Free Hostage by R.D. Zimmerman

fan-beset rock stars, it had a high ceiling with an elaborate wrought-iron chandelier, terra cotta-colored walls, and a beige carpet. There were three or four tables pushed to one side, a dozen chairs, no windows, and heavy, draping tan curtains lining one wall. Checking it all over, Todd thought that the curtains might prove a good backdrop.
    “What do you think, we set up a couple of chairs over here by the curtains?” asked Todd. “There were a couple of plants out by the entrance; maybe we could put those in the background.”
    “Sure.”
    “And the camera right about here,” he continued, stepping more into the middle of the room.
    Usually Todd liked to get to a place only about ten minutes early, for it really didn’t take more than a good seven minutes to set up, but today he’d given them extra time. Not only did he not want to be rushed and he did want to make sure things were set up perfectly, Todd wondered if there wouldn’t be a way to listen in on the luncheon, at least the end of it. Or perhaps Bradley could dash into the hall and tape the guests as they filtered out. Thinking of that, Todd wondered if he should try to corner a couple of them and get a few words. That could serve as the background to the start of the interview. Or was it better to leave all that alone and just set up and stay in here, focused on what was really important?
    Bradley unzipped the large equipment bag and started pulling out endless cords, a tripod, a handful of proBeta tapes, and finally a professional Beta camera, the very latest, loaded with computerized gadgetry. Then he started digging for something, opening and closing various pockets of the bag.
    “Don’t tell me you forgot one of the batteries,” said Todd.
    Everything had a battery, from the camera to the lights to the cords, and more than once Todd had had a story ruined by equipment failure. All you had to do was forget one little battery that went in the mike cords and that was it, interview shot.
    “Found it,” Bradley smiled, lifting out a pack of gum. “Just be cool, Todd. I checked all the batteries, brought backups for them all.”
    Oh, brother, thought Todd. He had to get a grip and be calm; no, he had to be confident and arrogant. Oh, shit. You’re going to mess this one up royally, he told himself, if you don’t relax. But what was it? Why was he so worried? Suddenly he knew. Although he was sure Johnny Clariton wanted to talk about anything but gays and AIDS, Todd was going to do his damnedest to make sure those issues were addressed. Yet, Todd realized, he himself had never talked about these things on air.
    Always another bridge to cross, wasn’t there?
    “Bradley,” said Todd, “I want to make sure this interview doesn’t look impromptu, so let’s make sure Clariton is lit really well.”
    “Backlit?”
    “Yeah. Why don’t you set up the light umbrella? And let’s double-mike this one, okay?”
    “Wireless or Lav?”
    “Lav.”
    Right, he thought. He’d bring Clariton in, seat him, and then clip a Lav mike to each of their lapels. Todd wanted the interview double-miked like that to make sure Todd’s questions were well heard. A lot of times the questions were more important than the answers; too often you could simply ignore a person’s answer, because that could just be bullshit. A politician’s answer in particular. What you wanted to get was the look, the reaction to a question, which more often than not provided a glimpse at what the person really thought.
    Bradley opened up the light kit, and then the two of them made careful business of getting everything set up. When the lights were adjusted, the camera positioned, Todd took a deep breath. Yes, he could do it.
    Several minutes later Todd heard a prolonged roll of applause from behind the curtained wall. Time for the main event.
    “Bradley,” said Todd, clipping on his mike and sitting down, “let’s do a quick test.”
    “What?”
    “I want to see some footage just