Love at 11 - By Mari Mancusi Page 0,1
And they believed scaring her half to death was the best way to accomplish this goal.
Five years ago, I, Maddy Madison, graduated from the ivory tower of journalistic ethics, Columbia University, ready to save the world. Expose the bad guys. Right society’s wrongs. Be the voice of truth in a sea of lies.
Boy, was I an idiot.
Anyone who thinks TV news has anything—and I mean anything—to do with journalism should take a major reality pill. Our business is entertainment. Period.
Except on those network TV magazine shows. Like 60 Minutes, 20/20, 48 Hours or my favorite—Newsline. Newsline did important stories. They uncovered scandals and weren’t afraid to name the bad guys. It’d been my dream to become a producer for Newsline ever since their star investigative reporter Diane Dickson came to speak at my high school ten years ago. She’d been so cool. So smart. So polished and important. So into real journalism and ethics and all that stuff. I’d hero-worshiped her ever since.
So, I continued to toil away at local news producing, honing my résumé videotape and hoping that someday I’d have enough experience to be worthy of walking the same halls as Diane and the gang.
Hey, a girl could dream.
“I’ve got some news that may cheer you up,” Jodi announced.
“Oh?” I asked, crossing my fingers for jelly donuts at the assignment desk.
“They hired a new photographer. And he’s to die for!”
“Perfect.” I grinned. “I’d been thinking of pitching ‘Fatal Photographers’ at the next story meeting. Do you think he’ll agree to be interviewed?”
“Hah!” Jodi laughed appreciatively. “But seriously, Maddy. He’s really hot.”
“Easy, tiger,” I warned. “You’re taken, remember?” Jodi, a dog freak, met the man of her dreams a couple years back on Dog Beach, a pet friendly patch of sand on the northern border of San Diego’s Ocean Beach. Her three male Great Danes came bounding over to sniff the butt of his delicate female Italian greyhound, and the rest, as they say, was history. The two got married a year ago and live happily ever after, squashed into a hair-infested, Great Dane/Italian greyhound-filled bungalow on the shores of Ocean Beach. Luckily, neither could afford much furniture.
“But you’re still single,” Jodi reminded me with a sly smile, brushing dog hair from her otherwise adorable black sweater.
Typical. She was always trying to set me up, so I’d have a fourth wheel to balance things when we all went out. In fact, she was so desperate for me to get a boyfriend she’d been less than selective with her set-ups than I might have desired.
I mean, sure there’s probably a woman out there for the guy who thought a replica Captain Kirk uniform was proper attire for a first date. And I imagine it’ll be quite simple for that man with a penchant for farting at dinner to find the woman who better appreciates his bodily functions. And the guy who was so cheap he made me write an IOU when I needed a quarter for the bubblegum machine? I bet his Mrs. Right’s just around the corner.
So when Jodi got that excited matchmaking gleam in her blue eyes, my guard immediately went up.
“What’s he look like?”
“Go see for yourself. He’s in the newsroom.”
“I don’t know. I’ve got to go work on ‘Cosmetics That Kill.’ It edits Tuesday and I’ve yet to find a single person who will agree to be interviewed on the topic.” Jodi put on a mock pout. “Fine. Go ahead and work. But when Christine in sales snatches this one, you’ll be sorry you didn’t get to him first.”
I was saved by the bell—my phone rang. I hesitated before picking up the receiver: It was an inside ring, which meant someone somewhere in the building wanted something from me. This could be as simple as “Where’s the tease for last night’s story?” or as bad as “You’re fired, pack up your desk and leave.” That’s how it worked at News 9.
Curiosity won out over common sense and I put the receiver to my ear. “This is Maddy.”
“Madeline, this is Richard. Can you come down to my office for a moment?”
It was the news director. While Laura was the executive producer of our department, Richard was the big boss of the entire newsroom. He wasn’t a tyrant or anything, but no one wanted to be called down to his office. It was like being sent to the principal—and never turned out well. My hand shook a little as I set the receiver back in its cradle.
What could