Savage News Page 6

  After checking her Twitter numbers—a healthy follower bump since appearing at the White House—Natalie made herself look very busy scrolling through news articles: “Lystra Family Has A History of Paying Off Women”; “World Leaders With Migraines”; “Orlando Woman Makes Jewelry from Dehydrated Breast Milk”; “Is Porn A Public Health Crisis?”; “Justin Bieber Sings Duet With Down Syndrome Girl.”

  So Justin Beiber really is still a thing? Why would—?

  “How’s your mother, the bride?”

  Natalie looked up to see Matt Walsh sliding into the seat next to hers.

  “She’s fine,” Natalie said warily, wondering who invited a Beltway reporter to ATN’s town hall. “Why are you here?” she asked, caving to her curiosity.

  Matt feigned hurt. “Is that any way to greet your new colleague who’s just trying to be friendly?”

  She felt panic course through her. “New colleague?”

  “Someone is out of the loop,” he chided. “ATN acquired Beltway last week. The official announcement is today.” He grinned into her frown. “I know, I couldn’t be happier either. You and I, together at last, like the besties we were meant to be. Should we share passcodes now or wait until after we’ve had our nails done in the same color?”

  “Maybe we should skip ahead to the part where we both like the same guy and have a falling-out and never speak again,” she suggested.

  “I just love your sense of humor, Savage,” he went on pleasantly, ignoring the Chicago-in-February cold shoulder she was aiming in his direction as well as her question.

  “Are you sure you want to sit here? There are so many other nicer seats closer up,” Natalie said, trying to figure out whether he was serious about being her new colleague.

  “I’m good.” He said studying her.

  Her iPhone buzzed with a message from her sister, which usually made her feel better. At least it was a perfect excuse to ignore the swamp creature next to her.

  SARAH: Are you sitting down?

  Usually.

  NATALIE: Yes. But I’m going to stand up now because I don’t want to hear anything that’s prefaced that way. Nothing good ever comes after those words.

  SARAH: I think Gerald and Mom are going to a nudist resort for their honeymoon.

  NATALIE: I AM STANDING UP. I AM NOT SITTING DOWN. YOU CAN’T SAY THAT WHEN I AM STANDING UP.

  SARAH: And when I say I think, I mean that they are. I wanted you to know so you can get used to the idea.

  NATALIE: THERE IS NO IDEA. I CAN’T HEAR YOU BECAUSE I AM STANDING.

  SARAH: And not freak out.

  Natalie had, in fact, stood up, though obviously it had not done her any good. But it did give her a perfect vantage point to see Bibb walk onto the now nearly full newsroom floor—with Reality Show Ryan right beside her.

  Bibb’s affectionate description of Ryan as an elevator person shimmered through Natalie’s mind like a xylophone playing in the chord of anxiety. She was starting to think that rules of the TV news game trumped things like news standards, and if you landed on the Win Genetic Lottery and Be Unhampered by Modesty (or Shame) spaces, you got a Become the Darling of Your Bosses card and advanced directly to Shot at High-Profile Career.

  Matt looked up, saying, “Who’s the chummy mummy clinging to Ryan McGreavy?” He craned his neck around Natalie to get a better glimpse.

  “What is a chummy mummy?”

  “Older woman who would like to be more than ‘just friends’ with a younger man,” Matt recited. “It’s the update to ‘cougar,’ now with less sexism.”

  Natalie frowned. “How is chummy mummy less sexist? At least cougar is a metonym.”

  Matt frowned at her and hissed, “Metonym? That’s very Hot Nerd. It’s also the kind of talk that will get you fired.” He shook his head in disbelief at her carelessness, repeating, “Metonym,” under his breath.

  Natalie wondered if talking to Matt made everyone want to research euthanasia or only her.

  “Jesus, this place has the atmosphere of an embalming room,” Matt was going on. “I assume it’s always like this. Or is this special because of the bloodbath to come?”

  Natalie glanced at her phone, praying for an interruption. Breaking news? A text from her mother? Maybe he’ll just stop talking. “What are you talking about?” Natalie said unwillingly.

  Matt lowered his voice. “The words merger and revenue don’t occur in nature without the presence of layoffs,” he said. “Especially when the new boss has five mortgages, a hefty alimony payment, a pricey new wife, and three kids in private school.”

  Now he had her interest. “How do you know all that?” she asked, impressed.

  “I pulled his divorce filings,” Matt said. “Obviously.”

  Natalie had read some things about the new boss, too. He had been with American Services Industries for fifteen years, where he’d grown profits at every division he’d run by at least ten percent. Now, according to the Wall Street Journal, the ASI honchos were testing to see if he did well with “content,” in which case he’d be queued up to replace the current CEO. She’d noticed that all the profiles also described the boss as a “family man.”

  “I don’t know, I read that he’s turned over a new leaf. New wife, new life. He doesn’t believe in working weekends,” Natalie said, groping for the bright side. “Maybe he’s a good guy.”

  “I bet anything you’re wrong,” Matt said, giving her a knowing look. “C’mon, he’s the Candy King.”

  “Candy King?” Natalie asked, torn between the twin poles of her personality: curiosity and not wanting to engage with jerks.

  “You know. Pushing candy on kids?” Matt said, looking so pleased to be holding her interest that she felt herself softening a little. “Remember when ASI had that scandal around organic food?”

  “Sort of,” she lied.

  “Let me take you back to the crux of the matter,” he said dramatically. “EatRiteFoods had added refined sugar to their supposedly natural snacks. The public discovered this when several unfortunate diabetics ate the stuff and went blind.” Matt gestured to the stage where, according to the circling clock, the Chief would appear in five minutes and thirty-seven seconds. “Our new boss was put at the helm of the food division to make it profitable post-scandal. Everyone expected him to cave to the eco-weenies and turn it sustainable times ten. Instead he scrapped the organics line and doubled down on high-fructose corn syrup and trans fats. Earnings went through the roof!”

  “From this you conclude he’s here to announce layoffs?” Natalie asked, incredulous.

  “He understands the proposition that businesses do well when they give the people what they want. Candy,” Matt said grandly, as if Natalie hadn’t been following. “Translation, increase profits, by any means necessary. Which means layoffs. Which means no one’s safe. Which means odds are, one of us is out of a job—soon.”

  At that moment Bibb ascended the stage and tapped on the microphone. “Welcome, everyone!” she chirped in a childish high-pitched tone Natalie had never heard her use. “Everybody! Take your seats!” She was wearing a red dress with a white Peter Pan collar, white tights, and black ballet flats. The hem of the dress almost, but not quite, made it to her knees.

  Matt nudged Natalie and pointed at her phone.

  MATT: The woman obviously mugged Little Orphan Annie for her clothes. My god, hasn’t that poor child suffered enough?

  NATALIE: How’d you get my number?

  MATT: Do not doubt me, grasshopper.

  Natalie struggled not to laugh. She didn’t want to encourage him.

  Bibb continued. “You guys, I’m so happy I have the privilege of introducing the man of the moment who has a unique track record of disruptive success...” Her voice trailed off as if in awe. “Welcome the new man in our lives, the Chief!”

  Bibb stepped aside and he
ads began to turn, hoping to catch sight of the Chief coming toward the stage from one of the side doors. Natalie had imagined that in person the Chief would look like most executives—a baldish, mid-height man with a melancholy bravado.

  A bright beam of light projected down from the ceiling like the holodeck on Star Trek, recalling Natalie’s attention to an empty space at the center of the room. And the Chief appeared, a shimmering image floating just above the ground.

  MATT: What the fuck is our new boss doing arriving as a beam of light? Is this normal?

  Natalie couldn’t refrain from replying.

  NATALIE: It’s a hologram.

  MATT: Sure. Well then it all makes—WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING.

  The image of the Chief had gray eyebrows, an ample gut, and a mane of gray hair brushed back from his high forehead. He looked like the love child of a Viking, Sasquatch, and a hairdresser, an impression that was enhanced by the fact that his white cambric shirt was slashed up the front giving his audience brief glimpses of a hairy chest with a tacky gold medallion.

  He flashed a bright movie-star grin and thrust his arms out wide like he’d just finished a magic trick—ta-daa.

  “ATN! So glad to be here!” he boomed. His voice was the deep baritone of a radio announcer. “Hope you don’t mind I’m making a special entrance!”

  People began to clap. Soon the whole auditorium was on its feet. Natalie, too, though she wasn’t sure why.

  MATT: We are applauding a 3D image created by wave diffraction. Are we sure this boss even exists?

  “ATN, first, I’d like to say I’m so glad to be joining you!” the Chief declared. “I hope you enjoy this new hologram technology. We’re giving it a test run, see if it’s up to standards for air.” He grinned. “If we like it, soon you will be using it, too!” A pocket-size dragon crawled up from the Chief’s back to perch on his shoulder. He made no notice of it but there were a few oohs from the audience.

  Natalie had to admit the Chief projected a confidence that made him almost attractive. The kind of man Natalie always felt both repelled by and drawn to, the charming manipulators, men who were the opposite of her father. “Men who resemble Mom,” Sarah had often pointed out, causing Natalie to give up on dating altogether for a few months.

  “All right, let’s get down to business,” the shimmering image declared. “Perhaps you’ve noticed that we’ve made some changes to programming, and already viewers are responding. I’m pleased to say our 10 a.m. hour is number three among cable news channels!” The number three appeared over his shoulder as he spoke and the tiny dragon now stood up, stretched, and blew fire across the word MSNBC, incinerating it. People laughed and applauded. “Also the first half of the bottom half hour of our 9 p.m. show is number two, up twenty-five percent in total viewers year-to-year.” The dragon sat on his shoulder and stared out at the room with rainbow eyes. “We are gaining on the digital front as well—with ATN.com up forty percent in the last few days on the strength of the Rigo Lystra story.”

  MATT: You do know those are not impressive numbers.

  NATALIE: All news execs make bad numbers sound good. Did you see his dragon?

  “This is a great time to be covering politics!” the Chief continued. “The White House is swimming in scandal and viewers have been loving it.” The 3D image lunged to one side of the stage. “But we can’t get complacent. Even scandals can get stale. We need to change it up.” The dragon jumped. “We have to lead the charge.” The dragon did a flip and flew straight up toward the ceiling. “We have to innovate—with new technology, like this hologram.” The dragon began to do loop-de-loops in the air, picking up speed as the Chief spoke until it was only a blur. “We need new approaches to take ATN all the way to number one!”

  All at once the dragon vanished and the words ATN burned in flame above the Chief’s head.

  The Chief continued, “To that end, I got my quant guys to break down the numbers. Here’s what we’ve learned—the news is making people sad.” The hologram paused and looked around the room, letting that sink in. “That’s a worrying trend. Increasingly our customers associate our brand with negative emotions. They’re tired of hearing us tell them awful things every day. They’re starting to tune us out.”

  He turned and smiled a shade too enthusiastically. “Now, I’m not here to tell you what to do. You’re the journalists. I’m here to study at your feet.” He nodded at someone off-camera, then said, “But I want to share with you a secret weapon.” A crew of What Girls began to march importantly through the aisles like ring girls at a cage fight, handing out sheaves of paper.

  MATT: Who are these angels?

  MATT: I can’t believe I found my future wife here at work.

  MATT: What is taking them so long to get to us? And what is it with handing out paper? I haven’t had a piece of paper since 1998.

  “Assistants are handing out a document that will change your life and, if you embrace it and use it, will change our collective destiny. A team of top data scientists has developed a simple technique that will empower all of us to make our news more attractive to viewers. I believe this cheat sheet can help us reshape this network, supersize our ratings, and make news hot again.”

  A What Girl bearing tree-pulp technology reached their row. Matt gazed at her euphorically. Natalie looked at the paper and nearly choked on her tongue.

  The Chief said, “I present to you, the game changer. The secret weapon. Our List of Forbidden Words.” He turned and looked somewhere off-camera and said, “I thought we decided to call them Traffic Killers. I hate Forbidden Words, Larry, it sounds Chinese or something. I—”

  All of a sudden the bottom half of the Chief’s body disappeared and his large torso hung in the air, legless, for an impossible series of seconds. There were some strange sounds before his full body reappeared.

  “Sorry about that. They’re still working out the kinks in the technology.” He shot another disgusted look off-camera before he continued, “As I was saying. The short version—when our brainiacs did the math, we learned something extraordinary. By using these guidelines, we changed key words in the headlines for our online stories. With the new headlines, the stories got an exponential increase in traffic! We believe this will work for TV as well. All you have to do is avoid these words in your reporting online or on TV and watch your ratings climb. Boom, pure magic. We are giving you the keys to the kingdom, people, the philosopher’s stone of newsmaking, the secret formula to turn any dull report into ratings gold.”

  Natalie stared at the paper in her lap, fighting down a wave of nausea.

  Forbidden Words:

  Abortion. Affordable Housing. Africa. Authorization.

  Bailout.

  Canada. Charity. Climate. Cloture. Compromise. Consensus. Consolidation.

  Debt. Devout. Disabled.

  Education. Entitlement. Equity.

  Feminist. Filibuster.

  Gridlock.

  In-Depth. Income Gap. Inequality. Infrastructure.

  Justice.

  Lesbian. Last Night. Last Week. Low Income.

  Medicaid. Moderate. Monopoly.

  Native American.

  Poor. Poverty.

  Reauthorization. Reconciliation. Reform. Regulation.

  Sanctions. Sequester.

  Underclass.

  Wages. Working Poor. Welfare. Women’s Health. Women’s Rights.

  Yesterday.

  MATT: Goodbye poverty, malnutrition and women’s health. Hello, Third World Diet Craze: What Keeps Refugee Women Looking So Thin?

  NATALIE: You’re heartless.

  MATT: I’m NOW!

  The Chief, blissfully oblivious to the shock he was inflicting on his troops, grinned. “And now I’m ready to take your questions,” he said happily.

  To the left of the ergonomic chairs, a line had formed behind a mi
crophone. The first speaker was a frizzy-haired man in mom jeans and a puffy vest who, judging by his look, might have been one of the production technicians, which, Natalie guessed, would soon be one of the newsroom jobs handled by a robot. His voice was thin and plaintive, like he was born to receive bad news. “Thanks. I’m very worried about what’s going to happen if it’s true that we bought Beltway. What about our jobs? Do you plan to start layoffs? Thank you.”

  Assuming a decidedly serious look, the Chief nodded. “Thank you for the question, and the answer is yes. We’ve just purchased Beltway. And I couldn’t be more excited about this merger.”

  MATT: Translation, there will be layoffs.

  “I know there are worries about job losses. I understand the anxiety. Losing a job is one of the most stressful experiences a person can have, after the death of a child or receiving a terminal diagnosis.”

  MATT: Translation, very very painful layoffs.

  “We’re very excited about this acquisition. It will give us a prominent digital presence in the political world. I also hope ATN learns to take on Beltway’s more irreverent approach to news. It’s time to make politics entertaining.”

  MATT: You should make me your producer.

  Natalie glanced at him, horrified. Surely he was kidding.

  The Chief signaled for the next question, and Natalie was nearly blinded by the flash of yellow hair and clinging red dress standing at the microphone. It was their twenty-seven-year-old morning show anchor, Jazzmyn Maine, who could best be described as energetic. “Thank you, sir. I wanted to ask, do we still get a clothing budget? I mean those of us who are anchors?”

  MATT: Why on earth would he pay for her to wear anything else?

  The Chief nodded. “Jazzmyn, I’ll take that in two parts. First, this is a visual medium and viewers want something to look at. Especially you ladies. Let viewers see more of your beauty and they’ll appreciate your brains. I promise.” He grinned and Natalie imagined him working a quick fantasy of Jazzmyn stripping down to her brains. “Now as for the clothing budget, that’s only a concern for anchors, not for everyone. So, Jazzmyn, why don’t you come see me privately? My assistant will reach out,” the Chief said and Jazzmyn grinned enthusiastically, while a wave of knowing glances rippled across the room.