Savage News

by Jessica Yellin

  “Marvelous. Just beautiful,” the photographer said. “I think you’re going to be thrilled with those. Real mementos of a very special day.”

  The inside of Natalie’s head was so noisy she probably would not have heard it if someone had tried to stop her from leaving, but no one did. You’re not wanted here, but you’re needed at work, her brain kept saying. Then fury replaced confusion and she was filled with a sense of purpose that quickly silenced any doubts, any misgivings. She’d go where she was welcome.

  It took her less than ten minutes to shed the bridesmaid’s dress, put on her jeans, and pack her bag, leaving the discarded gown hanging in the closet. She’d have enough baggage courtesy of her mother without that.

  She looked down at Cronkite, staring expectantly up at her. “Yes, boy, you, too.” She didn’t know what she was going to do with him, but she was definitely not going to leave Cronkite here to be downsized to make more room for sex swings.

  * * *

  It was a warm, clear afternoon. The sky was filled with the fluffy clouds that made Virginia feel a world apart from DC. As they pulled away from the Aztec Barbie Dream House and headed toward the District, Natalie started to feel an emptiness in her chest. She was on her own. She’d pissed off her family. There was no one she could really confide in at work. She’d just have to get used to being a one-person operation.

  She reminded herself that she was a rising reporter at a huge network with a major scoop. She told herself that she had Cronkite and her smarts. She caught her own eye in the rearview and said, “I’m so happy for you.”

  She managed to make it nearly a mile before she had to pull off to the side of the road because she was crying too hard to see.

  25

  Lady of the Flies

  As Natalie merged onto the highway, she breathed out a sigh of relief. She felt like a complete fool for having broken down like that, but it seemed to have acted like a rain shower on a hot summer day, clearing the haze from her mind, making everything appear sharp and clean and even a little bit hopeful. She knew that once Sarah saw the story she was about to break, she’d understand and forgive her disappearance today. In fact, once she broke the story, everything would make sense. She’d be a top Washington reporter, and all her sacrifices would be justified.

  “Siri, call Matt Walsh,” she said into the speakerphone.

  “There are one million four hundred eighty thousand results for fat waltz,” British male Siri declared. “The chicken fat waltz was performed by the band Monkey Swallows the Universe at the Queens social club in—”

  When Siri finally got the right number, Matt answered after just one ring. “What happened? Any wedding cat fights? Any naked selfies?”

  “Better,” Natalie said. “I think I know where FLOTUS is.”

  “Oh.” Matt sounded like he was watching TV. “How many Xanax have you taken?”

  She needed him to focus. “Matt, listen. Put on your serious producer hat, if you even own one. We need to get on a flight to Arizona, tonight. I need you to work on that and get Bibb’s approval.”

  “Bossy today, aren’t we?” Matt said distractedly.

  “You may refer to me as Ms. Bossy, if that helps.”

  “Okay, Ms. Bossy, just so I understand, I should casually inform Bibb that we’re skipping town on the company’s dime. Care to explain why or for how long? Or when she asks for details should I just say this is on Natalie’s orders?”

  He had a point.

  “Okay, you’re right. Can you be ready with flight options for Phoenix, and I’ll fill you in on the rest when I have more information? I have to make a call and confirm some things,” Natalie said and hung up before he could ask more questions. She wasn’t ready to trust Matt with the scoop.

  Her second call was to Huntington Recovery Center in Phoenix, which Siri blessedly found after just two attempts. The receptionist said she’d have to take a message for the executive director who could only be reached for emergencies, “due to this being Saturday.” Summoning her most authoritative slash threatening tone, Natalie explained that she was a reporter for ATN, the national television network, and on deadline with important information about your center so a call back in the next hour would be great.

  She hung up, confident that would get a quick reply.

  As she rounded a corner on the leafy parkway, Natalie saw the silver water of the Potomac and the Washington Monument piercing the blue sky in the distance, and a sizzle raced through her body. This was the image they showed in every Washington spy thriller—right before the agent nabbed the bad guy and broke the mystery wide open. She grinned to herself, feeling it was a sign, confirmation she was finally on a real story.

  Watch out, Ryan.

  Turning on the car’s satellite radio, she flipped to a simulcast of ATN’s live broadcast. “A brand-new poll from ATN and SurveyMonkey shows the nation is divided.” It was Nelly Jones’s voice, promoting her Monday show. “Half of Americans believe Sonia Barbaro is telling the truth. The other half believe it’s all made up,” Nelly said. “Does that mean it’s impossible to know? Tune in Monday.”

  Glancing at Cronkite, Natalie pointed to the radio. “Do you hear that? We’re not reporting actual information. We’re reporting what viewers think the facts might be. You get how that’s crazy, don’t you, Cronkite?”

  Cronkite farted, which she took for agreement.

  Her phone rang.

  “Hi, Ms. Savage,” a thin male voice said. “My name is Curtis Norton. I’m the manager on duty here at Huntington Recovery Center.” Natalie, heart racing, worked to stay focused on the road. “As today is Saturday, I’m afraid our executive director is unavailable, but I wanted to return your call. How may I help you?”

  Natalie’s excitement was dulled by a tinge of disappointment. She wanted to speak to the boss, but the manager on duty would have to do.

  “Thanks so much, Mr. Norton,” she said, slipping into her polite reporter mode. She’d learned that gave her the most flexibility. Start sweet and they had a tendency to underestimate you. “I’m calling from ATN in Washington, DC. Multiple sources tell me that First Lady Anita Crusoe is currently a patient at your center.” She waited a beat to let that sink in. The sourcing was a slight exaggeration—it was only one source and she didn’t exactly hear it firsthand. “I wanted to give you a chance to comment before we go to air.”

  There was a pause. “I appreciate the call.” Then silence.

  Natalie almost felt bad about giving him a panic like this. He had to know that the First Lady’s stay would eventually leak, but the poor guy couldn’t be excited to field this call. “Ms. Savage, was it? At Huntington, we assure all our patients anonymity. It’s part of the ethos of recovery.”

  Patient! He’s just referred to FLOTUS as a patient! In her mind Natalie started doing a jig.

  “I hope you understand.” Mr. Norton sounded apologetic.

  “Of course I understand, Mr. Norton. My own family has struggled with addiction and I respect your commitment to privacy.” She felt a tinge of guilt for trading on her father’s personal history, but it was a good way to win the source’s trust. “This is a great opportunity for you to educate the public about recovery and your good work.”

  “Well, I do appreciate the offer, it’s very kind of you,” he said without a hint of appreciation. “I’m sure that you understand we have many high-profile patients. Were I to speak in response to this inquiry, it might lead the press to call about other clients.”

  Natalie was flush with excitement. The way he said “many high-profile patients” was the agreement she needed. He was essentially saying that FLOTUS was one of their high-profile patients but there were many others. Of course he wasn’t allowed to confirm FLOTUS was there, but twice declining the opportunity to deny it was almost the same.

  When she thanked him and hung up, she smiled at Cron
kite, “We have a big scoop.” Catching his eye, she felt a flash of regret. Her dad wouldn’t like this story, not at all.

  When she was a teenager, he’d get mad whenever she’d needle him to reveal whether anyone she knew was in AA. Anyone famous? Any of her friends’ parents?

  “If I were to divulge that, I would be part of the problem,” he’d say.

  Guess I’m about to be part of the problem, she thought and dialed Matt.

  “Okay, ready?” She smiled absently as the reality of this moment started to sink in. “FLOTUS is in an addiction rehab center in Phoenix.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure. I just spoke with the manager. Got as much confirmation as I can without being on the ground. How quickly can we get there?”

  “What did he say?”

  “That he can’t discuss it because of privacy. Then he got silent. Twice.”

  “He didn’t deny it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Holy shit. This is fucking huge.”

  “I know. I need to do an errand but I can be at the airport in two hours.”

  “On it,” he said and hung up.

  For once, Matt’s appetite for scandal was a blessing.

  * * *

  With no friends in town and the UnComfort Inn being a decidedly un-dog-friendly environment (more proof that their commitment to comfort was illusory at best), she really had no choice. At least that’s what she told herself as she arrived at James’s place just before 3 p.m. and prayed that he was home. She should have called, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you ask over the phone, and she figured she’d have better luck pleading her case in person.

  Buttoning up her pride, she pushed the doorbell and waited. She thought she heard a sound upstairs but when no one emerged, she buzzed again.

  Now she heard footsteps on the stairs and felt a sharp pang of worry. What if he slammed the door in her face? He’d have every right to. She’d agreed to go home with him, passed out, bailed abruptly without hooking up or getting breakfast, and was now showing up asking for a favor. I’d make the worst girlfriend ever, she thought.

  Looking down at Cronkite, she said, “Act cool. And look cute. We really need him to like us.”

  Cronkite looked at her and she could have sworn he was telling her to take her own advice.

  The door opened and standing in front of her was a trim African American man in khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt who looked sort of like James but with graying hair.

  “Hello, I’m sorry. I’m here for James. I hope I’m not interrupting something. Is he home?”

  The man’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re a friend of James?”

  She nodded, wondering if there was a problem. Maybe James had another girl upstairs? Maybe? Probably! He probably has to feign illness and fight women off when he wants to spend a Saturday alone. She should have called first.

  “Is this a bad time?” she asked nervously.

  The man pushed his lips together and shook his head as if to say not a bad time at all. Then, without looking away from Natalie, he called over his shoulder, “James! Female visitor here for you! Age appropriate. I think you should come quickly.”

  She heard footsteps on the stairs and then James appeared wearing a crisp blue T-shirt and looking surprised to see her.

  “Thanks, Dad,” he said. “Can you excuse us?”

  Dad? Handsome dad.

  When his father went upstairs, James looked at Natalie, confused. “This is a surprise,” he said. Natalie noted that he didn’t call it a “pleasant” surprise. “What happened to the wedding?”

  She tried to achieve a state of inner calm. She needed as much dignity as she could muster. “I had to leave early because there’s news and I have to get to Phoenix.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You walked out on your mom’s wedding?”

  “Well, my mom wants to kill the dog so I felt justified,” she blurted. Then, registering James’s startled look, blushed. That’s the look you give someone you don’t want to date, she thought. “Sorry, it’s a long story, but short version, I was at the wedding. I had to leave and take my family dog with me so my mom doesn’t put him to sleep. But I also have to fly to Phoenix tonight. So I know this is a huge imposition, but I’m wondering if maybe I could leave him here with you and Colin Powell?”

  It sounded insane. Hearing it out loud, she realized just how insane. And rude. She tried for a casual laugh but it came out like she was choking.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you want a glass of water?”

  “I’m fine. I was just trying to laugh insouciantly.”

  “Not for the faint of heart,” he said. “That’s graduate level. Probably better to start with a jovial chortle.”

  Ugh. He was smart and cute and funny and she was screwing this up. She should turn and go. Take Cronkite and run. If she dressed him in a sweater and glasses, no one would be able to tell her dog apart from any of the beaten down travelers at the airport right?

  But her feet didn’t move. She said, “I’m sorry about leaving so abruptly this morning. I was nervous and I needed to get to work, and I was afraid I was going to screw up my mom’s wedding.” She stopped herself with a laugh. “Actually I did screw it up. Badly.” She waved that away. “Doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is—is that your dad? He looks really young. Super handsome.” She stopped herself and shook her head. “I don’t know why I said that. I get a little nervous around you. If you can’t tell, I’m not always very good at boy-girl interactions.”

  James squinted at her with a smile. “Oh I don’t know. I think you’re doing okay.”

  Her mouth opened and closed twice before words came out. “Please don’t say things like that. It makes this embarrassing situation even worse.” She looked at him beseechingly.

  “James, dear!” It was a woman’s voice. “What are you doing downstairs? Why don’t you invite your friend up?”

  He laughed and stepped back from the door. “Got it, Mom,” he yelled up the stairs. And then to Natalie, “Would you like to come in?”

  She said, “Yes,” and meant it. “But I can’t. I have to be at the airport and I need to run to my apartment and get clothes first.”

  He shook his head, smiling. “Is that your standard don’t call me, take my dog, and I’ll call you line?”

  “No, it’s true!” God, it would be easier to concentrate if he wasn’t so cute.

  Cronkite, who had been doing a jig on the hot sidewalk, now inched up to James and began to nuzzle his leg.

  “What’s his name?” James asked.

  “It’s Cronkite.” She took a deep inhale.

  James shook his head again, laughing. “Okay. Well, we’d be honored to have Cronkite as a guest.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Really thank you so much.”

  “One more thing.”

  He pulled her to his chest and kissed her.

  Not hard. Not long. Just perfectly hot.

  “Let me know when you’re back,” he said.

  She nodded and got back into her car swooning.

  * * *

  She drove two blocks in a haze, the empty feeling in her chest replaced by rising excitement. It was all coming together at once. The guy. The story. Her future. She started to consider where James might take her on their next date. And maybe they’d go to Miami for New Year’s vacation together. He’d look amazing in a tux when she took him to the White House Correspondents’ Dinner—or the White House Christmas party—once she was ATN’s senior White House correspondent. Good things come to those who persist!

  Her phone rang.

  “Natalie, Matthew says you confirmed the First Lady is in rehab? Is this true?”

  Bibb.

  “Hi. He did?” Natalie said, trying to play it cool. “Yes, I’ve possi
bly confirmed that. I need to do more reporting.”

  “We need get this on air ASAP. They’ll be ready as soon as you arrive.”

  Her heart started racing.

  “Fantastic. Thanks, Bibb. I asked Matt to put us on the next flight to Phoenix. I will let you know as soon as I have this solid, hopefully in time for the morning shows,” she said, offering the best case scenario.

  Bibb was firm. “Don’t worry about getting to Phoenix. We have an Arizona freelancer on call. Tell me the name of the center, and I’ll head our Arizona crew in that direction.”

  Natalie felt her blood go cold. She’d been here before. If she gave Bibb the name of the rehab center, she’d hand the story to Ryan. Did Bibb really think she’d fall for this twice?

  “Natalie?” Bibb said. Natalie imagined Bibb pulling out a whetstone and slowly sharpening her nails as she spoke. All the better to claw you with, my pretty. “How quickly can you get to the White House? I need you on the North Lawn ASAP and I need the name of the center so we can get a reporter over there.”

  “Wait...you want me to go to the White House?” Natalie stammered, thrown.

  “Yes. I want you live from the North Lawn, ASAP. I’ll have our freelancer in Phoenix chase down any leads on the ground in Arizona. I can’t afford to waste time flying you out there. Let’s get you out front on this now.”

  Everything went quiet except those words. Live from the North Lawn. For Natalie, that was the TV news equivalent of getting the Oscar, landing a CEO job, and hitting fifty million likes on your YouTube video simultaneously. Bibb was giving her a break!

  Sure, you could insist on going to Phoenix to report this yourself, but Ryan wouldn’t, she chided. Maybe this was the Chief’s way of making up for the situation in the kitchen Saturday night. Maybe it was the universe’s way of ensuring things worked out in the end.

  “I can be there in fifteen,” she told Bibb and turned right, heading in the direction of the White House.

  26