Daemon

could drive off to the right here, I believe Mr Langley wants to have a word with you.’
    ‘I think you should open the gate.’
    ‘Ma’am, Mr Langley—’
    ‘Mr Langley – whoever that is – can call my office if he wants to speak with me.’ She dug through her glove compartment and produced a drive-on studio pass. ‘Now, open the gate.’
    ‘Ma’am, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to pull off to the right, there.’
    ‘Why? Do you know who I am?’
    He gave her an incredulous look. He obviously knew who she was.
    ‘And why do you keep calling me ‘Ma’am’? What is this, the Ponderosa? My name is Anji Anderson – although later you’ll be calling me ‘That Bitch Who Got Me Fired.”
    ‘Ma’am, there’s no call for cussing.’
    ‘Cussing? Okay, Clem, I won’t cuss no more, as long as you open the fucking gate.’
    His look hardened. He leaned down closer. ‘Look, if you don’t pull off to the right, you’ll wish you had. Now park over there.’ He pointed.
    She just laughed. ‘Ahhh, I guess there’s only so much shit you’ll take for eight bucks an hour, eh?’
    ‘Pull over to the right.’
    A car behind her honked.
    ‘And what if I don’t?’
    ‘Pull over to the right!’
    Another guard approached the car.
    ‘Oh, you called for backup. You need protection from a helpless woman, Clem?’
    The second guard eased the first away from the car and then turned to her. ‘Ms Anderson, using your superior social position to belittle a powerless employee does not speak well of you.’
    She stared at him.
    ‘The fact is that we’ve been instructed by your superiors to prevent you from entering. If you want to know why, I suggest you pull over to the right.’
    She nodded slowly and put the car in gear. ‘Okay. I will.’ She yanked the steering wheel to the right and accelerated madly into the walk-on lot.
    Anderson was burning with anger after walking in high heels from the far corner of the parking lot. She was going to raise hell about this with Walter Kahn. She was
talent
. She shouldn’t have to put up with facilities crap.
    When she finally reached the guard shed again, the second guard pointed to a pedestrian gate where two people waited for her, one a trim woman in a tailored suit, the other another security guard. Anderson slowed down and then stopped. She stood there not liking what she was suddenly thinking.
    The woman motioned for her to approach.
    Anderson took a deep breath and walked up to them as composedly as she could manage. ‘What’s this all about?’
    The woman extended her hand from between the bars. It was like visiting hours at the state pen. Anderson extended her own hand for a cold handshake. ‘Ms Anderson, I’m Josephine Curto from Human Resources. There’s been a change in your contract status at the network.’
    ‘My agent is negotiating a contract renewal. It doesn’t lapse for another five weeks.’
    ‘Yes. I see. Those negotiations are over. The network decided not to renew your contract. Please understand this decision came down from corporate. I’m just delivering the news. We thought your agent would have told you.’
    Anderson felt the tears welling up, but sucked in a breath and forced them back down again. She looked away and pressed her forefinger and thumb against the bridge of her nose – then looked back sharply at Curto. ‘
This
is how you decide to tell me I’m fired? I’m standing here like some kind of vagrant in the street. What am I, a threat? What am I going to do, shoot up the place?’
    Curto was unperturbed as she attached papers to a clipboard. ‘That’s not the concern. You are known to studio personnel and have access to a live television broadcast. I’m sure you can appreciate that the network doesn’t want you getting on the air at this difficult time.’
    ‘Difficult time?’ Anderson tried in vain to form her thoughts into words several times. The tears threatened again. She finally blurted out, lamely, ‘I have fans. You’ve seen my fan mail? There are men and women in Marin and Oakland and Walnut Creek – people who’ve asked to marry me. What are you going to tell them about my sudden disappearance?’
    ‘I have no idea how to respond to that question.’
    ‘You should let me do a final broadcast.’
    ‘Lifestyles reporters don’t get farewell broadcasts, Ms Anderson.’
    ‘What about Jim McEwen? They had a big send-off when he retired.’
    ‘Jim was the anchor. He worked at the studio