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"And all the time I wanted to wring your neck over that piece of yours," Greg admitted, laughing, when they were back home, sipping beers from the bottle, feet up on the coffee table.

Her expression turned comically incredulous. "You couldn't be referring to the 'Gorgeous Bathrooms of Beverly Hills'?"

He nodded. "Not the piece itself, but those dumb sound bites from the contractor you fought me on. They should never have been in there to begin with."

Her expression heated.
"Assigning
that piece was the real mistake."

"People are interested in how the other half lives."

"Their
toilets?
You can't be serious."

"Viewers envy that kind of luxury. They can't get enough of those stories." He smiled. “Any consultant can tell you that.”

Chris was incredulous. "Those rich people are just mindless gluttons. A toilet is not a centerpiece of hygienic chic. A shower is just something to wash off in. Or have I been missing something all my life?"

"I'll bet we get more letters about that piece than anything we do all week." He smiled maliciously. "We ought to make it a weekly feature. The high point each week would be a shot of you using one of L.A.'s most luxurious potties."

"I'll let someone else win an Emmy for that one." She reflected a moment. "Would you really like to live like that?"

Only to Chris and only lately had he felt trustful enough to divulge some of a past he had tried to eradicate. "I grew up as the poorest kid in the richest neighborhood in town. We lived in a dilapidated little house because my mother wanted us to be in the best school district. Every time there was a strike or layoffs at the steel mill, we went back into debt. I was always afraid one of my classmates would wander by and realize just how poor we were. But they already knew."

"You must have had friends."

"Enough, I guess, but I always felt I couldn’t let down my guard. We were the token working-class paupers." He grinned. "A lot of that changed when I got a regional tennis ranking. They thought I might become somebody and didn't want to be cut out."

"Did you feel they looked down on you?"

"More like just an outsider, hungry to get in. I had the feeling the other fathers had mastered some trick or tactic my own father was inept at. I worked my tail off to make friends with their kids and learn it."

"Was it your father who wanted you to take tennis lessons?"

Greg shook his head. "Tennis wouldn't have occurred to him. No, that was my mother."

Chris grew thoughtful. "You know, you never talk about her."

"She died when I was young," Greg said, and abruptly stood up. "I think the roast must be ready by now."

At dinner Chris renewed her campaign for grittier, more significant stories at the station. Greg argued that he had to spread good assignments around to keep all the reporters happy. That answer failed to satisfy her.

Finally, when she refused to drop the topic, his voice rose. "When we're home, you can't lobby like this. It ends when we leave the office."

Chris shook her head. "I'm not about to hold it in and let it eat away at me. Uh-uh. Who else do I have to talk to?"

Like opposing tank drivers on a one-lane road, both prudently backed off and ended the discussion. But the issue remained unresolved in both their minds.

# # #

Greg had occasionally subbed for the executive producer, but the pressures on him when he took the job full-time were greater than he had anticipated.

Before, he had been a craftsman who shaped the story a superior had chosen for him or at the very least had approved. Now, although he had a daily meeting with his senior people to exchange ideas and set the rundown, Greg himself bore the ultimate responsibility for picking which events and trends occurring in the region—and if important enough, the world—KFBS would inscribe on the awareness of many in southern California.

Greg's own strong viewpoint about what made an event newsworthy and how to report it operated under certain constraints. Newspapers needed only to tell the truth. However, in exchange for obtaining a government license to broadcast over public airwaves, radio and television stations were obligated to provide news as a public service and to do it in a way that demonstrated fairness to contrary opinions.

The financial constraints on Greg's news choices were even more daunting. Lead or major stories were self-evident: earthquake tremors downtown, a baby-sitter's gruesome rape and murder, the governor's latest tax proposal. Choosing the other stories was more complicated; they had to be newsworthy, interesting to viewers, and cost-effective to shoot.

Investigative and enterprise journalism that expended days or weeks pursuing a story that might not materialize was too costly for television. A newspaper reporter could take a bus to an event and then write it up, but television also needed to send out a truck carrying camera and maybe sound people, too, with their equipment and often a producer to make arrangements and oversee the shooting.

Consequently, most TV news coverage had to be planned ahead of time. Stories already reported in the morning newspaper were a reliable source, as were such near-ceremonial events as the mayor's press conference, the opening of an urban playground, and a dinner honoring a legendary film star. One person at the assignment desk even kept track of stories likely to be covered in the future. Between the rare investigative and the predominantly preplanned were the unexpected stories, the accidents and fires and the personal tragedies that local news rushed to and was justified by.

Chris refused to acknowledge the limits Greg faced and continued to badger him to let her do more investigative pieces. "Tonight you ran that story about a car-insurance rate hike without looking into it," she pointed out one night.

"Right," Greg replied.

"Why couldn’t we also tell them whether the increase is just a windfall for the insurance companies or necessary to cover higher accident
losses.
Does anybody on the insurance board who voted for the increase have ties to the insurance companies? Is there—"

Greg interrupted her. "And you want the job of looking into all those questions."

"Somebody ought to," Chris said earnestly. "Something smells rotten there."

It did to him as well. "All right, but for God's sake, keep it lively. Those numbers could put us all to sleep."

He was mindful that in her earnestness, she sometimes overlooked the production values that caught and held the audience's attention. But because like all executive producers Greg was concerned about maintaining viewer interest, he sometimes tended to flashier subject matter and presentations that might give complex or thoughtful material short shrift. Her expectations of him were a goad, as well as her reproach if depth or coverage slipped toward the superficial.

Although the insurance story might consume several days of digging, Greg’s reason for approving it was pragmatic, not idealistic: If she did dig up some dirt, viewers might come away with the impression they were getting "better news" from KFBS. Over time, he believed, the audience would grow. A scandal about car-insurance overcharges could make a big splash and draw new viewers.

Yet, something more was at stake, he knew. Ambition for Greg had always been synonymous with advancement of some sort: originally academic or in a sport; afterward, progress up the career ladder—more money, more responsibility, acquisition of a long-craved possession. Each advance had validated the climb and the climber. Attention elsewhere would be a diversion. Yet, in his new position, Greg sometimes displayed a commitment to providing news that went beyond its value for his career. He wanted to believe that the motive was principle. But whatever the cause, every small success registered by the newsroom—a minor scoop, a critic's pat on the back, a slight rise in the ratings—seemed amplified and purer to him as a result.

Greg's vision of the broadcast was threatened when the consultants' report finally arrived. Unexpectedly, so was his relationship with Chris.

Stew's original conception to fill KFBS's six-o'clock local news hour had been a well-defined magazine format: the usual segments for hard news (with periodic updates), the weather and sports for which most viewers tuned in, as well as segments denominated as Life-styles, Health, Arts, and People. Unsurprisingly, the consultants advocated expanding the latter segments at the expense of news and lightening its
treatment. They also praised Chris as an underutilized asset and strongly recommended employing her exclusively and more extensively in those lighter segments

she would be the personality viewers could look to for those reports. About the only part of the report with which Stew totally agreed was that one. After a long discussion Greg thought he had changed Stew's mind.

The two men had no doubt when they entered
Ev
Carver's dimly lit office that he was in favor of imposing all of the report's recommendations.

Greg presented their counterargument. "Too many other newsrooms in town have already adopted the consultants' 'happy talk' format. If KFBS did the same, we'd become just one more clone added to a group fighting with identical weapons to win a bigger slice of the same audience. We might even
lose
viewers."

A couple of the report's suggestions were useful, the newsmen agreed: a new set, more high-tech graphics to give a livelier look to the weather segment, and more interview features.

"But we shouldn't shortchange the news," Greg contended. He could hear Chris's voice in his ear. "Trivializing the news gives viewers
less
reason, not more, to watch our broadcast."

Carver finally yielded to the argument that they might lose market share.

As he and Greg were about to leave, Stew halted in the doorway. "Oh," he recalled, pulling on his beard, "there's one other recommendation I think we should implement. The consultants loved Chris
Paskins
. They especially raved about that piece she did on Beverly Hills bathrooms. They want her to concentrate on those Life-styles and People kinds of pieces. That makes a lot of sense."

“I agree,” Carver said.

They would promote her appearances with on-air and newspaper ads.

Chris was stunned when Greg described her new role that night. "They all thought I was a failure at hard news, right?"

"No, they're making the change because they think you're very good—the report picked you out especially." He wanted her to understand that her new slot was a promotion. "They figure you'll get a lot more prominence doing Life-styles and People than you ever would with the usual news reports."

Chris hotly disputed the move. The controversy continued over dinner and then several cups of coffee. Chris could not convince him.

"All right," she finally conceded, "I'll do those softer pieces, but at least give me my fair share of hard news."

Greg could not. He had no leeway.

# # #

For several months Chris swam amid the frothy news. She covered film premieres and interviewed actors and directors, often at their homes. She discussed new trends in recreational activities and restaurants and decorating. She reported on California's hottest clothes designers. Although she and Greg tried their best not to bring the discord home, she was growing increasingly disaffected from her work and from him. He sought more hard-news opportunities for her.

When the entire reporting and production staff was pressed into service to cover California's presidential primary, Greg was able to assign her to follow Al Gore and was pleased by the results: incisive reporting and astute analyses of the candidate's political strengths and weaknesses in relation to their Southern California audience. She did her homework and the diligence showed. At a major fundraiser she was able to obtain meaty interviews with political advisors and several serious Hollywood celebrities who supported the candidate.

The piece, which ran on the eleven o’clock, caught Stew's eye, and he phoned Greg, who was still work. "She's so good with those celebrities. I don't want to waste her on news."

Greg’s arguments that she could bring the same appeal to hard news gained no ground, and he had to back off, fearing his support might raise suspicions of a personal motive. He felt as if he were walking on an oscillating tightrope.

When he and Chris returned to his apartment in the early-morning hours, both still too energized to sleep, Greg divulged his conversation with Stew. She exploded.

"I can just bet how wholeheartedly you endorsed me," she charged sarcastically. "You're the one responsible for assigning beats and stories. You're using him as an excuse."

Greg prided himself on self-control, convinced that it usually gave him the upper hand. But angered by her failure to acknowledge his powerlessness in the matter, he, too, exploded.

"You never give up. You're relentless. I stick my neck out, and instead of thanks for trying, you blast me. You haven't got the slightest bit of sensitivity about how precarious the situation is for me."

Her eyes were aflame.
"For you.
For
your
career.
You know what? I think I threaten your 'manhood.' You're frightened I might outshine you."