it up... to mess it up.
In other words, don't be a fanatic. Don't wear your beliefs on your sleeve. Don't be sold out to G.o.d.
Faith sighed. ”I won't, sir.”
Her boss smiled. ”Thatta girl. When you look good, we all look good. Remember that.” He started to turn, but paused. ”Don't let me see that prayer thing again, Faith. I mean it.”