Amanda Wakes Up Page 9

  “Oh,” I said, bringing my nail to my mouth. “Okay, that’s different. Let me read through it.”

  “Don’t worry about the facts,” Fatima said. “We just want to see how you do with Rob.” She leaned in to speak. “He can be a little . . . um . . . prickly . . . but try to play along. I’ve seen your stuff from the field. This will be easy for you.” She nodded encouragingly. “We’ve tried a few anchor combos on the show, but Benji’s most excited about this one with you.”

  “He is?” I said, feeling the jolt that came from hearing Benji’s name connected to me. “I’m excited to give it a shot.”

  “I’ll be in your ear telling you when to wrap or stretch and other info. Larry here will keep you honest with time cues.” She patted him on the back. “But word of warning: Larry’s got an endless supply of bad puns. He thinks he’s a real card.”

  Larry’s face lit up. “Yeah, I should be dealt with! Come on, let’s get you mic’d up. You need any of these dresses?” he asked, removing the load from my arms.

  “I didn’t know which color was best to wear,” I explained.

  “That magenta you have on looks great,” Fatima said.

  “Isn’t that purple?” Larry asked. “Or is it a pigment of my imagination?”

  “Oh, here we go,” Rob said, shaking his head as he sauntered back into the studio. “Larry’s found a new victim. You ready to do this?” he asked, punching a fist into his own hand, I assumed, to ramp back up. “Let’s try to give this one some juice. I’m getting a little tired of playing the Dating Game. At work, that is.” He gave a wink.

  I took a seat on the sofa, my heart pounding. This was it. This was my shot at the next level.

  “Hi, there,” a guy said from behind the sofa. “I’m Bruce. Can I put this on your bra?” Before I could answer, Bruce had unzipped my dress to my waist, grabbed my bra strap, and attached a square black battery the same size as an ice pack—and just as cold—between my shoulder blades.

  “Wow!” I gasped.

  “Here’s an earpiece,” he said, handing one end to me, then plugging the other into an IFB pack and putting that, too, on my bra.

  “Places, everyone!” Larry yelled to the crew. “We’re going to do this live to tape. Control room says they’re ready. So let’s give it a shot in thirty seconds! You need anything, Amanda?” Larry asked.

  “Maybe CPR,” I said, only half joking. It was possible my racing heart could explode.

  “How about mouth-to-mouth?” Rob suggested, putting his warm hand on my bare knee and squeezing. “Let’s have some fun with this one. Mix it up a bit.”

  “Okay,” I nodded nervously.

  “Let’s try this,” Larry yelled, “In five, four, three, two . . .”

  I heard an upbeat sting sound in my ear, signaling a morning show was starting.

  “And good morning, everyone,” Rob said into Camera 2. “Welcome to Wake Up, USA! We begin with a controversy that’s cropped up at a condo association in South Carolina, where one man is in trouble for hanging a Confederate flag from his balcony. What do you think about this, Amanda?”

  Hearing Rob’s question, I froze. What did I think? No one had ever asked me to offer my opinion on camera. A shot of discomfort raced up my neck to my throat. “I, um, well . . .” I started. “It’s not what I think, it’s what his neighbors think. And it’s safe to assume they don’t like having a symbol of racism and hatred hanging in their condo complex.”

  “Maybe they don’t mind,” Rob said with what looked like a half grin on his face, like he had something up his sleeve.

  “Of course they do,” I told him, my body recoiling from his on the couch. “That flag represents one of the worst chapters in our history. I’m sure his neighbors don’t want to be reminded of that every day.”

  “That’s not what the polls say,” Rob said, reaching across the table for a piece of paper on which I saw a bar graph, colored in yellow, red, and blue. “Many Americans believe the Confederate flag honors their grandfathers, who were killed for the cause of states’ rights. Let me read for our viewers the latest CNN/ORC poll, which is completely different from what you’re saying, Amanda. Fifty-seven percent of the country sees the flag as a symbol of southern pride,” he read. “Only thirty-three percent see it as a symbol of slavery.”

  Shit. I felt my stomach churning and caught my own face in one of the monitors, wearing an expression of defensive disgust, which I could see was not a good look.

  “Let me see that,” I said, grabbing it out of his hands. “Wait a second. You’re selectively reading the results. It says here that seventy-five percent of blacks see it as a symbol of slavery and racism.” I shook the paper back at him. “So a majority of African Americans see it in a negative light!”

  “But it’s a minority of the country,” Rob said. “So why not go with the majority? Or do you believe if anyone is offended, it needs to come down? Some people would call that political correctness.”

  “It’s not politically correct to try to avoid being offensive,” I told him.

  “Actually, that’s exactly what it is,” he said.

  I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew the chemistry test was derailing. Rob was being more aggressive with me than he had been with Margot and not leaving any room for bonding. I could feel my face getting flushed and my shot at anchoring going up in flames.

  “Do you think it’s okay to offend seventy-five percent of blacks in this country? Because if so, how about hanging, oh, I don’t know, a KKK flag in the condo?” I asked, too sarcastically. “Is that okay?”

  “Nobody’s suggesting that. Let’s avoid the hypothetical game.” Rob laughed and I wanted to slap him. I couldn’t believe this was it, and in the space of five minutes I’d somehow blown my chance at becoming the next Suzy Berenson.

  “I have an idea,” I said, my cheeks burning, but knowing Benji wanted us to find solutions. “How about everyone just hangs an American flag? Maybe that could solve the problem.”

  Rob gave an audible snort. “Oh, well played. Yes, life is easier when no one stirs the pot.”

  “So what’s your suggestion, Captain Obvious?” Shit! Now, I was resorting to schoolyard taunts. I felt like screaming.

  “My suggestion?” Rob said, turning back to the camera. “My suggestion is to go to WakeUpUSA.com and send us your thoughts. We’ll read the best on the air.”

  “We’re clear,” Larry yelled to the crew. I sat stunned on the sofa, fuming and hoping to hear Fatima’s voice over the loudspeakers suggesting we give it another shot. But there was only silence. I put my hands up to my cheeks to try to absorb the burning. Then suddenly, the sound of a loud bang as the studio door flew open, slamming against the wall and Benji burst in.

  “THAT,” he yelled, “was fantastic! Better than I could have imagined! Oh, my God, you two,” he said, wagging his finger at us and laughing. “Did you guys practice that or something?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “That’s exactly what I was looking for,” he said, taking a seat on the table between us, facing us and putting one hand on each of our legs. “You had bickering. You had good-natured needling, and you had solutions. It was perfect. I was riveted in the control room. There was more diversity of thought in those two minutes than any anchor team has had in twenty years. You crushed it! The best part was that what you said was true and it felt equal, so no one watching would come away feeling like their side didn’t get a fair shake. You did it. We have a morning show! We will launch Wake Up, USA! with Rob and Amanda!”

  “So . . .” I said, my brain casting about wildly, “it’s okay if we disagree, and you want every story to be true and both sides to be equal?”

  “Yes, yes. I want true and equal. Wait! That’s it!” he said, startling me by leaping up on top of the table, à la Tom Cruise on Oprah’s sofa. “True and Equal!! That’s it!”
He flung his arms overhead like we’d made a touchdown. “FAIR News will be True and Equal!”

  Chapter 9

  The Rundown

  6:15 P.M. Sunday night. I checked my cell phone, then put it down, then picked it up again. Still nothing, other than a bloodied cuticle on my right thumb, which I hadn’t realized I’d been gnawing on. Why hadn’t Fatima sent the rundown yet? Wake Up, USA! was launching tomorrow! Over the weekend I’d spent every second trying to absorb every newspaper article on every topic until they’d become a mind-boggling blur. I must do well. This is what I’ve been working toward since I was fifteen. My entire future hangs on this.

  We’d had one dress rehearsal, yesterday, which, it turned out, was just for staging, blocking, and lighting. Fatima said there was no point in a complete editorial run-through, since the stories would be different by Monday. But I couldn’t report on something with no prep. Dammit! I should call someone and explain that having me anchor the show is a terrible mistake. Breathe. Breathe.

  6:17 P.M. The show was starting in less than twelve hours. Shit! I stared at the clock, trying to backtime my morning: Hair and makeup at 4:00 A.M. Car at 3:45. Alarm set for 3:00. Bedtime at . . . Ow! I’d just torn another hunk of skin from my thumb.

  “Still no word?” Charlie asked.

  “Is it possible this thing isn’t working?” I asked, picking up my phone and shaking it. “Why hasn’t she sent anything?”

  My phone rang and I answered it as if waiting for test results. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Pumpkin.” It was Mom, her tone excited and soothing all at once. “Did you get that link I emailed you? ‘The Distinguished Early Graduates at Vassar’? Turns out there were many more than just Virginia Wynn. I also cut it out of the paper if you want me to send it to you. Maybe you could feature some of those women on your show.”

  “Maybe,” I said, pulling my phone from my ear to see if the rundown had come yet.

  “Okay, sweetie, I’m sure you’re busy. I’m just calling to say break a leg tomorrow. I have my alarm set and I’ve alerted Aunt Marie and Uncle Henry and all the neighbors. And the Wynn volunteers who worked at the polling place with me, they’ll all be getting up to watch you. Everyone’s very excited.”

  “Wow, that’s quite a cheering section. I hope they’re all Nielsen families.”

  “Are you ready? Do you know what topics you’ll be covering?”

  “Well, not really,” I said, picking at my nail. “The producer hasn’t sent the rundown yet, so I don’t know which stories we’re doing and I’m getting anxious.” I cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear so I could shut the blinds against the light streaming through my window. “Plus it’s still sunny out, so that makes it a little tough to get ready for bed.”

  “Yes, I can imagine. But I know you’ll do wonderfully. I’m going to bed soon, too. I want to get up bright and early to watch you. I’m so proud of you. Oh, and tell Charlie I said hi.”

  “Okay, Mom. I love you.” The buzzer sounded.

  “That’s the food,” Charlie called, making his way to the door.

  I looked down at my cell again. “Oh, the rundown’s here!”

  TO: Amanda

  FROM: Fatima

  RE: Rundown

  Hi! Here you go. Benji has an awesome idea for the launch. He wants to focus on climate change since no other network touches that story. We’ve booked a bunch of guests on it, so I’d say study up most on that. The producers will send research packets. (Below you’ll see which segments you have and which Rob does.) And we nailed a huge get for the 8B—Arthur Dove! If you have any questions, we can talk when you get in. (I’ve GOT to go to sleep. Exhausted.) Tomorrow we launch the most groundbreaking morning show in history! Woo-hoo!! See ya at 4!

  Arthur Dove. Holy shit! My eyes raced up and down the guests and topics:

  Guests booked so far:

  6:15—Haley Josephs, climatologist. Is climate change naturally occurring or man-made? (Rob and Amanda)

  6:35—Congresswoman Kelly Carpenter on her new book, The Danger of Denial: How Deniers Fuel the Fire. (Amanda)

  6:50—Melting ice means new business opportunities in Alaska; new fishing and shipping lanes opening. Maybe global warming is good for the economy! Entrepreneur Tim Keim on set. (Rob and Amanda)

  7:10—New Wall Street Journal Op-Ed, “No Need to Panic,” by two Princeton professors and climate scientists. They say the Earth is getting colder, not warmer. Both guests live in studio. (Amanda)

  7:35—But last summer was the hottest on record! Is global warming happening faster than imagined? Guest TBD. (Rob)

  8:10—Arthur Dove, Victor Fluke’s chief strategist, spells out Fluke’s position on climate change and news of the day. (Rob and Amanda)

  8:20—If big polluters like China and India won’t use green technology, why should the U.S.? Senator Bob Lewis. (Rob)

  8:35—Piglet and puppy race (in studio). Who will win the Piglet-Puppy Challenge for Charity? (Rob and Amanda)

  8:50—Gisele Bündchen releases new yoga DVD. (Amanda)

  I sat blinking at the rundown.

  “How’s it looking?” Charlie called from the kitchen, emerging seconds later, plastic container in hand, to check on me. “Amanda?”

  “Oh, my God,” I said, handing him the phone. Charlie put down the container and I put a hand to my forehead, rubbing it in anticipation of a headache. “How am I supposed to study all these topics in the next hour?”

  “Whoa,” Charlie said. “This is all over the place. Does FAIR News believe in climate change or not? And why would they have that flamethrower Arthur Dove on?”

  “Cause he’s the GOP nominee’s top adviser,” I said, taking the phone back, hoping maybe the rundown had magically morphed into more recognizable morning fare, like, say, a Brownie Bake-Off, or Summer’s Hot Swimsuit Styles. “We do have Gisele Bündchen,” I said, mostly to myself.

  Charlie sat down next to me. “This makes no sense. Why would the producers put climate deniers on TV?”

  “Benji wants us to show both sides of every story.” My head was getting hot from anxiety.

  “But climate deniers have no side,” Charlie said. “They reject science. They deny that the ice caps are collapsing and that hurricanes are increasing. They think all the wildfires and superstorms are some kind of crazy coincidence.”

  “How am I gonna get my mind around all of this?”

  “Just read the UN’s climate change report,” Charlie suggested.

  “Tonight?”

  “Don’t worry,” Charlie said, seeing my expression. “This will be easy. You have facts on your side.”

  I picked up my phone and started typing.

  TO: Fatima

  FROM: Amanda

  RE: Rundown

  Hey, sorry to bug you. It seems like there’s an awful lot here. Not sure where to begin.

  I hit send and immediately regretted it, fearing she’d see me as being one of the three most-mocked anchor types: high maintenance, lazy, or dumb.

  “Come on,” Charlie called from the kitchen. “Food’s getting cold. Let’s eat.”

  “Eat? My stomach is in knots. I’ve got to start doing some research. Then I think I have to go to bed.”

  “You sure? You won’t have to go to bed at seven every night, right?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  “All right, I guess I’ll head home after I watch a bit of the game. Break a leg tomorrow.”

  And I thought field reporting with the unpredictability of breaking news cut into my time with Charlie. Anchoring was supposed to be easier on your life. I started gnawing my thumb again. Climbing onto the bed and popping open my laptop, I was relieved to find a response from Fatima.

  TO: Amanda

  FROM: Fatima

  RE: Rundown

  No worries! The s
egment producers will send you packets of research that’ll explain everything as soon they finish them tonight or in the morning. Night-night!

  I stared at the computer screen, trying to take deep breaths. I clicked on the rundown and examined it, this time more slowly. It felt like I was preparing for a final exam but I’d missed every class—and the test would be a three-hour oral report in front of a million people. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent that email telling everyone I know to tune in. You can do this, Amanda. Just take it segment by segment. Take a deep breath. The thought of sitting next to Arthur Dove on a sofa sent a shiver across my shoulders. He was the strategist behind some of the most extreme political campaigns in recent memory, or, as Laurie called him, Satan Incarnate. I wonder how evil he’ll be in person.

  I typed in “UN Report on Climate Change.” Days and days worth of research and studies popped up and I started scribbling. Mountain ice caps melting . . . sea ice in the Arctic collapsing . . . heat waves intensifying . . . coral reefs dying . . . Antarctic ice coring data showing CO2 levels higher now than in past 650,000 years . . . I put my hands to my head to press on my temples.

  An email popped up.

  TO: Amanda

  FROM: Topher

  RE: 8:10 segment: Arthur Dove

  Hey Amanda, psyched for the big show relaunch tomorrow! I’m producing your 8B segment but I wasn’t able to get a preinterview with Dove. I did find a new statement on the Fluke website that says warmists are standing in the way of success with regulations and trying to shut down industry. Also, says global warming is a hoax. So you should start with that. Cool? See ya tomorrow.

  I stared at his email, then looked around the room, like maybe Fatima had installed a hidden camera somewhere to catch my incredulous face. Or maybe Topher was playing a prank on the new anchor: tell her you scored a huge interview with a Big Get who makes outlandish claims, then don’t give her any more info. I looked at the clock. 8:00 P.M. I rubbed my temples again as I heard Benji’s voice: Give all sides. True and equal. So does that mean letting the deniers have their say or challenging them? I had no idea.