Love at 11 - By Mari Mancusi Page 0,89

Burns. Dubbed after the old miser in The Simpsons. Trust me, he looked and acted the part. And our salaries were as pitiful at Homer’s.

“And where do you think Mr. Michaelson gets the money to pay you?”

“Could you stop the twenty questions routine and let me know what’s wrong?” What did any of this have to do with my story?

“Advertisers!” Richard proclaimed, as if he’d stumped me.

I stared at him, realizing where this was heading. “Rocky Rodriguez,” I mumbled. Damn it all to hell. I couldn’t believe he was going there. Not with such an important, big story.

“What was that?” Richard asked.

“Rocky Rodriguez,” I said louder, staring him in the eye with my most defiant expression. “You don’t want to run the story because one of the bad guys selling drugs is Rocky Rodriguez. Owner of Pacific Coast Cars. A News Nine advertiser.”

“Bingo! Give the girl a gold star.”

“Yeah, but …” I didn’t know how to argue this. I understood his point: News 9, as a rule, did not make negative statements about its advertisers on the evening news. But this was different, wasn’t it? This wasn’t saying a bakery lied about the fat content in their blueberry muffins. Or that a popular chain restaurant’s pint glass only poured out to fourteen ounces of brew. This was a San Diego business leader smuggling drugs and human cargo into the United States of America. Certainly that called for a different set of standards.

“No buts. Pacific Coast Cars is our number one advertiser. We would have no newscast without them. And if we have no newscast, you and I have no jobs. Got it?” Richard pounded on the desk for emphasis. “Not to mention the absurd amount of cash Senator Gorman has spent on commercials for his reelection campaign. Not only would we lose those, but we’d likely be sued by his office for slander.”

I stared at him in disbelief, my heart sinking to my knees. He wouldn’t run the story. My potential Emmy-winning, Newsline demo tape story. The story I’d risked my life to get. The best story I’d ever produced. And because of corporate fucking greed it would never see the light of day.

“Look, Maddy.” Richard’s tone softened. “You’re a great producer. The piece is excellent, I’m not denying that. But we don’t live in an idealistic world, here. That ivory tower of journalism? You should know that’s just a myth.”

I did know that. But it still hurt to hear him admit it out loud. I thought back to the day I graduated from college, journalism degree in hand. I had such high expectations. I was going to right society’s wrongs.

Expose the bad guys. Make the world safe for democracy. But it would never happen, I now realized.

“This is such an important topic,” I argued without much life left. “It’d save millions of lives.” Like he really cared. He only cared about his own life. His own job. “Maybe I’ll turn it over to the Feds if you won’t run it.” Though deep inside, I knew that wasn’t enough. After all, without widespread exposure to bring on public outcry, Gorman’s golf buddies could just bury it all under years of bureaucracy.

“Did you know Laura was leaving?” Richard asked suddenly.

I squinted at him, trying to follow the subject change. Our executive producer was quitting? “No! I had no idea. Why?”

“She’s off to join some PR firm. Decided to go for the big bucks instead of slaving away in a newsroom her whole life. Can’t say I blame her, really.”

Wow. I always knew Laura didn’t really have her heart in the whole TV-news thing, but I never thought she’d actually quit. Evidently she’d found a new career that would still get her invited to all the industry parties and at the same time pay the bills.

“Did you find her replacement yet?” Maybe it’d be someone cool. Someone with good taste in story ideas. Someone who would once in a great while allow something remotely journalistic to slip through.

“Actually, we did.” Richard looked pointedly at me. “Who—?” I caught the look. “Not … You don’t mean … Me?”

“Why be so surprised? You’re a talented producer with a great sense of story. I think you’d be great for the job.”

I stared at him, confused as all hell. First, he rebukes me for producing a story that implicates News 9’s biggest advertiser as a drug-dealing criminal. Then he wants to promote me? It didn’t make sense.

Unless … Unless he was trying to buy me of.