“Dinosaurs. They’re the past. We’re the present. And who knows what the future will be? Let me show you around.”
There were dozens of people working at desks and monitors. Wire copy from half a dozen news services was appearing on computers.
“Here’s where stories and news breaks come in from all over the world,” Hawkins explained. “I decide which ones we’re going with. The assignment desk sends out crews to cover those stories. Our reporters in the field send in their stories by microwave or transmitters. Besides our wire services, we have one hundred and sixty police channels, reporters with cell phones, scanners, monitors. Every story is planned to the second. The writers work with tape editors to get the timing exact. The average news story runs between a minute and a half and a minute and forty-five seconds.”
“How many writers work here?” Dana asked.
“Six. Then you have a video coordinator, news tape editors, producers, directors, reporters, anchors…” He stopped. A man and woman were approaching them. “Speaking of anchors, meet Julia Brinkman and Michael Tate.”
Julia Brinkman was a stunning woman, with chestnut-colored hair, tinted contacts that made her eyes a sultry green, and a practiced, disarming smile. Michael Tate was an athletic-looking man with a burstingly genial smile and an outgoing manner.
“Our new writer,” Hawkins said. “Donna Evanston.”
“Dana Evans.”
“Whatever. Let’s get to work.”
He took Dana back to his office. He nodded toward the assignment board on the wall. “Those are the stories I’ll choose from. They’re called slugs. We’re on twice a day. We do the noon news from twelve to one and the nightly news from ten to eleven. When I tell you which stories I want to run with, you’ll put them together and make everything sound so exciting that the viewers can’t switch channels. The tape editor will feed you video clips, and you’ll work them into the scripts and indicate where the clips go.”
“Right.”
“Sometimes there’s a breaking story, and then we’ll cut into our regular programming with a live feed.”
“That’s interesting,” Dana said.
She had no idea that one day it was going to save her life.
The first night’s program was a disaster. Dana had put the news leads in the middle instead of the beginning, and Julia Brinkman found herself reading Michael Tate’s stories while Michael was reading hers.
When the broadcast was over, the director said to Dana, “Mr. Hawkins would like to see you in his office. Now.”
Hawkins was sitting behind his desk, grimfaced.
“I know,” Dana said contritely. “It was a new low in television, and it’s all my fault.”
Hawkins sat there watching her.
Dana tried again. “The good news, Tom, is that from now on it can only get better. Right?”
He kept staring at her.
“And it will never happen again because”—she saw the look on his face—”I’m fired.”
“No,” Hawkins said curtly. “That would be letting you off too easily. You’re going to do this until you get it right. And I’m talking about the noon news tomorrow. Am I making myself clear?”
“Very.”
“Good. I want you here at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“Right, Tom.”
“And since we’re going to be working together—you can call me Mr. Hawkins.”
The noon news the next day went smoothly. Tom Hawkins had been right, Dana decided. It was just a matter of getting used to the rhythm. Get your assignment…write the story…work with the tape editor…set up the TelePrompTer for the anchors to read.
From that point on, it became routine.
Dana’s break came eight months after she had started working at WTE. She had just finished putting the evening news report on the TelePrompTer at nine forty-five and was preparing to leave. When she walked into the television studio to say good night, there was chaos. Everyone was talking at once.
Rob Cline, the director, was shouting, “Where the hell is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hasn’t anyone seen her?”
“No.”
“Did you phone her apartment?”
“I got the answering machine.”
“Wonderful. We’re on the air”—he looked at his watch—”in twelve minutes.”
“Maybe Julia was in an accident,” Michael Tate said. “She could be dead.”
“That’s no excuse. She should have phoned.”