Hard News (5 page)

Manhattan and never pay for a drink yourself.
That’s
reality?” “I want her to be an adult.” Rune whispered, “She’s three years old. She’ll grow up fast enough.” “ Claire cocked an eyebrow at Rune. “Some people I know have resisted adulthood

totally successfully.” She smiled sweetly. “Favor, please?” “I’m broke.” “Naw, what it is is I gotta go out tonight. Babysit, will you?” “Claire-“ “I met this guy and he was talking about a job. He might hire me.” “Which
club’re
you going to meet him at?” Rune asked wryly. “S.O.B.’s,” Claire admitted. “But he really thinks he can get me work. Come on,

please . . .” Nodding at her daughter. “You two get along so good.” Rune looked at Courtney. “We
do
get along, don’t we, dude? Gimme five high.” She

held up her hand and Courtney crawled forward. They slapped upraised palms. “Dude,” the little girl said then crawled back to Persephone. Rune looked at her face and didn’t see much of Claire in it. She wondered who the father was. Claire, she knew, occasionally wondered the same.

After a moment Rune said, “You know, I’m not, like, too good with saying things like this . . .” Rune paused, hoping Claire would pick up on the hint. But she was concentrating on putting a fake diamond earring into one of the holes on the side of her nose. Rune continued, “What I’m saying is you really’ve
got
to find a place to live.”

“I didn’t plan on staying this long. It’s not that easy to find a place to live in Manhattan.” “I know,” Rune said. “Look, I don’t want to kick you out.” Claire got solemn for a moment. “The truth is I’m thinking about going back to

Boston. Just to get my act together for a while. What do you think?” Hallelujah. Rune said, “I think that’s a very mature thing to do.” “Really?” “I do. Absolutely.” “I’ll stay with my mother. She’s got a nice house. I can have the upstairs to myself.

The only thing that bothers me is I don’t know what I could do there exactly.” Rune wasn’t sure what Claire could do here in Manhattan either, except hang out and go to clubs, which she could probably do in Boston just as easily and for a lot less money. But she said, “Boston’s supposed to be a wonderful place. History, lots of history.” “Yeah, history. But, excuse me, what do you do with history?” “You don’t have to
do
anything with it. It’s just neat.” Rune hefted Courtney to the windowsill, propped her on her hip. “Just look out there, honey, and picture it three hundred years ago. You know who lived there? Indians! The Canarsie Indians. And there were bears and deer and everything.” “Like the zoo,” the girl said. “Can we go to the zoo?” “Sure we can. Maybe tomorrow. And see over there, all those roads? They used to be tobacco fields. They called the place Sapokanikan. It means the tobacco plantation. Then the settlers came up here from New York City- which was all down by the Battery then. They came up here because they had all these terrible plagues or epidemics - and they saw all these fields and farmland and the place got called Green Village-“

“And now it’s Greenwich Village and it’s got bagels and coffeehouses and ATM machines and the Antique Clothes Boutique.” Rune shook her head. “Oh, you’re just so sitcom, it’s disgusting.” Claire said, “So - Boston . . . You mind if I spend some time there?” Mind? Rune felt as if she’d just gotten a package in a turquoise Tiffany’s box. “I’d

say: Do it.” “Then I will,” Claire said lethargically. She yawned and pulled a vial out of her

purse. “You want some coke?” “Coke,” said Courtney. Rune took Claire by the arm roughly, whispering viciously: “Are you crazy? Look what you’re teaching her.” She snatched the vial and spoon away from Claire and tossed them back into the purse. Claire pulled away angrily. “Coke is real. Dragons and goddesses aren’t.” “You keep your reality.” Rune stood up and took Courtney by the hand and led her

up onto the outer deck. “Come on, honey, I’ll read you a story.” An hour later Courtney asked, “One more, please.” Rune debated, flipping through the book of fairy stories. She glanced down into the

galley and saw Claire doing a small line of coke off her compact mirror. “Okay,” Rune said. “One more, then off to bed.” She looked at the story the book had fallen open to and laughed.
“The Snow Princess.”
Which seemed like a good choice since Claire had a nose blizzard going at the moment. “’Once upon a time-‘” “In a land far away,” Courtney yawned and lay down with her head.in Rune’s lap. “That’s right. ‘ ... in a land far away, there lived an old couple who never had any

children.’” “I’m a children.” “ ‘The man and woman loved each other dearly but dreamed about how happy they would be if only they had a daughter to share their life with. Then one winter, as the husband was walking home through the forest, he saw a snowman that some children had built and he had an idea. He went home and together, with his wife, they built a little princess out of snow.’” “What’s snow?” “Last winter, that white stuff.” “I don’t remember,” the girl said, frowning. “It comes out of the sky and it’s white.” “Feathers.” “No, it’s like wet.” “Milk.” “Never mind. Anyway, the couple went to bed and all night long they wished and

wished real hard and what do you think happened?” “They got a little girl?” Rune nodded. “ ‘In the morning when they woke up there was the most beautiful little princess, who looked just like the girl the couple had made out of snow the night before. They hugged her and kissed her, .and they spent all their time playing with her and taking the little girl for walks in the forest. The couple was so happy . . .

“’Then one day a handsome prince came riding along through the snow, and saw the snow princess playing in a snow-filled field beside the couple’s house. They looked at each other and fell in love.’” “What’s-?” Courtney began. “Never mind that. The thing is he wanted the snow princess to come live with him in his castle at the foot of the mountain. The snow princess’s parents were very sad and begged her not to go but she married the prince and went off to live with him in the castle.

“ ‘They were very happy throughout the winter, then one day in early spring the sun came out, strong and hot, as the snow princess was walking with her husband . . .’”

Rune paused and read ahead in the story - to the part where the sun gets hotter and hotter and the princess melts, the water running through her husband’s fingers into the ground until there’s nothing left of her. She looked up at the girl’s expectant face and thought: We’ve got a problem here. “Go on,” Courtney said. Pretending to read, Rune said, “Well, the sun was so hot that the snow princess remembered how much she missed her parents and she kissed her husband good-bye and climbed back up to the mountain village, where she moved back in with her parents, and got a job and met a neat guy, who was also made out of snow, and they lived happily ever after.” “I like that story,” Courtney said in her tone of an official pronouncement. Claire came out on deck. “Time for bed.” Courtney didn’t complain much. Rune kissed her good night then helped Claire put

her pajamas on her and get her into bed. “You know, if you’re interested,” Claire said, “it’s much easier to meet men in

Boston.” “You want me to go to Boston with you? Just to meet men? “Sure, why not?” “Because most men are damaged, to start with. Why should I go somewhere where

it’s
easier
to meet men? I’d think you’d want to go where it’s harder.” “What’s wrong with men?” “Haven’t you noticed something?” Rune asked. “How many men do you know

whose IQ matches their age?” “You gonna marry Sam?” “He’s a great guy,” Rune said defensively, uneasy with the M word. “We have a

good time . . .” Claire sighed. “He’s twenty years older than you, he’s going bald, he’s married.” “He’s separated,” Rune said. “Anyway, what twenty-five-year-olds with hair have you met that’re such good catches?” Admitting to herself, though, that the married part was definitely an ongoing problem.

“You move to Boston, you’ll be married in six months. I guarantee it.” Claire pirouetted. “How do I look?” Like a hooker, circa 1955. Rune said, “Stunning.” Claire grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I owe you one.” “I know you do,” Rune said and watched her clatter unsteadily down the gangplank on high-heeled saddle shoes.

6 The note on her desk the next morning, from Maisel, was to the point.
Sutton ‘s office. The minute you come in!
Lee. Rune had received a lot of notes like this and they were usually the preface to

flunking a course, getting fired or getting yelled at. Heart pounding, she left her Morning Thunder tea on her desk and walked out of the studio. In ten minutes she was standing in front of Piper Sutton’s secretary. Yesterday’s look of terror at Rune’s unauthorized entry had been replaced by a subtle gloat. Rune said, “I’m supposed to see-“ “They’re waiting for you.” “Is it okay to-?” “They’re waiting for you,” the woman repeated cheerfully.

Inside, Sutton and Maisel turned their heads and stared as she approached. Rune

stopped halfway into the big office. “Close the door,” Sutton ordered. Rune obeyed then walked into the room. She smiled at Maisel, who avoided her

eyes. Oh, boy, she thought. Oh, boy. Sutton’s eyes were flint. She said, “Sit down,” just as Rune was dropping into the chair across from the desk. Rune felt a shiver down her back and the hairs on her neck stirred. Sutton tossed a copy of one of the city’s tabloids on her desk. Rune picked it up and read a story circled in thick, red ink that bled into the fibers of the newsprint. NETWORK WANTS TO FREE KILLER OF ITS EXEC By Bill Stevens The story was short, just a few paragraphs. It recounted how a reporter from
Current Events
was investigating Randy Boggs’s conviction for Lance Hopper’s murder. Boggs’s defense lawyer, Fred Megler, had no comment other than to say that his client has always maintained his innocence. “Oh, shit,” she muttered. “How?” Sutton tapped her glossy fingernails on the desktop. They were as red and

hard as the finish on a Porsche. “How’d it happen?” “It’s not my fault. He lied to me.” “Bill Stevens?” “That wasn’t the name he gave me. I was at the Department of Corrections and this guy came up and said he worked for the press department and could he help me and he was real nice and he even told me things off the record so I assumed it was okay to-“

“Assumed it was okay?” Sutton’s voice rose. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t believe it.”

Maisel sighed. “This’s the oldest trick in the book. Jesus, Rune, you fucked this one up. Stevens is a beat reporter for the paper. He covers the government agencies. When he sees a reporter who’s new and doesn’t recognize him he finds out what their assignment is then scoops them.”

“You walked right into his arms.” Sutton lit a cigarette and slapped the lighter down on the desktop. “A fucking babe in the woods.” “He seemed like a nice guy.” “What the hell does ‘nice’ have to do with anything?” Maisel asked, exasperated.

“This is journalism.” All ruined. My one big chance and I blew it, right out of the gate. Sutton asked Maisel, “Damage assessment?” “None of the other nets are that interested.” He touched the tabloid. “Even Stevens didn’t follow up on Boggs. The focus of the story was that
we’re
trying to get him out. So we look like idiots if it doesn’t pan out.” He toyed with an unlit pipe and stared at the ceiling. “The story’s hit some syndicated news services but so far all we’ve had are a couple junior reporters call Publicity for statements. Nobody on Wallace’s or Rather’s level. Nobody from
Media in Review.
It’s a pain in the ass but I don’t think it’s critical.” Sutton kept her eyes on Rune as she said, “I’ve already gotten a call from Semple.” Maisel closed his eyes. “Ouch. I thought he was in Paris.” “He is. The
Herald Tribune
picked up the story in their third edition.” Dan Semple was the current head of Network News. He’d taken over when Lance Hopper was killed. He was, give or take a few miracles, God. One of the reasons that Hopper was so sorely missed was that he was an angel compared with Semple, who was known for his vicious temper and cut-throat business practices. He’d even punched a junior producer who’d carelessly lost an exclusive to CNN. Maisel asked, “What was his reaction?” “Not fit for human consumption,” Sutton said. “He’ll be back in a few days and he wants to talk about it.” She sighed. “Corporate politics . . . just what we need now. And with the budgets coming up in a month. . .”Sutton looked at the newspaper, gestured at it then glanced at Rune. “But the big danger of this is what?” Maisel was nodding. But Rune didn’t get it. “Think,” Sutton snapped. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Maisel supplied the answer. “That another magazine or feature program’ll pick up the lead and bring out the story at the same time we do. It’s a news policy -we don’t spend time and money on a story if there’s a chance we’ll be preempted.”

Rune rocked forward in the chair. “It won’t happen again. I promise. I’ll be so skeptical you won’t believe it.” “Rune - ,” Sutton began. “Look, what I’ll do is ask people when I interview them if anybody from any other station has been asking them questions. If they have been I’ll tell you. I promise. That way you can decide if you want to go ahead with the story or not.”

Maisel said, “The only weapon journalists have is their minds. You’ve got to start using yours.” “I will. Just like the Scarecrow.” Sutton asked, “The what?” “You know,
The Wizard of Oz.
He wanted a brain and-“ “Enough.” Sutton waved her hand, managing to make her face both blank and hostile at the same time. Finally she said, “All right. Keep on it. But if anybody beats us to the punch - I’m talking
anybody:
a rap station, MTV, Columbia’s student station - we drop the project. Lee?” “Okay with me,” Maisel said. Lighting another cigarette, Sutton nodded and said, “All right. But this was your last

strike, babes.” “I thought you got three,” Rune said, standing up, retreating to the door. Sutton tossed the lighter onto her desk; it skidded into a crystal ashtray. “We play by

my rules around here. Not the American League’s.” The chameleon sat on the wall, at an angle, frozen in space, hardly breathing. Jack Nestor lay in bed and watched it. He liked chameleons. Not the way they changed color, which wasn’t so spectacular