Private Player

by Louise Bay

  I hadn’t even bothered getting out of my robe before I sat down at my desk. When I got back from Nathan’s place, tear-stained and muddy from racing home over the Heath, I’d allowed myself five minutes of crying before I pulled myself together.

  I’d lost Nathan, that was clear. I wasn’t about to lose my job as well. There was every good chance that Nathan would try to have me taken off the profile when the Post offices opened tomorrow morning, so I had to act fast.

  The article was shaping up nicely. I had so many notes, so many ideas. With a structure in mind, the words were flowing out of me. Just as well, because I needed to finish this profile on Nathan before Craig got to Bernie. I needed to show him I could write well. I’d been thorough in my research—arguably I’d overachieved in that area—and I beat deadlines. And on top of all of that, I could produce a profile no one was expecting. It would be easy to say Nathan was a victim of the establishment, but I wouldn’t be going that route. Given what Craig knew, I couldn’t be sycophantic either. I had one option: deliver my honest opinion on Nathan Cove—that he should step down from Astro and let someone else take over.

  He wouldn’t like it.

  If it was possible, he’d hate me even more than he did already. But I had nothing to lose anymore as far as Nathan was concerned. I owed it to myself not to give away my integrity and write something other than the truth.

  God, if I’d just told him who my mother was sooner. He’d even given me the opportunity when he’d asked me why I was in the area yesterday, but I hadn’t wanted to make things worse. Now they were unsalvageable. The only option was for me to put one foot in front of the other and make sure I got a permanent position at the Post. At least something positive would have come out of this mess.

  The next time I glanced out of my bedroom window, the light was fading and I heard the slam of the front door.

  “Glass of vino anyone?” my mother called up the stairs.

  “No thanks,” I said, adding a comma and then deleting it. I’d done three read-throughs without changing anything. The article was ready. I just wanted it to be perfect. I heard my mother climb the stairs and before she burst in to regale me with not-so-blind stories of the latest soap star, I quickly addressed an email to Bernie, attached the profile, and pressed send. Less than a second later, without knocking, my mum appeared at my door with two glasses of wine.

  “Darling, why are you in your robe?” She offered me one of the glasses. I welcomed the chance to let the dark red Merlot blur all the harsh words I’d heard from Nathan today. Maybe it would help me sleep. Maybe it would help me forget.

  “I just had an article to finish.”

  She either wasn’t listening or accepted that explanation without a second thought because she slumped into the bedroom chair next to my desk. “What a day,” she said. “There’s something huge about to hit. Huge. It’s been frantic all day trying to get my source to go on the record. It’s going to be front page either today or tomorrow.”

  City gossip wasn’t my mother’s cup of tea, but the way she said it made me wonder whether or not she was talking about Mark Alpern. When he got arrested, it would be splashed across every newspaper in Britain.

  “You found out half of Hollywood has herpes?” I asked and took a gulp of wine.

  “It’s a divorce, darling. A big one. Household name.” She was desperate to tell me. She was always desperate to tell me. My dad had given up trying to be interested long ago, but Mum still thought I cared. I didn’t. Especially not today.

  My mother hadn’t exactly ruined things between Nathan and me—it wasn’t who she was that he didn’t like, but what she did. And anyway, if I’d been honest, as I’d been planning, Nathan would more than likely have forgiven me. That’s not how it was meant to be. And when he read the article, the coffin lid would be nailed tightly shut on our relationship. I shouldn’t dwell on it. What we had was built on secrecy and lies, and it was bound to end sooner or later. The strength of my feelings for Nathan couldn’t have lasted. Nothing that powerful, that bright, could last for long. I’d simply turned the power out rather than wait for the inevitable fizzle of feelings.

  It was fine. I would be fine. Even if it didn’t feel like it at that moment.

  I took another glug of wine.

  “You okay, darling? You look a little . . . overwrought.”

  I sighed and spun my chair out from under my desk. We hadn’t talked about how I felt about her job in ages. Years. Because what was the point? We were never going to agree. But I wanted one last shot to try to understand why she did what she did. “Does it ever bother you that you’re writing all these things about people, even when you know it will devastate them?”

  “Devastate?” she repeated. “That seems a little dramatic. If I’m reporting on a celebrity divorce, the news was bound to come out eventually. The cost of fame is living in the public eye, as I’ve always told you.”

  I supposed that made sense. “What about when you discover someone’s cheating? It’s not like the wife, or whoever the wronged party was—it’s not like they always know.”

  “I have very reliable sources. I don’t spread baseless speculation. Often the celebrities themselves come to me. I’m not saying I get calls from Angelina every day, but it does happen.”

  “You can’t get it right one hundred percent of the time, though.” I thought of the pictures of Nathan and Audrey, and the truth behind why they’d been meeting. Both of them must have been so hurt to have been confronted by Mark’s betrayal in such uncertain terms. My mother’s column had made two friends looking for comfort into something salacious, when it was anything but.

  “It’s true, darling, we all make mistakes. I always try to verify my information with multiple sources. Even then, for every story I submit, there are three I chuck in the bin.”

  I set my glass down on my desk. “What are you talking about? Why would you kill your own stories?”

  “For all the obvious reasons.”

  “Because you’re not sure you know the truth?”

  “No, I don’t even consider writing articles if I don’t know the truth. But sometimes you know the truth, but you also know that revealing that truth to the public is the wrong thing to do. I’ve always let my conscience guide me.”

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. “But isn’t that our job?” I asked. “To expose the truth. We’re not supposed to be the gatekeepers.”

  “There’s no hard line, though, Madison. You have to use your judgment. The truth isn’t an all-access pass. We’re human. We’re writing about humans. You have to weigh up the human consequences of submitting a story, along with the public interest. You have to decide whether what you write is necessary. Truth isn’t a panacea. It’s not permission to behave badly.”

  My stomach curdled. I’d always thought my mother was ruthless about going after the story and exposing celebrities. “But you always say that if celebrities put their lives out there, wanting to be talked about, they can’t be surprised or offended when people talk about them.”

  “Yes,” she said. “And that’s true. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t choices to make. Last year I found out a certain very young, blond popstar had an abortion. Several sources confirmed the information—it was clearly true. But that story never ran. I never gave it to my editor because I didn’t want to add to that poor girl’s trauma. It just wasn’t necessary.”

  “I don’t get it. You’ve never told me you bury certain stories. How are you drawing this line? Is reporting on a celebrity divorce ever necessary?”

  “Darling, I’ve said I pick and choose my subjects. But you are so willing to think badly of what I do that we don’t often discuss it. I don’t want to go around ruining lives—of course I don’t. I’m not saying that never happens, but it doesn’t happen without me weighing the consequences. It’s not just the truth I’m concerned with.”

  Was I wrong to have submitted my story about Nathan? There would be a ripple effect. Everyone
internally at Astro, including the chairman and the board, knew that I was profiling him. They knew I was going to shadow him and spend time with him. And I’d come to the same conclusion as they had, albeit for different reasons: he was in the wrong job. I knew that this profile was make or break for Nathan—it had the ability to cement a decision of the board and almost certainly would lead to Nathan losing his position. My profile would crush his dream; the only thing he wanted in life was to be at the helm of Astro, and I’d likely just taken that away without thinking through the consequences at all. I’d justified writing it because it was the truth. That’s what journalists did—they wrote the truth no matter the consequences.

  Maybe I’d just been hopelessly naïve.

  “What about that story about Nathan Cove and Audrey Alpern?” I asked.

  “Aren’t you writing a piece on Nathan Cove?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  We’d discussed it when I first got the assignment. I’d been so excited about it. “Yes.”

  “Nathan’s one of the City’s most notorious bachelors. And Annabel’s always has paps outside. If you don’t want to be seen, you go somewhere else.”

  “I can guarantee you Nathan didn’t want to be in the gossip pages. And Audrey’s married. You could have ruined her marriage for all you knew.”

  “Nathan Cove could avoid the spotlight if he cared enough,” my mother said. Now that I thought about it . . . she was right. If he cared so much about holding on to his position at Astro, why would he put himself in a position to be seen doing things that might jeopardize that role?

  “What about Audrey?”

  “Well, it’s the same. They didn’t have to go to Annabel’s. Often celebrities use us to send a message. The Alpern marriage is over, and it has nothing to do with anything I’ve published.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like I said, I publish far less than I could.”

  Did she know something about Mark? Had she heard about the investigation? I hadn’t read the terms of the NDA but I wasn’t about to say anything. It wasn’t worth the risk.

  “But it wasn’t necessary to publish that article about Nathan and Audrey.”

  “True. But it didn’t cause harm either.” My mother sighed. “There are no hard and fast rules here. You need to use your own moral compass. I know you don’t think I have one, but I do. You just don’t see it. I write about frivolous things and I write about things that might be hurtful or even harmful—not only because they’re true, but because sometimes it’s important.”

  What I’d written about Nathan wasn’t necessary and would definitely be harmful to his career. I could have written a good article—something interesting and insightful—without basically calling for him to be sacked. I’d gone for the jugular and it didn’t feel good. Now I knew why. Because the truth for the truth’s sake wasn’t enough. It wasn’t like I was saving the fortunes of the company by calling for his sacking. Astro’s financial performance was as strong as ever. I’d done it only because it was the truth as I saw it, not because it was the truth that would help Nathan and Astro thrive.

  And that wasn’t enough.

  I opened my laptop, determined to revise the article and send a new version to Bernie the moment it was done. Bernie’s assistant likely wasn’t monitoring her inbox this late, so I’d call Joan tomorrow and get her to delete the first version from Bernie’s emails. By then I’d have the revision sorted, so I’d still best my deadline by a week. I’d deliver a great profile, and one that wouldn’t ruin Nathan. I wasn’t making the change because of my feelings for him, but because I was my mother’s daughter. And for once in my life, I was proud of the job she did.

  Twenty-Five

  Madison

  As I cracked my eyes open to the incessant ping of incoming emails, the memory of the night before started to piece itself back together. I was still wearing my robe. And I hadn’t even closed my bedroom blind or gotten under the covers. I glanced over at my desk and saw the damming evidence. A half-empty wine glass covered in smudged fingerprints.

  I’d gotten drunk with my mother. A smile curled around my lips. It had been fun. And I’d come to understand a different side to her and her work.

  Shit. I needed to call Joan.

  I reached for the phone balanced precariously on my bedside table and sat up, my feet dangling from my bed.

  It was almost eight, which meant I’d probably catch Joan at her desk before Bernie tumbled in in about twenty minutes.

  I pressed call and it didn’t even ring before she answered. “Hey, Joan, I was hoping you could do me a favor and delete the email I sent Bernie last night. The one with the Nathan Cove profile attached.”

  “The one from six thirty last night?” she asked.

  “Yeah. That’s the one. I’m going to send him a revised version.”

  “Oh, you’re too late for that. He trashed something last minute and ran your story instead.”

  A wall of nausea hit me that had nothing to do with the stale wine sitting across the room from me.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Certain,” Joan replied. “He was delighted with it. And relieved he had something. I can send you a link if you like. It’s on the website too.”

  Of course it was.

  “That’s okay. I’ll find it.”

  “Congratulations on your first article at the Post.”

  My smile was more of a wince and I tried my best to sound lighthearted when I thanked her and hung up.

  What was I going to do? I pressed the heels of my hands over my eyes and then fell back onto the bed, trying to think of a solution. Perhaps I could speak to Astro’s chairman. Perhaps I was overreacting, and no one would actually read the piece.

  My phone pinged again and I swiped the screen to see about twenty times the messages I would normally have overnight.

  Oh God. That couldn’t be good. As I scrolled through them, I saw lots of congratulatory messages. Then one from Gretel. It simply said Call me. And then in among them there was one from Nathan.

  My heartbeat trampled across my chest like horses in the Grand National. Had he regretted the things he’d said to me yesterday? Or had he just read the profile?

  I clicked on the message and one line filled my phone screen: The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  My heart dove to my feet. His disappointment was a physical weight on my chest.

  If only what he was saying was true and I’d taken my mother’s advice before pressing send on that bloody email.

  As quickly as I could, I got ready for work and dashed out of the house to the tube. On top of everything else, there was no way I was going to let Craig announce in the staff meeting that I was sleeping with Nathan. I’d learned my lesson as far as keeping secrets was concerned. I was going to tell Bernie myself before Craig got to him. He’d be able to see for himself that it hadn’t compromised my work.

  One good thing about still living with my parents was that it was only four tube stops to work. By some miracle I was at my desk just as people started filing into the Monday staff meeting. I’d have to catch up with Bernie afterward.

  “Congratulations on the article,” Cindy said as she headed toward the meeting.

  “Yes, your very thorough research paid off, Madison,” Craig said as he came up behind me.

  I glanced over at Bernie’s office. Had Craig already told him about me and Nathan?

  Bernie’s frame filled the doorframe and he scanned the office, his gaze landing on me. “Madison,” he bellowed. “Get in here. Joan, I’m going to be a couple of minutes late to the meeting. Can you make sure everyone has a copy of the Sunday edition?”

  Craig must have got to him. Why else would he delay a staff meeting? He didn’t want me in there. He was going to sack me before I even had a chance to explain.

  How could I have been so stupid? Why had I thrown this dream job away for a few stolen moments with Nathan? I deserved everything coming to me.


  Joan scurried past, her expression neutral. I bet she’d seen this a thousand times before—some journalist shooting themselves in the foot and getting fired.

  “Hi, Bernie,” I said as I stepped into his office.

  “Great work on the Nathan Cove article. It was a really fresh perspective and I liked that you didn’t make him out to be a victim or a saint. Very well done.”

  “Thank you,” I said, waiting for the but.

  He looked up at me from his desk. “Take a seat.”

  Here it was.

  “I got some news today,” Bernie said as he scribbled into his notebook.

  I wasn’t going to deny it. On top of everything, I wasn’t going to lie to my boss today.

  “I’ve been talking to the board,” he said. “And I’ve managed to secure some extra budget. I’m going to create a new staff writer position. I want you on the payroll.”

  That was the last thing I was expecting him to say. “You mean after the maternity cover?”

  “Yes, I want you to stay on the team. This article really impressed me. It was insightful and well written. You rewrote history when you turned it in nearly a week before it was due. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got for us next.”

  Usually, I’d be lapping up the praise, but Bernie’s words just tasted sour in my mouth. A full-time job at the Post was everything I’d worked toward my entire life, and Audrey’s story might be my Watergate. I should be snatching Bernie’s hand off and wearing a grin the size of China. But I felt nothing but empty.

  Twenty-Six

  Nathan

  I went through the arguments to myself again. One article in one newspaper couldn’t define me. I’d been up against bad odds before and triumphed. I would just have to work harder, do better, show them they’d be fools to get rid of me.

  As far as I was concerned, it was business as usual. I was back behind my desk, acting like the article published last night had never made it into print.

  I’d trusted Madison. I thought she’d known me. And I’d been completely blindsided when I’d read the profile. The only thing I’d heard from her since was two words in an email.