Saturday, January 16, 2038
Six Days Until Papal Conclave
4:23 P.M.       

Nina stumbled into the hotel lobby, trying desperately to keep her eyes open. Three full working days in Rome and she still hadn't gotten over the jet lag. Of course, it didn't help that the two times Priscilla always wanted her on the air were five A.M. to hit the eleven PM hour back home, and eleven P.M., which was five P.M. doldrums in Washington.

She glanced at her watch. Four in the afternoon and all she wanted to do was sleep, but she was too hungry. She schlepped herself to the hotel restaurant, but just looking at the “Please wait to be seated” sign almost made her nauseous.

“Rookie!” came a loud voice from inside. “Come take a load off!”

Dan Dragovich was seated at a table in the back, napkin shoved in his collar, chowing down on something definitively un-Italian and beckoning with one hand.

Nina practically ran to his table. Normally, it would have taken a second for her to process that this was Dan Dragovich, but at this point she just wanted to get off her feet. Dan flagged down a waiter.

 “Giancarlo, get this woman a fresh pitcher of ice water – she'll need the whole thing.”

He refocused on Nina. “You know something? This hotel is probably the only idea I've sold to Priscilla in the entire time she’s worked at WWN. You know why? They cater to Americans.”

He used his fork and knife to hack a large chunk off what Nina now realized to be a cheeseburger.

“This, for instance, is the only decent burger I've found in Italy. Bar none. Also, next time an older male co-worker asks you to have dinner alone, don’t be that trusting. People in this business suck.”

“This a public restaurant.” Nina said, still not processing enough to be starstruck, “and I have my head screwed on tightly, thanks.”

“Good.” Dragovich responded, shoving a forkful in his mouth. “Drink water, you look like you just got tear-gassed.”

The waiter arrived with the pitcher, and Nina took a quick glance at the menu, then at Dan’s dish.

“You're in Rome and you want a cheeseburger?” She turned to the waiter, “I’ll have the Spaghetti Bolognese.”

Dan practically broke down laughing. “Let me get this straight. You’re calling me an ugly American and you order the spaghetti with red sauce? You do realize this is Rome, not Brooklyn, right? Giancarlo!”

The waiter rushed back.

“Cancel this girl’s order – bring her that Rigatoni con la Pajata.”

The waiter snapped to attention. “No problem, Mr. Dragovich.”

“You can’t do that!” Nina shot back.

“I just did,” Dan said, “I’ve known Giancarlo for fifteen years. I could probably tell him to serve you rat poison, and it would come out garnished with caviar. I also get a side of leaked info on visiting dignitaries, and you just got a much more authentic dish than what you ordered. Can I eat my cheeseburger now?” 

Nina shrugged. “Ok, you win, will you at least tell me what I'm getting?”

He dove back into his food, shoving a large bite into his mouth. “Is Prissy finished hazing you yet?”

“She's working me hard, but I know what I signed up for.”

Dan chuckled sardonically. “I love you fresh-off-the-farm types. You all come expecting to work long hours and then think it’s normal when Prissy tosses you into the woodchipper.”

The waiter returned, setting down a plate of red-sauced rigatoni with some odd-looking bits of meat in it.

Nina poked it with her fork a few times and gave Dan a stink eye. “Are the calf intestines supposed to scare me? I’m a fourth-generation restauranteur.”

She speared the rigatoni with her fork, took a huge bite, and gave a few over-dramatic chews. Then she closed her eyes did her best Food-Network-ready “mmm.” Finally, she swallowed. “Not bad – they cleaned the intestines right, but I feel like they could have stewed them a bit longer.”

Instead of responding, Dan was distracted checking his watch - and something caused him to suddenly sit bolt upright.

“What?” Nina asked.

Dan didn’t seem to have heard her but spoke anyway. “Rookie, what would you say if I asked you to help me out with a story tonight?’

“I’d probably say I’ve been awake for 21 hours and can’t see straight.”

Dan smirked. “I got a tip from one of my sources that some cardinals are having dinner at a trattoria in Sant’Angelo – little Roman Jewish place where they think no one will go looking for them. I was just getting ready to head over there. You could help stake the place out, and I could give you credit for the story. If you're on my show, it's my rules, and you don’t have to spout Prissy’s crap. What do you think?”

Nina sat back in her chair. It sounded fantastic, but dangerous. “I think I’d probably get fired the next morning for not telling Priscilla.”

Dan let a sly grin creep across his face, “Not if you’re good. You have a source that nobody else has access to. Prissy might be a bit nuts, but she’s not stupid. She wants that info on her channel, even if it’s my show. Nobody needs to know your source is me, and you won’t get canned for scooping the other networks. That I guarantee.  Come on, we need to go.”

He sprung up from the table, leaving his half-eaten burger.

Nina tried to protest. “Wait, I didn’t say I’d do it.”

Dan shot her a sarcastic glare. “Really? I just offered you the location of a secret meeting of the dudes that are electing the freaking pope, and you’re too chicken to take it?”

He headed for the door.

Nina leapt out of her chair. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it.”

SUGGESTED MOOD MUSIC: "Pull Shapes" by The Pipettes (Memphis Industries, 2006)