The Reporter's Affairs

By R.N. Crane

Frank Gordon became obsessed with lie detection while in High School after being deceived by his first teenage love. He entered college with a plan to develop a portable lie detector as a research project for his Ph.D. If he completed his research, he would be sought after by many companies looking to license his work. But instead, he flunked his final exam, ran out of money, and had to leave school.
Down on engineering and technology, he searched for a different kind of job. One morning during breakfast at an old drugstore, he was discovered by a glamorous television news anchor. She saw potential in his good looks and sexy voice and offered to teach him to be a reporter. She believed his presence would significantly raise her dwindling news program’s ratings.
This is the story of Frank’s struggles to become a successful television reporter and his involvement with two women. One affair threatens to undermine his position as a reporter while the other enhances it. Along the way, Frank conducts many humorous interviews and gets himself and his television station into trouble numerous times.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.N. Crane
• Release date: May 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301923205

R.N. Crane

R.N. Crane lives in Orange, California. He is a retired engineering consultant writing romantic suspense and detective crime novels. “Murder in the O.C.” is his newest novel.He is a member of Orange County Writers, Romance Writers of America, and Mystery Writers of America.

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The Reporter’s Affairs

By R.N. Crane

Copyright 2012 by Robert Nelson Crane

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locals is coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any manner without written permission of the publisher.

Published By: RNCbooks

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ISBN 9781301783489

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Chapter 1

I hate going to Henderson’s office. He’ll want to know the status of my research. It’s almost complete, and has been for the past several months. Why isn’t he okay with that? It needs just one more tweak of the algorithms to be perfect.

As I turn toward the stairs, Diane calls out, Hey Frankie, I’ve missed your calls this week. Let’s get together this weekend.

Sorry Diane, I respond, I’ve got to work.

Why doesn’t she leave me alone? I spend one weekend with her and she thinks we’re dating. Diane’s face and body are almost perfect. She looks a little like Angelina Jolie, but without a lot upstairs, and I mean her brain. What can I do, women love me, I’m cursed?

I reach the fourth floor of the Engineering Building and move down the hall toward Henderson’s office. He has been at UCLA for at least 50 years if you include being a student and a teacher. He’s my advisor overseeing my Ph.D. research. I could have gotten my degree last year if he hadn’t been so picky. I’m a student. Why does everything have to work perfectly?

I give a short, hard knock on the door and Henderson responds with a gruff enter. He’s sitting at his desk glancing at a book and writing on a paper pad. A laptop is at the left end of his desk, closed. Henderson is wearing a washed out gray turtle neck shirt that matches whatever thinning hair he has left. He appears way too slender for that low raspy voice.

Have a seat, Mr. Gordon. Update me on your research.

It’s almost done, Dr. Henderson. I just need a few more weeks.

You don’t have much time left. Your fellowship will run out at the end of this quarter, and that’s less than two months away. How close are you to completion?

As I’ve said before, the portable lie detector’s really working, it just gives too many false readings. I expect to improve that by the end of this month.

Mr. Gordon, how many times have I heard that? You need to finish. I’m scheduling a meeting with your Ph.D. committee for next month. You‘ll have to defend what you have done to date. If it‘s not good enough, you won’t graduate this quarter.

Next month, no problem. I’m sure I’ll have it all together by then. I can’t wait to get out and land a real job. Naturally, I’ll be sought after by many companies and be offered a significant bonus and salary.

I’ve read your research draft, Henderson continues, and I must admit, it contains strokes of genius. But these are hidden inside a document with almost no organization. There’s a second year general writing course in the English department that may be of some help. It’s half over, but I know the instructor, Miss Sodheim. If you’re interested, I can probably get you in as an auditor. It meets Monday through Friday at 1 p.m. in the Humanities building.

I’m definitely interested. Thanks Dr. Henderson.

As I leave Henderson’s office, I wonder about the possibility of Henderson and Miss Sodheim. I can’t wait to meet her.

Marie is waiting for me down the hall from Henderson‘s office. She is a freshman undergraduate in Electrical Engineering. Not as stunning as Diane, but intelligent and fun to be with. We went out the past few nights, which probably explains why I haven’t called Diane.

Hi Frank, what time are we meeting tonight?

Uh….Marie, we can’t meet tonight. Henderson’s after my butt. I need to get my stuff working.

Marie’s smile turns down and she slowly walks away. I watch her for a few seconds, imagining what tonight might have been like, and then go down to my research lab on the third floor. It isn’t actually my lab as I share it with five other grad students. The lab is a large room containing the equivalent of six cubicles distributed randomly about the room, but with no walls. My area, in the corner next to a large window, consists of a desk and table with a chair in-between. The WWII green furniture imparts a musty odor to a room that appears old except for the latest electronics gear piled on the six grad student’s desks and tables.

I sit in my chair, spin around to the table, and boot up my laptop computer. The code stored in a box twice the size of a smart phone flashes onto the screen. I hook up the small video sensor, point it toward my face, and start a test run. I make a couple of true statements and wait for the box to buzz. It doesn’t. Then I make a few false statements and some of them cause a buzz. I try this many more times, sometimes getting a buzz and sometimes not. My portable lie detector, or PLD as I call it, is accurate about 75 percent of the time. This will not impress my committee enough to approve my research so I can graduate. I’ll be out of money by the end of this quarter, so I have to finish up or I’ll be finished.

I’ve always been intrigued by electronic gadgets. When I was six, I took apart a remote controlled toy car to see how it worked. I’m not sure if I ever figured that out, but I was almost able to get it back together. And I’m sure it would have run after I completed its reassembly, if only I could have found locations for those extra parts.

As I grew older, my interest turned toward computers and how they could solve problems in artificial intelligence. I became fascinated with people who have difficulty telling the truth. Such was the case of my first teenage love in High School. We were supposed to be going steady, but I soon found out that instead of going places with her girl friends, she was seeing other guys. For months, she would make up these great stories and I would believe her. She sounded so sincere. In order not to be fooled again, I started studying elementary Psychology books. I wanted to determine various observables that indicated someone was not being truthful. So it was a natural progression to choose a portable lie detector as my research project at UCLA.

I start analyzing the code. There must be mistakes somewhere. I continue staring at code and finding nothing until, around 7 pm, I realize I’m famished. I head to the Terrace Food Court on the third level in Ackerman Union. I enter a large room that was probably once an auditorium or ballroom. Tables and chairs are scattered around the center and outside on a terrace. Chinese, Mexican, and Italian fast food restaurants dot the periphery and a salad bar stands behind low barriers near the room’s midpoint. I glance around, trying to decide which to choose. I know I’ve eaten crap for the past few days, so I pick salad and, after paying, sit outside at an empty table. If I just keep looking at code and running tests, the solution will come to me. It always does. But do I really want to do this for the rest of the night? I pick up my phone and call Marie.

I thought you had to work tonight, she says.

I’m finished. You want some company?

Always if it’s you.

I shut off the phone, finish my salad, grab my jacket, and exit the outside patio. I quickly walk down a flight of steps and head out to the main road. It’s about three blocks to her apartment.

When I arrive, she’s left the door ajar. I know what this means. She’s lying on the couch in a see through robe breathing heavily. My heart starts to race. Everyone I date finds me irresistible. I’ve only been out with Marie two times and no sex yet, so tonight must be the night. I push the door open enough so I can see inside. Marie is on the couch alright, but fully clothed in a long sleeve shirt and jeans. And to my great dismay, in front of her on the coffee table is a fully populated chess board.

I’m ready when you are, Marie calls out when she sees me peak around the door.

The apartment is kind of small for two people. Marie and her roommate Freda each have their own bedrooms which extend from the back of the large living room. A single bathroom and tiny kitchen also open directly off the main room. I throw my jacket on a chair and plop down next to Marie.

So, is this how we’re going to spend the evening? I ask.

At least part of it, if it’s okay with you?

It’s fine with me, I say looking down at the chess board and feeling somewhat dejected.

We play one game for about an hour and I win, although she puts up a good fight. Afterwards, we share a beer and talk about the creation of electric or magnetic fields when the other is changing with time. Marie is learning about Faraday’s and Maxwell’s laws in one of her electronics courses.

We continue talking and when I glance at my watch it’s almost midnight. Where did the evening go?

It’s been fun Marie, but I have to leave. I’ve got to get an early start. I have to find out where I’ve made a mistake in the algorithms. At least, I think it‘s only one mistake.

As I get up to leave, Marie grabs hold of my wrist.

Stay, she says, you can get an early start from here.

Marie looks up at me with pleading eyes. How can I refuse?

We don’t sleep much during the night. Each one, it seems, takes turns waking the other one up. The alarm clangs at 7 a.m. Marie has an 8 o’clock class. While she showers and dresses, I make toast with jelly and pour orange juice and coffee for Marie. By the time I get back to my apartment, shave, shower, and dress, it’s after nine. So much for starting early.

I finally get to my lab and work until noon. Time for lunch, and then I get to meet Miss Sodheim in the writing class. I grab a salad at the Ackerman food court, eat, and head to the Humanities building. It is one of the four original buildings on the Westwood campus. The building’s exterior and entrance have the appearance of an old English castle. I climb a few stairs, enter the building, turn right and open the third door on my left. Miss Sodheim is sitting on a desk in front of the class taking roll. She’s wearing a bright blue blouse and a dark blue knee length skirt. She looks to be in her forties, has sandy blond hair, is reasonably thin and nice looking. I can see what Henderson sees in her, but not what she sees in him. Assuming what I think is true, which it usually is.

And you are? she says looking up at me. I guess I’m late.

I’m Frank Gordon. Dr. Henderson was going to ask you if I could audit the rest of this course.

He did, but if you are going to be in here, you’ll have to do the same work as the other students. These past few weeks, each person has been reading one of their short stories aloud for the class to critique. Please bring something to read tomorrow so I can get an idea of your writing level.

Okay, I say, while looking around for an empty seat. I spy several, but one in particular is next to quite a nice looking girl. As I take that seat, I throw a quick glance in her direction. She has black shoulder length hair, dark skin, and a slim figure. And she appears to be smiling at me.

Miss Sodhiem calls on Jon in the second row to read his story. He takes about 30 minutes and afterwards the class discusses his story’s good and bad points. No one is too hard on him and he sits down sporting a contented grin. This is not going to be a difficult task. I know what I’m going to read tomorrow.

The bell rings and the class moves toward the front door. I struggle to catch up to the dark haired girl, but when I get into the hall, she’s gone. Oh well, I’m sure I’ll have many more opportunities to connect with her.

I spend the afternoon and early evening in my lab, basically getting nowhere. My PLD is still only achieving about 75% accuracy. After I eat, I go back to my apartment. It’s only about two blocks from Marie’s, but she has a computer club meeting tonight so I’m on my own. The apartment that I share with Jason Styles is one long collection of rooms starting with the living room and ending with my bedroom. Jason is sitting in the