Natalie and Walter sat comfortably inside a G-6 private jet, on their way to the London leg of the international publicity tour for their upcoming book, “Jaws of Death: The Inside Story of the News Duo That Took Down the Toilet Gator.”
“Cheers,” Walter said as he clanked his champagne glass up against Natalie’s.
“To you,” Natalie said as she raised her glass. “For all the advice and wisdom you bestowed on me. I’m so sorry I kicked you in the balls, and I’m even more sorry that I got us both fired.”
“No worries,” Walt said as he flicked a piece of lint off of his flashy Italian suit. “The severance package was generous and the payout will get even bigger when Network News One settles my lawsuit.”
“Your lawsuit?” Natalie asked.
“Sure,” Walter said. “You’re suing because you were sexually harassed. I’m suing under the theory that they canned me to cover up what Kurt Manley did to you.”
“Wow,” Natalie said as she sipped champagne. “You have got to be the smartest cameraman I’ve ever met, Walter. Still, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you an interview with a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.”
“That’s ok,” Walter said. “There will be other hot ass blonde chicks and other big titties.”
“Is it me or are you losing weight?” Natalie asked
“It’s not you,” Walter said as he patted his slimmer stomach. “I’m off the snack cakes. Thirty days and I haven’t touched a single one.”
“Bravo,” Natalie said as her cell phone began to ring. “Hold on, I’ve got to take this…hello?”
The voice of a very gruff Australian man came through on the other end. “‘Ello, mate. Roscoe Whipplethorpe here to talk to Natalie Brock if you’d please and thank you very much.”
“This is Natalie. Wait, did you say, ‘Roscoe Whipplethorpe?’”
“Indeed I did, love.”
“The Roscoe Whipplethorpe?” Natalie asked. “As in the owner of Network News One?”
“The one and only,” Roscoe said.
Walter flashed Natalie a big thumbs-up.
“Thank you for calling, Mr. Whipplethorpe,” Natalie said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Well,” Roscoe said. “Here’s the skinny on the big old pile of digeridoo we’re all wrapped up in. This is one sneaky pickle, aint it? A little bit of the koala in the romper room if you know what I mean? A right horrible sticky wicket, this is. Try to climb out of this muck and you’ll get pulled down in it, pull, pull, pull and before you know it, Bob’s your Uncle mate because it’s all over. It’s all over and the wallaby has put you in her pouch and whisked you away into the sunset.”
“Sir,” Natalie said. “I’m sorry but I have to idea what you just said. I don’t speak Australian.”
“Crikey!” Roscoe shouted. “Well, let me break it down in for you in Amercian-speak, yeah? Look, Kurt Manley was a real knob and it was time for him to go. You did the network proud for making that happen as far as I’m concerned. There’s never been any love lost between Kurt and I, especially since Kurt got drunk and motorboated me mum at me own body wedding.”
“That sounds like something Kurt would do,” Natalie said.
“Your lawsuit’s the top of every other news channel’s broadcast,” Roscoe said. “Anyone who is anyone is saying that NN1 is a company full of sexist, chauvinistic iiperverts.”
“Well,” Natalie said. “No offense, but it is the house that hot ass blonde chicks with big kitties built.”
“Right,” Roscoe said. “So listen, I hate lawyers. You hate lawyers. Bunch of lowlife, bottom feeding cuttlefish if you ask me. Let’s take the lawyers out of this and settle this fuss by yourself, what do you say?”
“I’d like that,” Natalie said. “What do you have i mind.”
“It’s simple, really,” Roscoe said. “Kurt Manley is out. Natalie Brock is in.”
Natalie broke out into a cold sweat. “I beg your pardon?”
“I want you to read the news, love,” Roscoe said. “Come on back to the states first chance you get because the time for a shiela in the anchor’s chair. Only codition is you’ve got to settle iWhat do you say?”
“Mr. Whipplethorpe,” Natalie said. “I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”