Matt Baker said, “I want to talk to you about the story about President Russell’s love nest in Virginia.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Leslie said. She held up a copy of The Washington Post, their rival. “Have you seen this?”
Matt had seen it. “Yes, it’s just—”
“In the old days it was called a scoop, Matt. Where were you and your reporters when the Post was getting the news?”
The headline in The Washington Post read: SECOND LOBBYIST TO BE INDICTED FOR GIVING ILLEGAL GIFTS TO SECRETARY OF DEFENSE.
“Why didn’t we get that story?”
“Because it isn’t official yet. I checked on it. It’s just—”
“I don’t like being scooped.”
Matt Baker sighed and sat back in his chair. It was going to be a stormy session.
“We’re number one, or we’re nothing,” Leslie Stewart announced to the group. “And if we’re nothing, there won’t be any jobs here for anyone, will there?”
Leslie turned to Arnie Cohn, the editor of the Sunday magazine section. “When people wake up Sunday morning, we want them to read the magazine section. We don’t want to put our readers back to sleep. The stories we ran last Sunday were boring.”
He was thinking, If you were a man, I’d—“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll try to do better next time.”
Leslie turned to Jeff Connors, the sports editor. Connors was a good-looking man in his midthirties, tall, with an athletic build, blond hair, intelligent gray eyes. He had the easy manner of someone who knew that he was good at what he did. Matt had heard that Leshe had made a play for him, and he had turned her down.
“You wrote that Fielding was going to be traded to the Pirates.”
“I was told—”
“You were told wrong! The Tribune is guilty of printing a story that never happened.”
“I got it from his manager,” Jeff Connors said unperturbed. “He told me that—”
“Next time check out your stories, and then check them out again.”
Leslie turned and pointed to a framed, yellowed newspaper article hanging on the wall. It was the front page of the Chicago Tribune, dated November 3, 1948. The banner headline read: DEWEY DEFEATS TRUMAN.
“The worst thing a newspaper can do,” Leslie said, “is to get the facts wrong. We’re in a business where you always have to get it right.”
She glanced at her watch. “That’s it for now. I’ll expect you all to do a lot better.” As they rose to leave, Leshe said to Matt Baker, “I want you to stay.”
“Right.” He sank back into his chair and watched the others depart.
“Was I rough on them?” she asked.
“You got what you wanted. They’re all suicidal.”
“We’re not here to make friends, we’re here to put out a newspaper.” She looked up again at the framed front page on the wall. “Can you imagine what the publisher of that paper must have felt after that story hit the streets and Truman was president? I never want to have that feeling, Matt. Never.”
“Speaking of getting it wrong,” Matt said, “that story on page one about President Russell was more suitable for a cheap tabloid publication. Why do you keep riding him? Give him a chance.”
Leshe said enigmatically, “I gave him his chance.” She stood up and began to pace. “I got a tip that Russell is going to veto the new communications bill. That means we’ll have to call off the deal for the San Diego station and the Omaha station.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that.”
“Oh, yes, there is. I want him out of office, Matt. We’ll help put someone else in the White House, someone who knows what he’s doing.”
Matt had no intention of getting into another argument with Leslie Stewart about the president. She was fanatic on the subject.
“He’s not fit to be in that office, and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that he’s defeated in the next election.”
Philip Cole, chief of correspondents for WTE, hurried into Matt Baker’s office as Matt was ready to leave. There was a worried expression on his face. “We have a problem, Matt.”