Making Headlines (2 page)

When they arrived, she already had the story mapped out in her head. She practically skipped to the newsroom, before slowing to a dignified pace as she walked through the door.

Pandemonium reigned. Journalists arriving back vied for the attention of producers and tape editors. It was rush hour with a cacophony of voices calling out on top of each other; phrases that used to confuse her, which were now familiar.

‘Find the news five tape, dickhead, and use the second grab.'

‘Check the update and take it to master control.'

‘That's crap! Take it to Ned and he'll cut it back by thirty.'

All this, as well as televisions blaring from the walls, keyboards tapping, and phones ringing. Rachel felt light-headed. Amid the confusion, she saw Gerard Martin and Julia Wallis, the two other junior reporters, standing by her desk.

‘Hey, guys, sorry to break up the love fest, but I need to work. God, you're so lucky you didn't get my story. Kids again.' Rachel plonked her bag down and took off her jacket.

‘Yeah, well at least you got
something
. I've been stuck her all day twirling my hair.' Gerard grinned boyishly. He was straight out of tertiary college with a media degree and slightly geeky demeanour. Conservatively good looking in a camp way, Rachel mused.

 Julia sat at her desk next to Rachel's, chewing the last mouthful of a Mars bar. ‘And you covered a decent story. I had a one hundredth birthday party. We were lucky the old geezer didn't drop dead when he blew out his candles.'

Rachel sat at her computer. Must get on with her award-winning Shrine service story. While she'd mapped it out in her head, she needed to tap out the words plus take into account the time needed to edit the package.

Half an hour later, with script in hand, Rachel went to the production desk. The head producer, Ned, was her favorite. An older man, he was quieter than the rest.

He glanced up at her. ‘Ah, Rachel. Let's take a look. Scored the old annual, kids' day at the Shrine hey?'

Rachel nodded, watching as Ned took up a pen and began slicing and dicing, improving her words with a wave of his magic wand.

Her next challenge was finding an editor. She turned into a narrow corridor where the coolest crew in the newsroom held court. The editors. They reigned from a coffee-stained couch, where they parked themselves between cutting stories. She moved
slowly towards them — six young men and a woman, all blank-faced and bored. She spotted the one Julia had pointed out earlier that morning. Mitch. He glanced at her with amused disdain as he leaned against the wall, before turning his attention back to the TV. She'd been right with her first impression. He was very attractive. She wanted him to look at her again, but he was glued to the screen.

Rachel mumbled her request for an editor. After some muttering and shrugging among the group, Dan, a short, shiny-faced youth, stood up. They'd worked together several times before and got along well, although this time he looked like he'd drawn the short straw. Probably because her story was placed well down in the order of the bulletin and there was more kudos associated with stories at the top. He smiled tightly as he showed her into his editing booth. He didn't say much as he began cutting. It was only when he saw how she'd handled the interview with the kids and the veterans that he began chatting, and becoming more enthusiastic.

An assistant producer, Natasha, bustled in to take a look. Her black hair, stark next to her pale skin, was pulled back in a tight ponytail, not a strand out of place. Her thin mouth twisted into a round ‘O' as she watched Rachel's story. She began speaking carefully.

‘Well, it's all looking ah . . . fine, but a tad long. Ah, you're still pretty new here aren't you, Rachel? Why don't you take a break, relax and get a coffee? I'll take over from here. Just give it a trim.' Natasha smiled brightly, then took Rachel by the elbow and ejected her from the edit suite.

Dan winked at her. Rachel smiled back meekly, mouthing thank you, as she left.

Only half an hour until the news went to air at 6 pm. She would wait at her desk to watch.

‘THE BEST NEWS IN MELBOURNE.'

‘AT SIX.' (dramatic pause)

‘ON SIX.'

The commercial playing on a television monitor was the same mantra that burst forth from full-page newspaper ads and radio commercials. The news promotions were full-scale productions, featuring reporters like Hollywood stars in action movies and the news presenters as warm, authoritative figureheads. Although Rachel was free to leave work at five-thirty, like most journalists, she stayed back to watch the news from the producers' area. Even after six months, she had to pinch herself to believe she was part of their pack. But while she'd made it this far, she still felt she hadn't quite won the
respect of her peers and was keen to put an impressive story to air that would make them sit up and take notice.

The clock struck six. The news theme sounded and the bulletin began. She rubbed sweaty palms on her skirt as she waited for her Shrine piece, disappointed each time another story was introduced even though she knew it wasn't on till the end. Finally her moment arrived. She was rooted to the ground. But as it played to air, anticipation turned to horror.

Her story hadn't been 'trimmed'. It had been butchered. Hacked to pieces with the sensitivity of Sweeney Todd. The end result lacked any emotional impact. To top it off, the story was ‘back announced' by Jack Nolan's co-reader, the regal Mary Masterson, who still mispronounced her name, saying, ‘That's Rochelle Benley, reporting from the Shrine.' She was sure she saw Natasha smirking.

Rachel returned to her desk and threw her head into folded arms on top of her keyboard.

‘Not what you expected, huh?' Julia sat down.

‘Nope.' Rachel's voice was muffled through her arms. ‘Guess you saw that piece of crap?'

‘Yeah, and you didn't stay round long enough to see mine. But believe me, equally crappy.'

‘Just soooo humiliating to think the rest of the world saw it go to air. And I sounded like a fucking five-year-old. Did you hear my voice?' Rachel made an exaggerated imitation of a child reading her script.

‘A little squeaky, but hey, I suppose a few years in radio have helped me over the line on that front. At least you look the part. I need a serious make-over.' Julia stared pointedly at Rachel.

‘What, me?' she said in surprise.

‘Of course you.' Julia rolled her eyes. ‘It's obvious you know what you're doing on the style front.'

Flattered, given her belated interest in fashion, Rachel started sizing Julia up from a different perspective.

‘Okay then. Maybe we could swap tips.' Mentally planning a beauty makeover for Julia, a commotion from the news director's office caught her attention. The usually reserved Tony was engaged in a full-on shouting match with sports producer Jeff Clements.

Tony's arms flew in every direction. ‘You arsehole! You killed the entire bulletin. I tell you night after night not to go over time and yet each night—'

‘It was a fucking important story mate. You can't not tell the world a footy superstar has a life-threatening disease!' Jeff stood nose to nose with Tony, stags locking antlers.

‘I don't give a damn what is happening to who. You can't put the whole news service at stake for your self-centred point of view. We're only just winning the ratings and you're putting all our hard work at risk. If you can't learn to work as part of a team, we'll get another frickin' producer.'

Tony looked to the newsroom, realising he had an audience and slammed his door.

‘Quite the performance,' Julia murmured.

Rachel picked up her bag. ‘I need a drink. Wanna join me?'

‘Would love to hon, but a boring family function beckons. Raincheck?'

‘Sure,' she replied. ‘I'll probably catch up with some girlfriends instead. Need to share the kaleidoscopic joys of working at Network Six.'

They walked out of the newsroom down a long corridor, stepping in unison at a brisk pace.

Julia patted her shoulder. ‘Rach, don't give yourself such a hard time. A few hiccups are to be expected in this job.'

‘Yeah, I know. It's just . . . well, there was all that excitement when I started, you know? And now . . .'

‘Same. We had so many family celebrations I was starting to think we'd taken on a new religion.'

Laughing, the girls hooked arms and walked to their cars.

A catch-up with her girlfriends might be just the tonic she needed. She rang Kate from her car who said the girls were heading to the Dogs Bar in St Kilda for a drink. Maybe she would join them.

Rachel drove down a narrow street, craning her neck as she searched for a park. That was the one downside of Tim's inner-city home. The shopping was great but the parking was rubbish. Nor was it the prettiest of locations; dotted with abandoned factories and scrappy tea-trees. Finally she found a spot a block and a half from the grey weatherboard. She sprinted the distance, jumping over cracks in the asphalt paving, anxious to check the backyard to see if Tim had ditched his plants.

Bursting through the front door, she called out. ‘Hey, Tim, it's me.' No answer. For a moment she wondered if he'd organised a surprise party for her birthday. It was a little over a week away, and he still hadn't mentioned any plans to take her out or organise something with friends, which made her suspicious. The house appeared empty but as she neared his study, there was tapping on a keyboard. Of course. Tim was ensconced in front of his computer. Relief washed over her. The last thing she felt like was a surprise party.

A technological genius, Tim had been retrenched from his programming job two months earlier and had made little attempt to find another. Rachel hadn't been concerned. She knew how smart he was and the type of job he deserved was often difficult to come by. A recent spate of bills meant she'd had to dip into her savings, but she'd been confident it would only be short term. Until now. After learning about the marijuana crop she was concerned he was heading down a spiral from which there'd be no return. And his other hobby of playing online medieval battle games was becoming an obsession.

‘Hey there, sweetheart, still slaying them dragons?' She swooped on him from behind, hugging him around the neck.

He lifted his cheek, eyes glued to the screen as she planted kisses over his face. ‘Uh-huh . . . How was your day? Ah, shit. I was nearing an all-time record!' He ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. Overdue for a trim, it reached his shoulders.

Standing behind him, she gently massaged his neck. ‘Pretty shitty, actually. Another kids story and even that was chopped to pieces.'

‘Great, that's great,' he said, eyes still trapped by the game.

‘Tim, for Christ's sake, you're not even listening!' She slapped his hands away from the keyboard and planted herself in front of the computer.

‘Jesus, Rach, you arrived home at a bad time! What the . . . ?'

‘Because you're playing a stupid computer game?'

‘Well, yes, as I said it was a near record and—'

‘Did you get rid of those plants?'

‘Not yet, I haven't had time . . .'

She walked off to get her phone. ‘I may as well go out.'

Tim followed her. ‘I'm sorry, Rach. Look, hang on, we can—'

‘I'm going to the Dogs Bar. You can join us later if you want to.'

‘Sure. I'll come in an hour.'

She walked away to dial a cab. Right now she couldn't even look at him.

***

The Dogs Bar hummed with conversation and jazz music — a charcoal tinge in the air from a crackling open fire. Rachel peeled off her coat, relishing the warmth of the crowded room, her skin still tingling from the autumn chill. Peering through the dim light, she spied her friends at a table against the wall. They were a close-knit group who'd stuck by each other through school years and beyond. Kate and Evie were making good progress on a bottle of wine. Rachel manoeuvred through the tables as a plate of antipasto was delivered.

‘Hey, TV star, just in time!' called Kate.

Rachel winced. The last thing she felt like was a TV star. Kate was more deserving of the title in her flashy aqua jacket. Rachel had dressed simply in comfortable jeans, black boots and the Melbourne essential — a black wool coat. ‘No star here, I just need a drink,' she said, taking a seat.

Evie quickly reached for a spare glass and filled it to the brim. ‘Well, we don't have any other friends on TV so you'll always be a star to us.'

‘Yes!' cried Kate, raising her glass. ‘So here's to the next superstar of Australian TV news.' Full-figured and full of life, Kate always painted a bright picture with her view of the world. Six months down the track, Rachel's TV job was still a cause for celebration.

‘To well-deserved success,' added Evie. Sweet Evie, with her flowing russet hair, was a creative soul who worked as a makeup artist, mostly in musical theatre and on low-budget films.

‘Please, stop,' said Rachel. ‘My story tonight was a dog's breakfast. And it seems like I'm the resident kiddie reporter at Six, so it's highly unlikely I'll be winning a Walkley any time soon.'

‘But I bet it was a brilliant kiddie yarn,' said Kate, tipping her glass at Rachel.

‘You're a beautiful friend and I love your support, but no, it was a piece of shit.'

‘Great! Let's talk about something else then,' suggested Evie. ‘What about your birthday? Want us to organise a dinner or something?'

‘No, it's on a Monday. I'm not really in a celebratory mood. And Tim seems to have forgotten about it entirely,' said Rachel.

‘Has he got a job yet?' Kate flipped her thick dark hair over her shoulder, a gesture she frequently used for disapproval. Or flirting.

‘Nup,' said Rachel. ‘Things with Tim don't seem to be working out. In fact, they're getting worse. With Mum overseas, I'm thinking of moving back home for a bit. Just to give each other some space.'