The Dollhouse(37)

“Huh.” Luckily, he didn’t press for more details. “What about the video element?”

She’d hoped he’d forgotten that part. She never liked video, even when she was working for network news. Being in front of a camera changed people. When she carried only a notebook and pen, maybe a small recorder, her sources stayed relaxed and said things they might not when a camera was stuck in their face. Not to mention all the time it took setting up the lights and sound. By the time the camera was rolling, they tended to offer up careful, canned sentences.

“I haven’t heard from the freelance video guy you mentioned yet. What was his name?” She stalled, glanced down at the notebook on her lap.

“Jason Wolf. Hold on. I think he’s in the office today.”

Tyler lumbered to the door and hollered. “Gina, is Jason in?”

A minute later a broad-shouldered man in his early forties strolled in. He shook Rose’s hand, his bear of a paw enveloping hers, and settled on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other knee, arms wide along the back. His eyes were a brilliant, elegant blue, but the rest of him looked like an aging college rugby player.

He wore an old army jacket and sneakers, a combination that usually worked only on Brooklyn hipsters, and tossed her a satisfied smile. “Rose Lewin, from Channel 7, right?”

“Right.”

“I remember your piece on the rats in the Hudson.”

The story had gone viral soon after the network aired it, shots of rats scrambling along the crumbling piers, set to classical music. The producers thought the sound track would “elevate” the story. They were rodents, for God’s sake.

“Not one of my most favorite clips.” She grimaced. “One of the reasons I was glad to leave television.”

“That and the controversy.” Tyler, chiming in. “We were lucky to snag Rose right after she resigned. ‘The woman who brought down Senator Madden.’ Our investors love it.”

Jason didn’t say a word, just lifted one eyebrow.

Rose flipped through her notebook, eager to move on from the topic. “Shall I fill you in on the Barbizon story?”

“Please do.” The words carried a trace of teasing. Other women probably found it charming, and there was an unmistakable air of masculinity to him that boys like Tyler wished they had.

She checked her notes and dove in. “The building was built in 1927 as a residence for professional women, with around seven hundred rooms. The whole idea was to create a private club-type building for women—only men’s clubs existed before then—and this one included perks like a gym and a pool. And it wasn’t like you could just show up and check in. Hotel guests had to supply three character references.”

“Isn’t this the place where Sylvia Plath went nuts?” asked Jason.

She took a deep breath. “Not exactly. In 1953, Sylvia Plath stayed at the Barbizon for a month while working as a guest editor for Mademoiselle magazine. After she went home, she tried to commit suicide, and then wrote about her experience in The Bell Jar, referring to the Barbizon as the Amazon Hotel.”

“That needs to be in there.” Tyler’s voice pitched up, a sign of excitement. “You can shoot B-roll of book covers, old photos, that kind of thing.”

Jason jiggled his leg. “Fading out on a shot of her gravestone?”

“I don’t think we need to focus so much on Sylvia Plath,” interrupted Rose. “It’s been said and done. Old news. We want to focus on the women who are living there now, who have seen it change from an exclusive women’s hotel to a condo. How their perspective mirrors the changes in New York City, how it relates to women today.”

“I like that.” Jason looked up, surprised.

“Besides, there are many other famous, accomplished women who lived there as well. Liza Minnelli, Candice Bergen, Joan Crawford.”

“Lots of good stuff here,” said Tyler. “But what about the lady with the scar?”

“Huh?” Jason turned to her for clarification.

Rose spoke up. “One of the women who arrived at the hotel in the early fifties now lives on the fourth floor, in one of the rent-controlled apartments that house a dozen or so women like her. She was involved in some kind of skirmish way back when, and was cut on the face, while one of the maids fell to her death from a terrace.”

“Now, that’s interesting. Will she talk to you about it?”

“She’s away at the moment, but I think I have an in.”

Tyler piped up. “Rose lives in the Barbizon.”

“Is there any kind of conflict of interest?” Jason asked.

“Not that I can see.” She didn’t mention that she was sleeping on Darby McLaughlin’s couch, without the woman’s knowledge. She’d find a rental soon enough and, hopefully, Darby would be so grateful that Rose stepped in to take care of Bird that she’d agree to be interviewed. At least that was the way it played in her head.

“I think you’ll make a good team.” Tyler stood, dismissing them. “Jason has been out in the field for a long time, working in war zones, so I’m guessing this chick-lit story will be a breeze for him, right, man?”

Tyler’s attempt at male bonding was met with another raised eyebrow from Jason. “Yeah, right.”

“Great. Let’s try to wrap this up by the first week in July.”