Confessions of a Television Reporter

PART ONE NO MATTER HOW FAR YOU RUN… Can You Ever Really Escape Yourself? 1 A BEAUTIFUL BLUE-EYED ITALIAN AND ME NAKED ON A ROOFTOP HOTEL IN ROMA “He’s a pretty boy blue eyed Italian. He doesn’t speak much English, but who cares. Conversation is not his strong point, but that’s not why he is around,” I told my old friend John Katz from the United States. “Good! No one knows you in Italy. Just get laid before you forget how to do it.” I set up the scene on the rooftop hotel, across from the entrance to the Vatican Museums and Sistine Chapel in Rome: a bottle of vino, glasses, condoms, and my low cut black dress, with plenty of cleavage, heels and tiny panties. He was a little taken aback at my forwardness. Poor kid. Well, he was 25... a good 13 years younger than me. So after some wine and kissing, I proceed with my pounce. He didn’t know what to do, sweet thing that he was. Didn’t matter. I did the rest. Up against the railing, overlooking the entrance to the Vatican Museums. He pounded me as I encouraged him, speaking English and my attempt at Italian. I loved every minute of it. Brought him back to my room, which I was staying in temporarily while I waited for a job offer on the Island of Sardinia. My beautiful calico cat Torre was with me and she didn’t like strangers. He got all emotional. “Quieto, Bello” was all I could say. Quiet beautiful. I thought he should stop talking and put his lovely mouth to work. That’s what he did, even though he didn’t understand was that this was supposed to be a no-muss and no-fuss fuck. When the sun rose, I told him goodbye. Later that day, I sent an email to my friends in the United States before I hit the beach. They were anxious to hear about my new life in Italy. ----- Original Message ----- From: Denise To: John Katz, Steve Kelly Cc: US Friends Subject: It’s Raining Men! Good thing I wasn't screaming his name when I was screaming, because I got it wrong. Oh well. Thanks.... Next please! He is probably 6'3 and huge and I'm feeling it today.” Yeah baby! Denise 2 TWO SUITCASES AND A CAT Wednesday, July 18 “Be careful what you wish for, ’cause you just might get it all…” I kept hearing the song “Home” by Daugherty in my head. “Your Italian is little but very good,” I was told at dinner. Had dinner at a tratoria with a glass of vino, which only cost 1Euro. About $1. Holy shit, I’m in Roma. Torre Cat and I survived and I’m here creating a new life. Wow! I did it! Funny thing, once I picked July17 as the date I would move, the Universe moved for me! I did it alone. Well not really alone, I brought my cat Torre with me. Torre and I survived the trip, but barely. I was ok, but she flipped out on the 7-hour flight. I thought I was going to have to overdose her on sedatives just to keep her settled down. Kept praying to St. Francis, the patron saint of animals to calm my baby’s fears, but he did nothing. “Senora, you can’t walk in the aisle with a cat,” the airline steward said to me. “Look, she’s terrified and it’s a long flight. If someone had a baby crying, you would let them walk the aisle.” That shut her up. ” You’ve got to make it work,” my big brother Bruce said before I left. “Oh it’ll work out,” I said. What I had was a dream of living in Italy. A new, calm, different life, away from TV news reporting in New York City and the suburbs of New Jersey. What I didn’t have was a job, knowledge of Italian, a place to live, friends, family that I knew of, and much savings. I decided I should take a leap of faith, and trust that things would work themselves out. It was like the musical “Rent” on Broadway, which I kept having callbacks for, but never landed the role of Maureen, said, “Leap and the net will appear.” Still, walking along the streets of Roma by our hotel, with no working air conditioning or refrigerator, I couldn’t help but wonder what REALLY brought me here. Could I really create a whole new life? Could I escape my past? Could I forget all the pain or was I destined to repeat my mistakes No matter how far you run, Denise, can you really escape yourself? 3 ALLORA My new favorite Italian word is allora (“and so”) - said with a heavy sigh. As I sat in my hotel room in Roma, I started to think, So what? Now what? “Maybe I should write a book about my life in TV news?” I asked my friend Katz one day during one of our long Skype conversations. “Good idea. Just don’t hurt anyone.” “Not intentionally. But it’s my story. I own everything that happened to me. If they wanted me to speak warmly about them, they should have behaved better!” I don’t regret this life I chose…but now I wonder, how am I going to create the life I want here? And how will I find out what my new life is supposed to be? Why am I already haunted by my life as a TV Reporter in the U.S.? I can’t seem to get it out of my head. Did I leave it too soon? Change doesn’t guarantee success Denise. But neither does staying the same. In life, sometimes you just move on. You've just got to believe in destiny. 79 ESCORTED OUT!! (HOW I GOT THROWN OUT OF THE NYY LOCKER ROOM) Spring Training. It was always my goal to cover the New York Yankees in Spring Training. I thought of it as the highlight of my career and something I wanted badly. But getting a station to send you down to Florida or Arizona, where it all happened was pretty rare. If you’re the Sports Director, you stay behind and anchor. If you’re the Weekend Sports Anchor, there’s a possibility. I was neither; I was just a reporter. I figured, if I wanted it badly enough, I would get there myself. I arranged to go see my good friend Katz in Ft. Myers, Florida. He got us two press passes from a station there where he worked. Since he was the Weekend Sports Anchor and a Reporter, he often had to shoot his own video. Very common practice and perfect for me. I called the News Director ahead of time and convinced him to hire me as a Freelance Reporter for the Day. Katz would shoot the story and I would get my dream job and cover NYY Spring Training. We drove to Tampa, where the Yankees were facing the Philadelphia Phillies. Kevin Brown was pitching for the Yankees and Kevin Millwood was on the mound for Philly. Katz and I sat in the Press Box. I was in Heaven! I filled out the rosters and scorecards, read every game note they handed out, and kept it all as souvenirs. This could not get any better! When we get into the locker room, it’s smaller than I expected, but nice. We stand with the New York Reporters, most of whom I recognize by face or name. I wonder if the Yankees talk to their “local” media first, but ignore the thought. I turn to my right, and fresh out of the shower, in all his naked glory, is Gary Sheffield, the Right Fielder. He’s a tall, light skinned black guy. He heads to the mirror and starts checking himself out. He is muscular, buff, lean and completely beautiful. And he’s big. I’m in shock because I never thought of him in that way, but I can’t take my eyes off of him. Katz whispers to me “Stop staring.” “I can’t remember what I was going to ask him. Do you know what I was going to ask him? Jesus, this guy has no body fat!” Sheffield parades past me, turns around and puts a towel around his waist. Damn it! He was admiring himself. Didn’t he want to be admired by a beautiful blonde too? He heads to his locker. I turn to my left and Katz is gone. I get a tap on my shoulder. It’s New York Yankees Security.