It had been decided, after much discussion, that the RV was a gas-guzzler, and there was no reason for Hank to shell out any more cash than he had to when he had a perfectly good chauffer available. However, there was no backseat in Tina's tiny yellow sports car (or as she called it, The Lemon, 'and that isn't because of its color'), which meant that since there was barely room for Hank's legs, there would be no room for Chase. Hank had a solution to the problem--he simply held Chase on his lap as they drove. ("After all, if I can't go a few miles with a child on my lap, I'm too spoiled to live.")

Right now Chase was staring at Hank in open admiration. Hank swallowed his last mouthful of jelly donut and said, "What is it, Chase? Do I have raspberry on my chin?"

Chase shook his head, his voice filled with awe. "I just never seen anyone eat so many donuts at once."

Tina looked over at him and admonished, "That's rude, honey."

"No ma'am," Hank's tone was mild as he contradicted her. "That's just honest. I can indeed pack away a peck of pastries. I'm the envy of my niece, my own mama has commented on it often, and my sister Heloise flat rides my case about it." He chuckled. "She's just jealous because I have a high metabolism, and they don't go to my hips."

"Well, I'm glad I got the full dozen," she said wryly. "I was figuring on leaving the leftovers in the break room in case anyone wanted a snack."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hank said contritely. "I could have slowed up on them if I'd known..."

"Don't worry about it," said Tina firmly. "If I did it too often, they'd come to expect it, and those vultures don't pay me enough to provide refreshments. Here we are."

They were pulling into a parking lot that surrounded a big, boxy building. Tina parked in a slot near the end of the building. As they were pulling in, Chase pointed to the concrete parking guard that was stenciled with BERGERON. "See? My mama has her very own parking space. She's 'portant!"

Tina smiled ruefully as she shut off the engine. "Yeah, I got that, a title, and an office the size of a closet instead of a Christmas bonus. And you'll notice that it's as far from the front entrance as you can get and still be on the front row. Chase, bring that box with you, and we'll throw it away inside."

As they walked toward the front, Hank said, "This looks a lot like a warehouse."

"That's what it was. Tobias Clutterbuck bought it at a foreclosure auction in the early nineties. He continued to use it as a storage facility for his furniture company till about 1999, then he decided to turn it into a television studio, and get into the broadcasting business. It took him awhile to make the renovations, set up the system, and contract the talent. BLAB! Has been up and running for less than a year."

"BLAB!?"

She laughed. "His choice of name, naturally. Not at all inspired by the E! Channel, I'm sure. BLAB! Is an all talk show channel, Hank. We run syndicated episodes of some of the national talk shows, plus some original ones, and a whole lot of infomercials."

They entered the building, and Hank paused, looking around. It was worth a look. The front lobby ran the width of the building, and rose two stories to a roof that was mostly skylights. There was a well stocked news stand on the right side of the lobby, and a small coffee bar off to the left, complete with pastry case, a half-dozen tables, and a couple of booths, all of which were occupied. There was also a respectable line waiting at the counter. Hank noted the long list of exotic coffee-themed beverages on the menu, and got the feeling that it probably did a brisk trade with employees from the surrounding businesses.

The wide expanse of floor between the two areas was pale, marble patterned tile. The most impressive aspect of the lobby, though, was the greenery. There were four rectangular planters forming an open cornered square in the center of the space, filled with lush, pale mauve flowers, and some other vegetation tha looked vaguely like small, pale green umbrella handles. Right in the middle of the square, directly underneath the largest skylight, was a Ficus--and not just a potted tree. No, this one was in a graveled patch about six feet square, and it stood taller than Hank.

They walked through the square, past the tree and flowers, on their way to the information desk that was situated in the middle of the back wall. The desk was flanked by wide hallways leading back into the building, and Hank could just see the elevators that were located in each corridor.

Hank paused at one of the planters, examining the plants. "I swear--I do believe those are orchids."

"They are," said Tina.

"I thought you had to have a greenhouse to grow those--like Nero Wolfe." Hank loved Nero Wolfe--and Sam Spade, Philip Marlowe, Ellery Queen, and a slew of other detectives--classic and modern.

"For some of them you do, but others are fairly easy to grow, even for amateurs. These," she flicked a finger at the plants, "are somewhere in-between. I've been working here a year, and they've only had to replace them once so far. It was hideously expensive, though." She pointed at the crook shaped green plants. "These other ones do better, though. You'll never believe what they are. They're carnivorous."

"That means they eats bugs," offered Chase.

Hank nodded, bending down to take a closer look. "Cobra lilies. I must admit that's an unusual choice for indoor greenery. I would've thought some nice philodendrons would've been more appropriate."

"Blame it on Marva again. One of her shining triumphs was in a grade Z horror movie that involved man eating plants."

Hank suddenly stood up straighter. "That wouldn't be Horticulture From Hell, would it?"

Tina blinked. "Good God, don't tell me you've seen that piece of tripe?"

"My niece Eloise gave it to me for my birthday. She'd saved up part of her allowance, and her mama turned her loose at the '99 cents' bin at Sam's Warehouse. I got that, a Barney tape, and Dangerous Liaisons. You know, that Glenn Close can play one devious woman. So your boss' trophy wife is the former Marva Barbee?"

"She's the present Marva Barbee-Clutterbuck. Marva wasn't about to give up her 'professional' name, so she did a Farrah Fawcett-Majors."

"Looks a little bit like Farrah, too, if I remember correctly," mused Hank. "Had the same sort of big hair." He remembered one scene where Marva had her tank top ripped off by an apparently amorously inclined vine, "But she also had bigger..." He trailed off when he noticed Chase watching him with rapt attention. He cleared his throat as Tina chuckled. "Bigger eyes."

Chase nodded wisely. "I seen Miz Barbee-Buck. She gots eyes like one of them girls on the anime cartoons."

Hank looked blank. Tina smiled at him. "Keane kids?" Understanding dawned. "Anyway, it might have been vanity on her part, but it's actually kind of practical. Even with the inside plants, the coffee shop never has to worry about flies or gnats."

Hank was shaking his head as they started toward the desk again. "Just strikes me as a little morbid. Of course that could have to do with one of the cases I worked."

"Really? What was it?"

Hank glanced pointedly at Chase. "I'll tell you about it later."

Tina nodded gratefully. "I do what I can to filter out the nastier parts of life, but living this close to Hollywood makes it hard."

There was a handsome young black man dressed in a neat, dark suit at the front desk. He smiled as he saw them approaching. "Good morning, Miz Bergeron." He stood up and leaned over the desk, smiling down at Chase. "Hey, little bro, how does it go?"

Chase grinned at him. "Fine as wine on a sweet p'tatah vine. If it was any better I'd..." he faltered, then brightened and finished, "have to write a letter!"

The dark man laughed, leaned over, and slapped palms with the little

boy. "You're the man!" "No, you're the man!"

"And I'm vain enough not to argue with you on that."

Tina said, "Beau has Chase convinced that he's destined to be the next great white rapper."

"Hey," said Beau cheerfully. "As far as I can see, he's got more talent that Eminem, and he's better lookin' than all the Beasty Boys put together." He pointed at the donut box Chase was carrying. "Is that for me?" Chase handed it over, grinning slyly. Beau made a show of shaking it, then opened it and gasped, "What? You didn't even leave me one?"

Chase pointed at Hank. "He ate 'em all."

Beau dumped the empty box in a wastebasket. "Yeah, he looks like he could put some away." He handed a clipboard to Tina while he looked Hank over. "You doing a rodeo segment on one of your shows, Miz Bergeron?"

Tina was signing the board, putting down Chase's name as well. "Beau, this is Herbert Crank, friend of a friend. Hank, Beau Trinity--also known as T-Beau, or Triple B."

"Hank's from Texas," offered Chase.

Beau took in the boots, Stetson, and Aggie belt buckle, then said wryly, "No--really? I was thinking Wisconsin."

"Show him your badge, Hank!" demanded Chase.

"Chase," Tina admonished, "quit pestering Hank about that badge."

Hank had finished signing the sheet also, and now his pen hovered over the clipboard. "Tina, I'm not sure what I should put down for 'Destination'."

"Just put down that you're my guest--that'll cover you." She had fished in her purse, and was clipping an employee's ID badge to her collar.

Beau had gotten a blank nametag out of one of the desk drawers. Now he examined Hank's signature, then rapidly punched the name out on a plastic label and attached it to the tag. That done, he picked up an Instamatic camera. "Now, sir, if you'll just hold still for a moment."

Hank shrugged and stood still while his picture was snapped. As the photograph slid out of the camera he said, "You gonna need a profile to go with that, Mister Trinity?"

The answering smile was a little tight. "No, this is fine, but I suppose you have to remember to do that in your line of work."

Hank nodded agreeably. "Former line of work, though for the last eight or nine years I didn't do all that much of the actual processing." Chase was poking him impatiently, so he pulled out a small, flat leather case and flipped it open. "You ought to have that thing memorized by now."

"Show Beau." Chase giggled. "I rhymed."

"You're a natural," agreed Beau, as Hank lifted the case in his direction. Beau studied the handsome silver badge that was pinned inside, and his eyebrows rose. "Texas Rangers?"

Hank nodded as he closed the case. "Eleven years on the force. I'm real glad I was allowed to keep the badge. It was one of the proudest moments of my life when I earned the right to wear it."

Beau's expression relaxed slightly. "I've heard that the Rangers are some pretty bad boys to have on your tail."

Hank smiled. "We don't give up."

Tina suddenly felt a tiny bit like shivering. So far she'd seen nothing but affability from this rangy Texan, but that smile was a little... She wouldn't want someone wearing a smile like that coming after her.

Beau handed over the tag. "Here you go, sir. Please sign out if you leave the building, and leave the tag at the desk. If you're going to be back soon, we'll keep it for you."

"Much obliged." Hank clipped his tag on his shirt pocket.

"Beau, do me a favor? Tell the rest of the boys that we're going to have one of the Let's Talk About Pets! Guests coming through the back entrance."

"Will do. What is it this time--another Great Dane?"

She rolled her eyes. "Even better. Would you believe a miniature horse?"

Beau winced. "Ouch! Man, I can hear housekeeping screamin' now. They're already in a funky mood because the tree has decided to start shedding again."

"Don't blame me. I was lobbying for them to bring back the cockatoos. Sure, the poop is a little messier, but it isn't in such volume, and not nearly as smelly."

As they started back down the left hand hallway, Hank said, "Tina, I'm getting the feeling that your job may be a lot more interesting than I'd even imagined."

They dropped Chase off at an airy, brightly decorated room that contained two dozen preschoolers and two slightly frazzled, but cheerful young women. Chase gave his mother a smacking kiss, then hurried over to claim a vacant easel before a plump girl with pigtails could get to it. As they walked back to the elevators, Tina said, "Chase loves it here. I don't know what I'd do if I had to find new daycare. It's so expensive these days. Well, it is if you give a damn about who you have watching your kid, and those two are good. They pay attention, and they care about the kids."

"That's important," agreed Hank. "It isn't much good for the child if they're physically safe, but just sort of stored till their parents can come pick them up."

As they rode up, Hank remarked, "Seems a little foolish to have elevators in a two story building."

Tina shrugged. "Maybe it has something to do with making it accessible to the handicapped. There was a lot of legislation being passed when the building was being renovated. Anyway, I know that Pogey Penneman is real pleased with them. He's an activist for the disabled, and he hosts Yes We Can! It focuses on issues of interest to anyone who's handicapped or has any form of diminished capacity."

"Sounds like a very worthwhile show."

"It is." Tina made a face. "Or it would be. Pogey seems to be more interested in using it as a soapbox instead of presenting helpful information or promoting better facilities and programs for the handicapped. He's got this 'life dealt me a bitter blow, but don't you DARE try to suggest I'm not just as damn able as you--if not more so' attitude. He can be a little abrasive. Maybe it's just that he's trying to prove himself. He's only had the show for about three months now, but it's getting pretty good numbers."

The upstairs of the building wasn't nearly as stylish as the ground floor. The walls were plain beige, and the carpet was dull green, sturdy and serviceable. They first stopped by Tina's office (which really was just about as big as a closet. There was barely room enough for Tina to squeeze around behind her desk, and she wasn't an Amazon by any stretch of the imagination.)

Tina checker her emails, then gathered a stack of folders. "First show of the day is Good Morning, Glendale!" she told Hank. "Very original, huh?"

As they walked, Hank said, "Tina, does every show y'all put out have an exclamation point in the title?"

She laughed. "No. We have What's Cookin'? That has a question mark. Oh, and Who's Your Daddy? That has a question mark, too."

"Who's Your Daddy? What sort of a talk show is that?"

"Have you seen those episodes on Montel Williams or Ricki Lake or whatever where they give the results of paternity tests on the air."

Hank scowled. "I have, and I think those people ought to be whipped, hanging some poor innocent child's pain out like that on national television."

"Then I'm glad I don't work with that show. I'm hoping it dies a quick and quiet death."

"It will if there's any decency left in the world."

The room they entered was very large. It had more square feet than most of the homes Hank had lived in. Tina explained that there were four of these studios on this floor--two of them had seats for a small audience, and were used by the more successful shows. There was what looked like a typical talk show set in one area--a desk with a few chairs to one side. On the other side was a potted Ficus, much smaller than the one in the lobby.

He was surprised to see that a good portion of the room was taken up by an assortment of furniture, including a variety of potted plants and various ornaments. Tina noticed his gaze and explained, "Set dressing. We change the furniture, put in new plants or art objects, and pull down the appropriate backdrop. Hey, presto! Completely different location--at least as far as the viewers are concerned. So far no one has noticed that we have exactly the same carpeting on all our shows."

"That's pretty clever."

"Well, it's cheaper to hire grunts to change the scenery than it is to rent more space. Over there are the dressing rooms, and the make-up area. The hosts are getting ready right now. C'mon, and I'll introduce you."

She led Hank over to a space that reminded him a little of the beauty salon his mother liked to frequent. There were two of those adjustable swivel chairs, both set before mirrored counters, which were strewn with an astonishing array of hair care instruments and products. The chairs were occupied by a man and woman, who were being attended by another mixed pair. The man who was sitting was reading a newspaper as another man carefully snipped away stray hairs, evening up his neckline. The barber muttered, "Devin, I'm telling you, you shouldn't try to read while I'm doing it. It bunches the poncho, and you're going to have hairs down your neck."

"I just want to finish this article. It says here that Aston Butler has signed to do a sequel to Kick It. I'm pretty sure I can get a good five minutes out of that."

The woman dressed in the loose, mint colored smock was carefully using a pick to arrange the hair of the woman in her chair. "You sure you ought to do that, Devin? Especially after that stand-up comic on Comedy Central picked up on you're calling it 'Kick Butt', and made that comment about a more appropriate name?"

Devin frowned. "I can't help it if some joker ran with it. Besides, I think suggesting a sequel be named Kiss Ass was pretty funny, and appropriate. Being nice to the press is one thing, but that man has his lips attached to every posterior he can find that's ever landed in a chair behind a typewriter or in front of a television camera. He sucked up so much when I did that interview that I thought I was going to come away with a certain portion of my anatomy wet."

"Play nice, children," said Tina. "We have company, and I want him to think I raised you right." She introduced Hank. The make-up techs were Wanda and Carl Toombs--a husband and wife team. The others were Devin Tarnower and Cerise Stone.

Cerise was a slender young woman with dark, lively eyes and a head of fluffy black curls that seemed to have a mind of its own. "Hank Crank? Tell me, have you been teased much about your name?"

"Not since I got my full growth, ma'am."

"Well, I have."

"Yes, I can see where some folks might get a bit silly about it."

Tina looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Cerise laughed. "She's never caught on to it. I'll let you explain it."

"Tina, I'm surprised at you. Isn't French the official language for Canada?"

"Yes," she admitted, "but we didn't speak it at home. I only learned enough to get me by in school."

"I live right next door to Cajunland, so I've picked up a bit," Hank explained. "Cerise is French for Cherry."

Tina blinked, then her eyes widened. "Cherry Stone."

"You have no idea the hell I went through in high school once they started taking French," said Cerise. "The virginity and clams jokes got old real fast."

Tina took a moment to go over a rough list of what they planned to talk about on their show, then went over to greet their guests--a member of the Glendale water commission and a student at a local special effects/makeup effects academy.

Devin had gone back to reading his paper, and Wanda was finishing up Cerise's hair with a heavy spray of fixant, muttering invectives under her breath about ozone safe hair care products that didn't hold worth a fart. Cerise stood up and examined herself closely in the mirror. She caught Hank's eyes and smiled at him mischievously. "Do you think my hair is too poofy?"

Hank returned the smile, and his voice was almost reverent. "Ma'am, I'm from Texas--hair cannot be too poofy."