Hard News (14 page)

Rune watched the tape of Hopper’s body rolling out into the spring night, the snakes of afterimage etched into the screen by the revolving lights on the EMS vans and police cars, the crowds - pale in the video camera’s radiance of light - that looked curious and bored at the same time. “Rune.” A calm voice, a woman’s voice. “Oh, hi.” It was Piper Sutton.

Should’ve cleaned up my desk. She thought. Remembering how neat the anchor woman’s was. And seeing how neat she looked now, standing here in a dark red suit with black velvet tabs on the collar and a white high-necked blouse and and dark fleshy stockings disappearing into the slickest patent-leather shoes Rune’d ever seen. Shoes with high heels sand one red stripe along the side. Shoes that’d put me on my ass I tried to wear them. But, man, they looked cool.

“You’re busy.” Sutton’s eyes scanned the desk. “I was just working on the story.” Rune casually picked up several of the closest paper bags - one Kentucky Fried and

two Burger Kings-and dropped them into, well,
onto
an overflowing wastebasket. “You want to, like, sit down?” Sutton looked at a ketchup packet that rested on the one unoccupied chair. “No. I don’t.” She leaned forward and ejected the tape that was in the Sony player, then read the label. “Brand X,” she said. “It’s from a competitor. You can’t use this footage, you know. I’m not putting a super in any of my news programs that says ‘Courtesy of another network.’” She handed the tape back to Rune. “I know. I’m just using it for background.” “Background.” Sutton said the word softly. “I want to talk to you. But not here. Are you doing anything for dinner?” “I was just going to John’s for pizza. They’re like real generous with their

anchovies.” Sutton walked away. “No. You’ll have dinner with me.” “The thing is, there’s this person. Can they come with us?” “I want to talk to you in private.” “Anything you can say to me, you can say in front of her. She’s, you know,

discreet.” Sutton shrugged, took one last look at the desk and didn’t seem to like what she saw. “Whatever.” Then she scanned Rune’s pink T-shirt and miniskirt and fishnet stockings and ankle boots and she said, “You do have a dress, don’t you?” Rune said defensively, “I’ve got two, as a matter of fact.”

She wondered what she was missing when Sutton laughed. The anchorwoman wrote out an address and handed it to Rune. “That’s between Madison and Fifth. Be there at six-thirty. We’ll do the pretheater. Don’t want to spend more than we need to, do we?” “That’s okay. My friend likes to eat early.” You couldn’t call it a tip. It was a bribe. Jacques, the maitre d’, took the money Sutton offered him and slipped it into the pocket of his perfectly pressed black tuxedo. However much it was - Rune didn’t see the cash might have bought them access to the dining room but it did nothing to cheer up the poor, sullen man. He sat them at a table off to the side of the main dining room then surveyed Courtney. He said, “Maybe a phone book.” Rune said, “Yellow
and
White Pages.” Jacques pursed his unhappy Gallic lips and went off in search of the best child

seating device New York Telephone could offer. Rune looked around the room. “This is like really, really amazing. I could get into it.

Living this way, I mean.” “Uhm.” The theme of L’Escargot seemed to be flowers and - probably as with the food excess was in. The center of the room was dominated by a twisty vined centerpiece, sprouting orchids and roses and baby’s breath. The walls held huge paintings of flowers. Rune liked them. They were what Monet would have done if all he’d used electriccolored Crayolas instead of oil paint. Rune more or less matched the decor. She’d raced home to change into one of the two dresses, a purple-and-white Laura Ashley Floral, which was her spring and summer dress. It was several years old, but had very little mileage on it. On the table in front of them was a bird of paradise in a tall glass vase and some kinky-looking green thing like a pinecone, which, if you were to see it in
National Geographic,
you wouldn’t be able to tell whether it was a plant or fish or huge insect. Rune pointed at the bird of paradise. “I love these dudes.” She petted it. “I don’t think it looks like a bird at all. I think it looks like a dragon.” Courtney said, “I like dragons.” Sutton stared at them blankly. “Dragons?” The little girl added, “I’m going to be a knight. But I wouldn’t kill any dragons. I’d have them for pets. Rune’s going to take me to the zoo and we’re going to look at dragons.”

Through teeth that never separated more than a quarter inch, Sutton said, “How wonderful.”

Jacques returned with two bulky phone directories and set them on the third chair at the table. Courtney smiled as he lifted her up and set her on top.

He turned to Sutton. “This really cannot be, uh,
habitue I, nonl”
“Jacques, have someone bring the little girl some . . .” She looked at Rune with a

raised eyebrow. “She loves pizza.” “We are a French restaurant, miss.” “She also likes pickles, clam chowder, smoked oysters, rice, anchovies-“
“Huitres,”
Jacques said. “They are poached and served with pesto and beurre blanc.” Sutton said, “Fine. Just have somebody cut them up into little pieces. I don’t want to watch her mauling food. And have the sommelier bring me a Puligny-Montrachet.” She looked at Rune. “Do you drink wine?” “I’m over twenty-one.” “I’m not asking for a driver’s license. I want to know if an eighty-dollar bottle of

wine will be wasted on you.” “Maybe a White Russian would be more my speed.” Sutton nodded to the maitre d’ and said, “Find me a half bottle, Jacques. A Mersault

if there’s no Puligny.”
“Oui,
Miss Sutton.”

Huge menus appeared. Sutton scanned hers. “I don’t think we want anything too adventurous. We’ll have scallops to start.” She asked Rune, “Do you swell up or turn red when you eat seafood?” “No, I get fish sticks all the time at this Korean deli. And-“ Sutton waved an abrupt hand. “And then the pigeon.” Rune’s eyes went wide. Pigeon? Jacques said,
“Salades,
after?” “Please.”

Rune’s eyes danced around the room then settled on the arsenal of silverware and empty plates in front of her. The procedures here seemed as complicated as Catholic liturgy and the downside if you blew it seemed worse. Be cool, now, she told herself. This’s your boss and she already thinks you’re damaged. Rune resisted the fierce impulse to scratch under her bra strap. The first course arrived, along with the little girl’s oysters. “Gross dudes,” Courtney said but she began to eat them eagerly. “Can we buy these for breakfast? I like them.”

Rune was thankful Courtney was with them; the girl gave her something to do besides feeling uncomfortable. Picking spoons up off the floor, wiping oyster off her face, keeping the vase vertical.

Sutton watched them and for the first time since Rune had known her the anchorwoman’s face softened. “So that’s what it’s like.” “What?” Rune asked. “Kids.” “You don’t have children?” “I do. Only I call them ex-husbands. Three of them.” “I’m sorry.” Sutton blinked and stared at Rune for a minute. “Yes, I believe you are.” She

laughed. “But that’s one thing I regret. Children. I-“ “It’s not too late.” “No, I think it is. Maybe in my next life.” “That’s the worst phrase ever made.” Sutton continued to study her with curiosity. “You just barge right through life, don’t

you?” “Pretty much, I guess.” Sutton’s eyes settled on Courtney. Then she reached forward and, with a napkin as

big as the girl’s dress, wiped her cheek. “Messy little things, aren’t they?” “Yeah, that part’s kind of a drag. And she isn’t really into being sloppy tonight - I told her to behave. For lunch the other day, okay? We’re eating bananas and hamburger, all kind of mixed together and-“ Sutton’s hand swept across the table. “Enough.”

Two waiters brought the main courses. Rune blinked. Oh, God. Little birds. Sutton saw her face and said, “Don’t worry. They’re not your kind of pigeons.” My kind? “They’re more like quail.” No, what they were like was little hostages with their hands tied behind their backs. Courtney squealed happily. “Birdies, birdies!” A half-dozen diners turned. Rune picked up a fork and the least-offensive knife and started in. They ate in silence for a few moments. The birdies weren’t too bad actually. The problem was that they still had the bones in them and using a knife as big as a sword meant there was a lot of meat you couldn’t get to. Rune surveyed the room but didn’t see a single person sucking on a drumstick. There was a pause. Sutton looked at her and said, “Where are you with the story?”

Rune had figured this was on the agenda and she’d already planned what she was going to say. The words didn’t come out quite as organized as she’d hoped but she kept the “likes” and the “sort-ofs” to a minimum. She told Sutton about the interviews with Megler and with Boggs and with the friends and family members and told her about getting all the background footage. “And,” she said, “I’ve sort of put in a request to get the police file on the case.” Sutton laughed. “You’ll never get a police file. No journalist can get a police file.” “It’s like a special request.” But Sutton just shook her head. “Won’t happen.” Then she asked, “Have you found

anything that proves he’s innocent?” “Not like real evidence but-“ “Have you or haven’t you?” “No.” “All right.” Sutton sat back. Half her food was uneaten but when the busboy appeared she gave him a subtle nod of the head and the plate vanished. “Let me tell you why I asked you here. I need some help.” “From me?” “Look.” Sutton was frowning. “I’ll be frank. You’re not my first choice. But there

just isn’t anybody else.” “Like, what are you talking about?” “I want to offer you a promotion.”

Rune poked at a white square of vegetable - some kind she’d never run into before. Sutton gazed off across the restaurant as she mused, “Sometimes we have to do things for the good of the news. We have to put our own interests aside. When I started out I was a crime reporter. They didn’t want women in the newsroom. Food reporting, society, the arts - those were fine but hard news? Nope. Forget it. So the chief gave me the shit jobs.” Sutton glanced at Courtney but the girl didn’t notice the lapse into adult vocabulary. The ancherwoman continued, “I covered autopsies, I chased ambulances, I did arraignments, I walked through pools of blood at a mass shooting to get pictures when the photographer was kneeling behind the press car puking. I did all of that crap and it worked out for me. But at the time it was a sacrifice.” Something in the matter-of-fact tone of Sutton’s voice was thrilling to Rune. This is just what she’d sound like when talking to another executive at the Network, an equal. Sutton and Dan Semple or Lee Maisel would talk this way - in low voices, surrounded by people wearing huge geometric shapes of jewelry, sitting over the tiny bones of hostage birds and drinking eighty-dollar-a-bottle wine. “Like you want me to be a crime reporter? I don’t-“ Sutton said, “Let me finish.” Rune sat back. Her plate was cleared away, and a young man in a white jacket cleaned the crumbs off the table with a little thing that looked like a miniature carpet sweeper. Most of the mess was on Rune’s side. “I like you, Rune. You’ve got street smarts and you’re tough. That’s something I don’t see enough of in reporters nowadays. It’s one or the other and usually more ego than either of them. Here’s my problem: We’ve just lost the associate producer of the London bureau - he quit to work for Reuters - and they were in the midst of production on three programs. I need someone over there now.”

Rune’s skin bristled. As if a wave of painless flame had passed over her. “Associate producer?”

“No, you’d be an assistant, not associate. At first at least. The bureaus in London, Paris, Rome, Berlin and Moscow’11 feed you leads and you and the executive producer will make your decisions on what you want to go after.” “What does Lee think?” “He’s given me the job of filling the spot. I haven’t mentioned you to him but he’ll

go with whoever I recommend.” “This is pretty wild. I mean, I never thought that’s what you were going to say. How

long would I be over there?” “A year minimum. If you like it, something more permanent might be arranged. That

would be up to Lee. But usually we like to shift people around. It could be Paris or Rome after that.

You’d have to learn the language.” “Oh, I took French in high school.
‘Voulez-vous couchez . .
.’” Sutton said, “I get the idea.” Rune asked a passing waiter for a glass of milk for Courtney. “And a straw? The kind with the bend in them.” He didn’t grasp the concept and Rune let it drop. She said to Sutton, “I don’t want you to think . . . I mean, I’m grateful and all - but what about Randy Boggs?” “You said yourself you don’t have any evidence.” “I still know he’s innocent.” No emotion in Sutton’s face. Rune said, “Somebody tried to kill him in prison. They stabbed him. If we don’t get

him out they’ll try again.” Sutton shrugged. “I’ll assign a local reporter to pick up for you.” “You would?” “Uh-huh. So how ‘bout it?” “Uh, would you mind if I thought about it?” Sutton blinked and seemed about to ask,
What the fuck is there to think about?
But she just nodded and said, “It’s a big decision. Maybe you should sleep on it. I won’t ask the other people I’m considering until tomorrow.” “Thanks.” Sutton motioned for the last of her wine. A young waiter scurried over and, with alternate glances at her freckled chest and the crystal glass in front of her, emptied the bottle. She looked at her watch. She said, “And the check, please.”

Outside the restaurant the three of them paused. “That is one amazing car,” Rune said as a glossy midnight-blue stretch Lincoln

Town Car turned the corner and slowed. “Don’t you wonder who rides in those things?” Sutton didn’t answer. The car eased to a stop in front of them. The driver hopped out and ran to the door,

opened it for Piper Sutton. Oh. Sutton said, “You’ll give me your answer tomorrow?” “Sure.” “Piper, we’re late,” a man’s voice called from the limo. “Good night,” the anchorwoman said briskly to Rune and started toward the Lincoln. A man leaned forward to help her in. It was Dan Semple himself, in a beautiful gray double-breasted suit. He glanced at Rune, then kissed Sutton on the cheek. They disappeared into the blackness of the car. “Thanks-“