Dana said, “Excuse me…”
The director turned to her impatiently. “Yes?”
“If Julia doesn’t show up, I could do the newscast.”
“Forget it.” He turned back to his assistant. “Call security and see if she’s come into the building.”
The assistant picked up the phone and dialed. “Has Julia Brinkman checked in yet…? Well, when she does, tell her to get up here, fast.”
“Have him hold an elevator for her. We’re on the air in”—he looked at his watch again—”seven damned minutes.”
Dana stood there, watching the growing panic.
Michael Tate said, “I could do both parts.”
“No,” the director snapped. “We need two of you up there.” He looked at his watch again. “Three minutes. Goddammit. How could she do this to us? We’re on the air in—”
Dana spoke up. “I know all the words. I wrote them.”
He gave her a quick glance. “You have no makeup on. You’re dressed wrong.”
A voice came from the sound engineer’s booth. “Two minutes. Take your places, please.”
Michael Tate shrugged and took his seat on the platform in front of the cameras.
“Places, please!”
Dana smiled at the director. “Good night, Mr. Cline.” She started toward the door.
“Wait a minute!” He was rubbing his hand across his forehead. “Are you sure you can do this?”
“Try me,” Dana said.
“I don’t have any choice, do I?” he moaned. “All right. Get up there. My God! Why didn’t I listen to my mother and become a doctor?”
Dana hurried up to the platform and took the seat next to Michael Tate.
“Thirty seconds…twenty…ten…five…”
The director signaled with his hand, and the red light on the camera flashed on.
“Good evening,” Dana said smoothly. “Welcome to the WTE ten-o’clock news. We have a breaking story for you in Holland. There was an explosion at an Amsterdam school this afternoon and…”
The rest of the broadcast went smoothly.
The following morning, Rob Cline came into Dana’s office. “Bad news. Julia was in an automobile accident last night. Her face is”—he hesitated—“disfigured.”
“I’m sorry,” Dana said, concerned. “How bad is it?”
“Pretty bad.”
“But today plastic surgery can—”
He shook his head. “Not this time. She won’t be coming back.”
“I’d like to go see her. Where is she?”
“They’re taking her back to her family, in Oregon.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You win some, you lose some.” He studied Dana a moment. “You were okay last night. We’ll keep you on until we find someone permanent.”
Dana went to see Matt Baker. “Did you see the news last night?” she asked.
“Yes,” he grunted. “For God’s sakes, try putting on some makeup and a more appropriate dress.”
Dana felt deflated. “Right.”
As she turned to leave, Matt Baker said grudgingly, “You weren’t bad.” Coming from him, it was a high compliment.
On the fifth night of the news broadcast, the director said to Dana, “By the way, the big brass said to keep you on.”
She wondered if the big brass was Matt Baker.
Within six months, Dana became a fixture on the Washington scene. She was young and attractive and her intelligence shone through. At the end of the year, she was given a raise and special assignments. One of her shows, Here and Now, interviews with celebrities, had zoomed to the top of the ratings. Her interviews were personal and sympathetic, and celebrities who hesitated to appear on other talk shows asked to be on Dana’s show. Magazines and newspapers began interviewing Dana. She was becoming a celebrity herself.
At night, Dana would watch the international news. She envied the foreign correspondents. They were doing something important. They were reporting history, informing the world about the important events that were happening around the globe. She felt frustrated.
Dana’s two-year contract with WTE was nearly up. Philip Cole, the chief of correspondents, called her in.
“You’re doing a great job, Dana. We’re all proud of you.”
“Thank you, Philip.”
“It’s time for us to be talking about your new contract. First of all—”
“I’m quitting.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“When my contract’s up, I’m not doing the show anymore.”
He was looking at her incredulously. “Why would you want to quit? Don’t you like it here?”