Who Am I: David Shepard Smith, Jr.
Wiki's definition of Shepard Smith
Fox News: Shepard Smith
An unofficial site 'cause I couldn't find any officials:Shepardville
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The studio was completely deserted; this wasn’t the first time Shepard witnessed it this way-it was just uncommon and unusual. The regular camera operators were probably asleep in their cozy beds or cleaning their precious video recorders. The anchors were possibly in their homes, offices, or favorite bars-no one really could tell as they enjoy sneaking around. The staff abandoned their posts in the computer room for the night. Even the janitors finished their cleaning duties and left.
Shepard sat in his chair, absentmindedly swiveling in it and gazing at the once occupied areas. Studio B was usually bustling with stressed, overworked people, always rushing about to get episodes done or on the air or readying for the next one-yet tonight just had to be the night where Studio B was as silent as a graveyard.
Tonight-or rather today, is Shepard’s birthday, and he was celebrating it now. Shep didn’t care how old he turned. Birthdays were a waste of his time, for it served as a reminder that he was alone for another year. No one knew and no one cared; Shepard was glad, but at the same time, extremely sad. He wanted love. Embarrassing for him to say, but romance caught his attention as it did with the general population. Maybe it was his damn fault for being so secretive.
Shepard gently spun once in his chair, eyes scanning the area once more. All was quiet, but his chair made the soft ‘whirl’ as it turned. The back of the chair had brushed up against the desk’s side, causing Shepard to flinch at the abrupt sound. He calmed down, assuring himself that it was only the chair rubbing against the desk and not a surprise party in exercise.
“Hey Smith.”
Shepard jumped, wheezing out a shaky, yet stiff shuddering breath. Slowly, he turned around to face Julie Banderas. He did a quick examination of the woman, annoyed at how easy she snuck up on him. She wore Easy-Spirit, white sneakers, no make-up or jewelry, fitted blue jeans, a red tank, with hair pulled back into a ponytail. There was no handbag or carrier in sight. Frankly, Shepard thought she flew in from the 90s. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, however. The 90s were a good time, everyone was starting fresh and young; Fox Report just started; Jon Stewart still had his black hair, and Late Night television thrived. The times were golden.
“You gave me a heart attack,” Shepard hastily said, eyes removing from Julie’s clean face to the desk. She only worked as the weekend host for the Fox Report, and today just happened to be one of those days. Shepard didn’t have time off, no; he had to work for the Studio B. Julie must’ve known that Shepard was around here sulking.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” She had no true apologetic tone in her voice, yet Shepard still accepted it. “Shep, why are you still here and in your suit?” Fox had a changing room for people who wanted to dress out of their suit and look casual-Shepard was a usual. He wanted to waste more time at the office instead of entering into the empty condominium to do nothing but watch CNN or himself on Fox-at times, he would watch some sit-coms or Comedy Central to see the political satirists of that channel.
Shepard didn’t answer, he knew Julie knew the truth; she probably was the only one who did. Thankfully, she remained silent about it and managed not to slip it out at a dinner party of some sort.
“If you have no one, then find someone.”
‘It wasn’t and isn’t that easy, Julie. You’re already married, you have no need to waste your time dating and searching for that “special someone”’.
“Spend the night with your family. Call them up and ask them to dinner.”
Shepard rolled his eyes and stood up. “Goodnight Julie.” He pushed himself to move from the spot he kept since morning rise. He made a step past Julie, but his arm was grabbed by the only other there-Julie.
“Shepard, why not open up to me? I already know your birthday, what else is there to lose? Stop being stubborn.”
Shepard yanked his arm from Julie’s grasp and repeated his words, “Goodnight Julie.” He took a single step, assuring first that Julie wouldn’t pull him aside once again. He continued on, picking up speed to leave. It was quiet, abandoned by people like Julie. Shepard wasn’t sure if he had appreciated Julie taking time out of her night to visit a friend in need, or that he was annoyed with that very fact that she did so. He heard the gentle tap of her sneakers on the wax floor. “You’re only hurting yourself, Shepard.” She had turned around just to say that…she really wanted Shepard to open up.
‘Where have I heard that one before?’ Now Shepard was certain that he was annoyed with her and her attempts; too much is too much. In the start, Shepard didn’t mind these antics, he was flattered and assumed she would catch on to his enclosed matters and drop it. Time went on, and she became a thorn in his side. Julie wouldn’t stop, she kept bugging him, citing “health issues” that related to his bottled up feelings, and generally ignored his pleas for privacy.
She was good, nearly broke through to Shepard; however, at the very last moment, he snapped. Not only did he yell at her, nearly angering others too, he vehemently expressed what he thought of her and her nosiness. Surprisingly enough, this didn’t stop her from her mission. Around Christmas last year, Shepard told Julie once again what he thought of her plans, and during his rant, he slipped out his father’s name and parents’ divorce and father’s re-marriage.
Somehow, Julie managed to get in contact with his father and ask a thing or two about his son. Being a loyal father, he only told her Shepard’s birthday. It wasn’t a big deal, but Shepard still was furious with his father.
On his travels out of the building, he used the back door to break away from the usual nightshift patrol guards. It was his birthday; he was frustrated with Julie’s silly investigation of his life; it was three o’clock in the morning and he wasn’t drowsy at all.
Oh, how he wished he could just sleep forever, away from the people who wanted to know the real Shepard. It was a careless dream, a childish fantasy, he thought. He was a newscaster for one of the top news channels, Fox News. Everyone enjoyed his broadcast, wanted to meet him and know of him: why did you become anchor? Did you start at Fox? What was your childhood like?
It was troublesome.
He walked the five-block distance from the Fox building to the K subway station. Drunks, hobos, and stressed executives who had no sense of their surroundings littered the gray terminal. Shepard sat in the far back of the train-the caboose-avoiding eye contact with the other passengers.
The subway took five minutes from the building on Sixth Avenue to West 57th street to where his condominium was located. It had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a medium-sized kitchen with black and white tiling and dark marble counters, a large living room, a dining room that was connected to the living room, and an elevator entry for the door. It wasn’t too expensive and wasn’t flashy either-simple, something he enjoyed.
Shepard greeted the considerate door attendant with a sizeable tip and went onto the elevator. He was on the top floor, which held the greatest view of Central Park out of the other floors. He loved it.
Yet again, Shepard found himself entering into his vacant condominium. He moved from the elevator into the living room sluggishly, eyes fixated on the wooden floor under his black dress shoes. The motion-sensor lights slowly faded on as Shepard entered the room, and he lifted his eyes from the floor to the large window to meet his lone reflection. His hands were within his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He looked defeated.
He couldn’t even enjoy his panoramic view.
His eyes did catch sight to the white envelopes on the nightstand located next to the black leather couch. He turned around halfway and stared down at the envelopes. He assumed the trusting door attendant had entered his condominium and placed the received letters on the nightstand.
Shepard began to frown. He didn’t mind the fact that the door attendant had dropped off the letters, but he hoped none of those letters were from his close friends or family. That usually meant trouble. Taking the risks, he stepped up to the nightstand and sorted the unimportant envelopes from pile, dropping them to the floor. His eyes caught the FOX logo printed on the far-right corner of an envelope and instantly went to that one.
Shepard ripped the envelope open, curious as to why the corporation hadn’t just dropped it off at the studio or in his office or sent him an email. Was it a notice? Frowning, he opened the letter.
It was a cookie-cutter letter. He sighed heavily through his nose, and instantly crumpled it up. He tossed it over his shoulder impatiently. How could he have lost his cool so easily? Loosening his tie, he made his way to his empty, cold bedroom. The light faded off as he exited the room.
The crumpled up letter that remained alone in the dimly lit room read:
“Dear Mr. Shepard Smith,
The Fox News website will be updated fairly soon and we would like you to cooperate and aid us during this project. We will be taking a step further by giving our viewers a better aspect at our newscasters at Fox News, and we would be grateful if you would support this project. We would also appreciate if you would reply to this letter or personally meet with the managers of this project and supply information.”
“We have assigned you a journalist to interview you and the questions will be of all sorts of your personal life and history. Please reply or meet with the managers of the project to set up a date for your interviews. We thank you for your time and hope that you comply with this project.
Sincerely,
Fox News Corporation
‘And there’s Mr. Roger Ailes’ official signature--sloppy at best. I could do a better job.’ Shepard removed the rest of his clothing and gingerly arranged himself on top of his sheets, staring mindlessly at the white ceiling. He had figured something out while he removed his clothing. ‘Julie came to visit me today; not because she wanted to find a crack in my barrier or to see a friend in need, but to warn me in her own enigmatic way. She had predicted my frustration and was there to aid me.’ Shepard narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows. “Why couldn’t she just tell me like a normal person?” He paused, releasing a heavy, bone-weary breath. He leaned over his bed to two, small switches on the wall and flicked off one of them. He fell back sharply on to his bed and closed his eyes.
“Son of a bitch.”