“Hey, what’s up?” Rob answered, like we’d never stopped talking, like he was picking up a conversation that we’d had half an hour ago.
“What do you mean, ‘the video’?” I asked. “What video are you talking about?”
“I mean the cell phone video of your sit-down with the maid. BNN is teasing the hell out of it. Suzy Berenson is about to run a clip of it.”
“But how did you know I was there?”
“Because I can hear your voice. And I can see you. Or a part of you, at least. I’d know that dangle anywhere,” Rob said, like it was our private joke and we were still in the habit of sharing private jokes.
“Fuck! I didn’t get it. The maid didn’t say yes. That conversation wasn’t supposed to be recorded. I don’t want that on the air!”
“Uh, welp, I didn’t know that and I emailed Benji that it was you and I was super psyched for you. So . . . uh, Fatima has a slot for you at eight forty-five.”
“Oh, no!” I said, hearing a beep. “Fuck! That’s Benji on the other line.”
“Congratulations!” Benji said. “You kicked ASS out there! This is the get of the century. Need you to do Wake Up, then I’m plugging you into the daytime lineup, and then we’re putting together a prime-time special tonight like I promised. So how close are you? What time will you be here?”
“Benji,” I said, “I didn’t get it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the housekeeper didn’t say yes. That stuff is not supposed to be out there.”
“Well, hey, it’s out there. And you own this. This is your scoop. You’re on the video. Or your foot is. It’s already getting a ton of buzz. I’m not giving BNN your scoop.”
“But it’s not my scoop—”
“It is your scoop, Amanda. I had PR put out a press release five minutes ago that FAIR News’s Amanda Gallo got the first interview with the maid and that it’s a bombshell. This is huge for us—and it’s huge for you! I’m having legal draw up that new contract I promised. Man, did you deliver! Now stop being modest and get in here, you superstar.” He hung up.
My Twitter feed was on fire, lighting up with the news. Both sides already pissed at me.
WTF? @AmandaGallo going after @VictorFluke? #gotchajournalism
@FAIRNews is so far up Fluke’s ass, @AmandaGallo will do a hit piece on the maid. #lightweight
Only @FrankinFresno was in my corner.
You’re all haters. Let’s not judge @AmandaGallo till we see the intv. I predict a total showstopper. #amandaluv #thedangle
I ran up to the side anchor-only door. Stanley swung open the door with his shoulder so he could give me a round of applause. “I hear you got a big exclusive! Good for you!”
I hauled ass down the hallway, past Angie and Jess’s stalls, and past even the studio, until I got to the control room door and burst through. I could see Rob and Margot on six monitors, sitting on the sofa, looking anxious. From the row behind the director, Fatima was giving instructions through her headset. Next to her in the second row were three other producers and writers on headsets. And behind all of them, Benji was pacing.
“Here she is! Come here, Superstar,” he exclaimed upon seeing me, and extended his arms for a hug, then stopped. “You look like something the cat dragged in. We gotta get you into hair and makeup. This thing is blowing up. Wellborn is about to go on Berenson’s show to break this story. Those fuckers are calling it their exclusive. We need you on set pronto. Where’s your video?”
“There is no video,” I told him. “It was recorded on a cell phone. I don’t have it,” I said, without mentioning that I had Laurie’s text with a Dropbox code for where to find it.
“Whoa! What do you mean?”
“I mean the housekeeper doesn’t want to tell her story. She’s not ready,” I said. “She has her reasons and they’re good ones. She doesn’t want it out there.”
“Well, it’s out there, all right. BNN is teasing that there may be some love child! Does Fluke have a love child? Tell me you got B-roll of you playing patty-cake with a baby! Come on! This is too good. Now saddle up and get out there.”
“I don’t have anything!” I said, desperate for someone in there to hear me. “I didn’t get the story.”
Benji sighed. “All right, so, Fatima, pull whatever you can off BNN’s air. Maybe they already put some of the video on their website. If not, use their tease—but blow it up so we don’t see the BNN bug. Look,” he said, turning to me, “it’s not ideal, you should have gotten it on your phone, but get out there on the sofa and start talking about it.”
“I’m not going on!” I said, and that’s when everyone turned around. “I don’t want to air off-the-record information.”
“Oh, boy,” Benji said. “How about we table this conversation until after you break the story? Let’s do it now and ask for forgiveness later.”
“It’ll be too late then,” I told him.
“It’s already too late,” he said. “People know you were there. Now if we don’t run it, they’ll say FAIR News is in the tank for Fluke, that you’re burying the story to protect Fluke, the very fucking thing they accuse us of! This is bigger than you, Amanda. The election is eleven days away. Now is the time for FAIR News to make its mark. And I’m ordering you to get out there.”
“She doesn’t want to do it,” Rob said. I turned to see that Rob had entered the control room, leaving Margot on set by herself.
“Yeah, I’m picking that up, Einstein,” Benji said to Rob. “But you’re both missing something. I’m not asking you to report this. I’m telling you to report it. This is not a democracy. This is a business. I have shareholders to think of. Now, get out there and report it!”
Something in his argument clicked with me—not the shareholders part, the “report it” part.
“Okay,” I said.
“Good, good,” Benji said, before making a circular motion around my head with his finger. “Can somebody get Angie and Jess in here for some triage?”
“No,” I said, looking at the monitors and the commercial for life insurance that seemed to be screaming at me. “There’s no time. I’m going on now.”
Rob swung open the door and we ran down the corridor to the studio, where Bruce was waiting to attach my microphone and earpiece.
“Thirty seconds back,” Larry said. “And welcome back, Amanda. We’ve missed you.”
I darted to the sofa and took a seat on the opposite end from Rob, with Margot between us, making a vain attempt to smooth my wrinkled jeans.
“Guys, listen very closely,” Fatima said. “Here’s the plan. We bong in with a FAIR News Break, you get right to Amanda. She breaks the housekeeper news before BNN can. Amanda tells the story for a minute, then we’ll pull the housekeeper video from BNN as soon as they air it. Got it?”
“Can you repeat all that?” Margot asked. “I’m unclear on what’s happening.”
But it was too late. I heard the familiar, ominous breaking news bong, then watched the monitors wipe to the big red BREAKING NEWS graphic, and then to the three of us on the sofa.
“We have some major breaking news at this hour regarding presidential candidate Victor Fluke,” Rob said into Camera 2. “Our own Amanda Gallo is here in studio with more. Amanda?”
“Um, yeah. I do have a bombshell of a story,” I said, then stopped to take a sharp inhale, unsure of what on earth was about to come out of my mouth. “It’s a story I’ve been working on and wanting to tell for a very long time. So let me give you a bit of the backstory. I’ve learned a lot this past year at FAIR News, covering this crazy election with its flood of information and misinformation. And I’ve spent a lot of time trying to see both sides and to bring you the news in as, well, fair a way as I can.
“So, how do I decide what stories to report?” I went on. “Well, one pretty good test is that when the
thought of reporting something makes me feel sick, I probably shouldn’t do it. Of course, that wasn’t the litmus test we used here at Wake Up. No, we went for ratings over real reporting. Titillation over information. And we justified it because you kept coming back for more. But some stories that get great ratings don’t deserve to be broadcast.”
“What are you doing?” Fatima yelled into my earpiece. “Get to the maid story!”
“For instance,” I continued, “I don’t think we should show videos made by terrorists. Those videos draw a lot of eyeballs to the screen and they get big ratings. In fact, they’re so popular, in pitch meetings we call them ‘terror porn’—just a little news humor for ya,” I snorted. “But no amount of ratings are worth showing that hatred. Just like I don’t think we should say the names of gunmen in mass shootings. We know they crave notoriety and I don’t want us to fulfill their wish. See, I’ve also realized that’s my job as a journalist—to use good judgment, even if it doesn’t mean good ratings.”
“Get to the housekeeper, now!” Fatima said, and I could hear Benji yelling behind her.
“And that brings me to the story of the housekeeper,” I said. “Yes, I did sit down with her and I tried to get her to share her story. But she was crystal clear that she was not ready to do that. She has her reasons, and I respect them. And it’s not because I’m a stooge for Victor Fluke or in the tank for him or any of the other things you’ll accuse me of. It’s because I think I should highlight hypocrisy without destroying someone who happens to be caught in the crossfire. More important, I promised her I would not reveal her story, and I’m going to keep that promise today. Because really, as journalists, that’s all we have: our credibility. I know people don’t trust the media. And I want to win back your trust by keeping my promises—to our sources and to you.”
“That’s enough, Amanda!” Fatima said.
“And I want to say something about journalism,” I went on. “We always joke in newsrooms, ‘Hey, it’s not brain surgery.’ And we forget that it is about life and death for journalists all over the world who are killed by powerful people who don’t want the truth known. Journalism, at its best, does shine a light—on corruption and abuse and injustice. I know it seems harder and harder to know what the truth is, but real journalists are still trying to find it and bring it to you.
“And for those of you who say you hate the news media and that we’re the lowest life form, let me say, you have no idea how much you’d miss us. Just ask the people in North Korea or Russia what they’d do for a free press. So, yeah, do we get it right every day? No. These judgment calls are not easy. But we wrestle with them and fight about it and hope to feel proud instead of sick at the end of each show.”
“Rob, get in there,” Fatima yelled. “If she won’t tell the maid story, you do it!”
Rob nodded seriously into Camera 2, like he always did to let Fatima know he heard her, then said, “Go on, Amanda.”
I took another gulp of air. God, it was hot in here. “As for our motto of True and Equal, we claimed balance by having Fluke and his critics on. But personal attacks are not news, and letting two sides hurl insults at each other does not create balance, it creates bitterness. Plus it’s just plain toxic.” At that I reflexively looked over at Rob to see if he remembered that private joke. Rob looked at me with soft eyes, like maybe he remembered or maybe he just felt sorry for me.
“I’ve also come to believe that being ‘objective’ should not be our goal.” Sorry, Professor Jordan! “Reporters are not robots, devoid of feelings. Yes, we have preconceived notions about stories. Of course we have opinions and biases, even when we do our best to fight them. We’re human. So instead of being objective, I’ve tried to be open—to ideas and people and concepts that I’d never before considered.”
“Larry, wrap her!” Fatima yelled. Larry took a step closer to the sofa so I could see him. But his hands, normally so active with swirling time signals, were folded neatly across his chest.
“And I speak for everyone here,” I said, looking over at Casanova, then Rocco, “when I say we want to be proud of what we do. Our studio crew shows up in the middle of the night every night to bring you this show. And when we get something wrong, it makes us all look bad. It turns out some stories do have a right side. Some people do lie and cheat and steal—and it’s our job to call them out, which we did not always do. And for that, I’m sorry.”
“Margot, say something! Stop her,” Fatima yelled.
“Women don’t need to always apologize,” Margot announced to Camera 2. “Empowered women empower women. As I write in my new book ROAR, available now for preorder at Amazon—”
“Bruce,” Fatima yelled, “cut Amanda’s mic.”
Bruce scrambled over to his audio board and fiddled with some dials and all of a sudden I could no longer hear Margot plugging her book. Bruce smiled at me.
“Rob, get in there,” Fatima yelled. “We hit a terminal break in ninety seconds!”
Rob nodded his head and looked straight at me. “You’re right, Amanda. We blew it. There were a lot of things we should have done differently.” He turned then to address the viewers. “We’ve made some good TV here at FAIR News, but we’ve also made the country more angry and divided.”
“Yes, Rob!” I said. “We focused on the fighting rather than the solution.”
“I know,” Rob said, leaning past Margot to look at me. “Yelling at each other was not helpful. It drove us apart—I mean, the country apart. I believe in keeping my word, too,” he said, turning to Camera 2. “And I’m going to prove you can trust me.” I looked at the side of Rob’s face and wished he was talking to me rather than the audience.
“Is this a talking point?” Margot asked.
I knew this was probably my last shot, so I turned to Rob to speak directly. “I let you down, too,” I said. “I didn’t believe that it could work and I didn’t admit how I really felt and I ended up complicating things.”
Rob turned to face me. “It was more complicated than I was making it. You know, when I want something, I want it. But you were trying to slow down and make sure it was right. I shouldn’t have rushed it. I’m sorry, too.”
“Good!” Margot said. “More men should apologize more! I’m A for adamant about that.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said to Rob, trying to read those deep blue eyes to see if he still felt anything other than sorry. “I should have given you a chance, you know, from the get-go. I mean, if you really want to unpack this.”
Larry hoisted his paper coffee cup at me and took two swigs.
“Roger that,” Rob said, then gave me a wink.
“Oh, touché,” I responded.
“Wait, what are we talking about?” Margot asked.
Rob smiled that winning smile at me. “But here’s some good news. It’s not too late.”
“It’s not?” I asked, looking straight at him.
“I sure hope not.”
Margot looked around. “Are we still on the air?”
“I want to make this work,” Rob said. “And I’ll show you how easy it can be.”
I wanted to believe him. “But what about Barbie?” I asked.
“Who’s Barbie?” Margot asked. “Does anyone know what’s happening?”
“Yeah, that didn’t work out so well,” Rob said. “It turns out, no one can replace you. No offense, Margot.”
“Actually O is for outdo,” Margot said.
“We’re hitting the terminal in five seconds!” Fatima yelled. “Wrap!”
“That’s gonna do it for Wake Up, USA!” Rob said to Camera 2. “Who knows if we’ll see you tomorrow.”
“And we’re clear,” Larry yelled as we cut to commercial. Then one by one the crew guys started clapping.
Rob stood up, stepped past Margot, and sat down next to me, then took my head in his hands and kissed me
.
“What’s happening?” Margot asked. “Is it sweeps?”
“Looks like Rob’s sweeping Amanda off her feet,” Larry said.
Rob looked at me. “You’re a total showstopper,” he said.
“I have a feeling that was my last show,” I told him.
“Well, if Benji fires you, someone bigger and better will hire you.” Rob pressed his palm into mine and interlaced our fingers and I squeezed back. “This is just the beginning,” he said.
I stared at Rob and felt a strange déjà vu. “Showstopper,” I repeated. I’d heard that word somewhere recently. . . . “That’s so funny,” I said. “That’s the express—” I stopped as a jolt of electricity shot up my spine into my brain. “Wait a second . . . that’s the same expression Frank in Fresno tweeted earlier.” I narrowed my eyes at Rob and started to feel a weird sensation in my stomach. “Are you in cahoots with Frank in Fresno? Are you two friends or something?”
Rob kept his eyes trained on mine, but tilted his head in a beguiling way. “I’d say it’s the ‘or something.’”
I tilted my head back at him, trying to read his face, then my mouth fell open. “Wait, you’re Frank in Fresno?!”
“Guilty?” Rob shrugged and made a pained face like he expected me to slap him.
“What the hell, Rob?”
“Hold on!” he said, lifting his hand in the stop sign. “I can explain! When the show started, I didn’t think you wanted any support from me. You didn’t seem to be, umm, how should I put this, a Rob Lahr fan. But I wanted to work with you. I knew we’d be the best team. I always wanted it to be you.”
“So you turned yourself into a foot fetishist?”
“You make it sound like a bad thing,” Rob said. “And about that dangle, may I say: You. Are. Welcome.”
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