True believer - Nicholas Sparks [6]
“But you’ll be in contact, right? Not like when you went undercover with the Righteous and Holy?” He was referring to a six-thousand-word piece Jeremy had done for Vanity Fair about a religious cult; in that instance, Jeremy had essentially severed all communication for a period of three months.
“I’ll be in contact,” Jeremy said. “This story isn’t like that. I should be out of there in less than a week. ‘Mysterious lights in the cemetery.’ No big deal.”
“Hey, you need a cameraman by any chance?” Alvin piped in.
Jeremy looked over at him. “Why? Do you want to go?”
“Hell yeah. Head south for the winter, maybe meet me a nice southern belle while you pick up the tab. I hear the women down there will drive you crazy, but in a good way. It’ll be like an exotic vacation.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be shooting something for Law & Order next week?”
As strange as Alvin looked, his reputation was impeccable, and his services were usually in high demand.
“Yeah, but I’ll be clear toward the end of the week,” Alvin said. “And look, if you’re serious about this television thing like Nate says you should be, it might be important to get some decent footage of these mysterious lights.”
“That’s assuming there are even any lights to film.”
“You do the advance work and let me know. I’ll keep my calendar open.”
“Even if there are lights, it’s a small story,” Jeremy warned. “No one in television will be interested in it.”
“Not last month, maybe,” Alvin said. “But after seeing you tonight, they’ll be interested. You know how it is in television—all those producers chasing their own tails, trying to find the next big thing. If GMA is suddenly hot to trot, then you know the Today show will be calling soon and Dateline will be knocking at the door. No producer wants to be left out. That’s how they get fired. The last thing they want to do is to have to explain to the executives why they missed the boat. Believe me—I work in television. I know these people.”
“He’s right,” Nate said, interrupting them. “You never know what’ll happen next, and it might be a good idea to plan ahead. You had definite presence tonight. Don’t kid yourself. And if you can get some actual footage of the lights, it might be just the thing that GMA or Primetime needs to make their decision.”
Jeremy squinted at his agent. “You serious about this? It’s a nothing story. The reason I decided to do it at all was because I needed a break after Clausen. That story took four months of my life.”
“And look what it got you,” Nate said, putting a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “This may be a fluff piece, but with sensational footage and a good backstory, who knows what television will think?”
Jeremy was silent for a moment before finally shrugging. “Fine,” he said. He glanced at Alvin. “I’m leaving on Tuesday. See if you can get there by next Friday. I’ll call you before then with the details.”
Alvin reached for his beer and took a drink. “Well, golly,” he said, mimicking Gomer Pyle, “I’m off to the land of grits and chitlins. And I promise my bill won’t be too high.”
Jeremy laughed. “You ever been down south?”
“Nope. You?”
“I’ve visited New Orleans and Atlanta,” Jeremy admitted. “But those are cities, and cities are pretty much the same everywhere. For this story, we’re heading to the real South. It’s a little town in North Carolina, a place called Boone Creek. You should see the town’s Web site. It talks about the azaleas and dogwoods that bloom in April, and proudly displays a picture of the town’s most prominent citizen. A guy named Norwood Jefferson.”
“Who?” Alvin asked.
“A politician. He served in the North Carolina State Senate from 1907 to 1916.”
“Who cares?”
“Exactly,” Jeremy said with a nod. Glancing across the bar, he noticed with disappointment that the redhead was gone.
“Where is this place exactly?”
“Right between the middle of nowhere and ‘where are we exactly?’ I’m staying at a place called Greenleaf Cottages,