by Holly Brown
“The coroner’s report is inconclusive. There were no bruises or signs of struggle, and she wasn’t a very good swimmer. That’s what INN will say.”
“I don’t put much stock in what they say. Do you?” She gives me a meaningful look. “If only women were the ones doing the taping.”
Chapter 45
I’ll never juggle men again. It’s too much work.
First Graham needs reassurance. He waylays me as I’m leaving hair and makeup, telling me that the first segment in the show is some of his best work and he can’t wait to see me do it justice. I say, yes, it’s incredible, I’m honored, yada, yada. I’m not about to tell him that it won’t see the light of day.
Then he runs his hand up my arm and asks if we can celebrate later. I manage, barely, to keep the smile on my face as I say yes again. I just have to keep saying yes a while longer, keep from rocking the boat until I tip it over.
My stomach’s in knots. It doesn’t feel like it did after my food was spiked, but it’s close. I haven’t been able to eat all day (and haven’t wanted to, because I can’t let anyone derail me today). The upside is that in wardrobe, they don’t have to spend as much time pinning me into that night’s scuba dress. Black. How fitting. It’s INN’s funeral.
Or mine.
Next I run into Edwin. He pretends it’s accidental, but I can tell he’s been lying in wait in the hallway. It’s almost sweet, like he’s a high schooler with a crush. A wave of guilt hits me. He isn’t going to see this coming.
“Hey,” he says in a low voice. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
He leans up against the wall, and I lean next to him. It’s not long until showtime, and that’s what I tell him, though I add that I wish I could talk to him all night.
I’m laying it on a little thick, but he’s falling for it. Falling for me. Maybe it’s the sex. It was good.
I’ve been trying not to think about that. It clearly can’t go anywhere. Not just because he’s my boss but because soon, he won’t be my boss. It’s a no-win situation.
“I’m crazy about you,” he says, and I can see the effort it’s taking for him not to reach out and touch me. “But I don’t know if I can trust you.”
I want to laugh out loud. He doesn’t know about me? That washes away all the guilt instantly.
I manage to keep a straight face though. “You can trust me. You might not understand everything I do exactly when I do it, but I’m always doing the right thing.”
He smiles. “My sweet little girl from Tulip.”
So condescending. He’s underestimated me this whole time, and he won’t be smiling for long.
“See you after the show?” he says. “Your place?”
“Definitely.”
“I’ll be watching from the booth.”
“Perfect. I might be ad-libbing a little tonight. Graham thinks his script is genius, that no one should change a word.” I roll my eyes, and he laughs way too hard.
I’ve enlisted Albie’s help. Elyse seemed confident he could be trusted, based on knowing him previously in the industry. She says he’s an avowed feminist. So the Hillary Clinton talk was no fluke, and since he’s a hired gun, he has less to lose. He must have known when he agreed to this, it would mean the end of his job. But then, when I’m done, so’s he.
Graham and Edwin are both in the control room, assiduously avoiding each other. Albie is settled in front and center, next to the technical guys.
Albie gives me the thumbs-up. So he did it. He switched the footage. My heart is threatening to leap out of my chest.
I can still back out. I could just read the teleprompter like I’m supposed to; I could be a good little soldier, and with the way it’s looking, this really could become my show. Truthiness with Cheyenne Florian. It’s got a good ring. I could run it like Beth did, be a beacon for the network, and for women.
If I chicken out, Albie and Reese will know, but no one else will have to. I could show Chase and Lydia and everyone else what I’m really made of. Crusading for justice on my own show, not even a year after graduation.
Elyse is going to be watching too. She’ll know.
“We’re still on?” Albie says in my ear.
I take a deep breath.
I can’t stay at INN, not with what I know. I might not even want to stay in journalism. But that’s not the point. This is bigger than me. This is about Beth. Not just what I believe is her murder, but her mission. It’s about the public good, and standing up for women. It’s about telling the truth and mounting a challenge with the means I have at my disposal. I’ll likely never get this kind of chance again.
“Still on,” I tell Albie.
The director begins the countdown, and then I’m live, in front of millions.
“Good evening,” I say. “I’m Cheyenne Florian. I want to start with a moment of silence for Beth Linford.” I bow my head, and when I raise it, there are tears in my eyes. But that’s as far as they’ll go. Emotion suppressed is always better. “Beth was an amazing woman, and she’s been taken from us far too soon. Beth was transforming newsroom culture. Not by being brash or loud or making grand statements, but by quietly doing the work and by recognizing other people’s contributions. She made people feel seen, heard, and valued.”
I glance quickly into the booth. Graham and Edwin recognize that that’s not the beginning as written, but they’re not unduly alarmed either. Just wait.
“I want to talk about the newsroom culture and corporate culture. Think about Fox News under Roger Ailes. People were being surveilled, everywhere. It was a fiefdom, and the top personalities, like Bill O’Reilly, were given a pass. Sure, Roger Ailes was finally fired, and so, eventually, was Bill O’Reilly, but they’d already gotten rich. They’d been given a bully pulpit, the operative word being ‘bully.’ They’d already stunted the potential of many women, subjecting them to harassment and humiliation, causing them to feel that their value was about how slowly they could cross their legs. Or uncross them, as the case may be.”
Another glance upward. They’re a little more concerned, but still. I’m talking about Fox. That’s INN’s bread and butter—the demeaning of other networks.
“At the other end of the political spectrum, we have Miramax under Harvey Weinstein. What’s the same is not just the coercive behavior of the men at the top, that they feel entitled to degrade and even assault women, but that it’s an open secret. Everyone else in the organization looks the other way, and one man’s value trumps every woman’s right to feel safe in her workplace.”
I look up again, hoping that Graham and Edwin are continuing to underestimate me, that they don’t think I have the courage or the brains to go where this story is leading.
“Then there’s the everyday sexism that’s alive and well in corporate America. Women are still pitted against one another, still used for how they look and not for how they think. They’re interrupted more. Their competence has to be proven more often, again and again. Their performance reviews reference their ‘attitudes’ far more than men’s do. When we disagree, we have to make sure we don’t sound ‘bitchy’ or ‘shrill.’ We’re not promoted as often. We’re pigeonholed more. We’re left out of certain conversations that would make it easier for us to ascend.”
Edwin and Graham are at opposite ends of the booth, but they’re both leaning as close as they can to the glass. Graham is gaining in fury; Edwin is . . . well, I can’t quite tell what that expression means.
“We’re in an amazing cultural moment, with women finally free to speak out publicly and powerful abusers toppling. But notice that’s in glamorous industries like Hollywood, where famous names grab attention and headlines. In the real, everyday world, many women are still afraid to speak up. They’re afraid they’ll be labeled as too sensitive, and too thin-skinned to hack it. They’re afraid they won’t be believed. Afraid they’ll be blackballed. Afraid that the process of seeking justice will be nearly as brutal as the crime itself, that
they’ll be told they were somehow to blame for what was done to them. HR is there to protect the powerful, to protect the company, not the accusers, and forced arbitration clauses—common in employment contracts—mean matters have to get settled in-house, which further stacks the deck in favor of the accused. Women often feel they have two options: say nothing and be a team player, or slink away and hope the next workplace will be better.”
Now Graham is gesticulating wildly. He wants Edwin to pull the plug. Edwin is looking back and forth, between Graham and then down to me.
“Go fast,” Albie warns. “They might cut you off.”
“Yes, some bad apples have been stripped from their trees, but in most cases, powerful men continue to assume that their power is absolute and insulating. Despite all the cathartic sharing of stories that catalyzed the #metoo movement, it’s still an open question as to whether true change is happening, and what new protections are being put in place to level the playing field between the accusers and the accused. Until now, all the advantages have gone to the home team. But that’s where tape can be our friend, just like it was with Gretchen Carlson, who was instrumental in bringing down Roger Ailes. She had the proof.”
Graham is about to leap through the glass. But Edwin isn’t moving a muscle. He’s still watching, almost like he’s looking forward to what’s coming.
“I’m about to show a video with graphic sexual content,” I say. Once the video airs, I’m home free. Every network will run with it, and then no one can do to me what they did to Beth. You can’t kill a whistleblower once the whistle’s been blown. “These videos were taken in the bathroom at INN. You’ll see at least one familiar face.”
Speaking of faces, why does Edwin’s have a hint of a smile?
After I told Elyse about the bathroom and about how, according to Reese, multiple men seem to know what was going on there, Elyse had the resources to hack into INN’s email. The men involved were so sure of themselves that they were circulating their conquests through their work emails. Unbelievable! But fortuitous.
There it is, on the screen: a video montage that Elyse had spliced together, and it shows coercion and in one case, outright violence, as well as sexual contact with women too drunk to stand, let alone give consent. Elyse made sure that the women’s identities were protected, their faces smudged out, but the perpetrators’ faces were visible: Ty, Luke, and Graham.
There were a few other VJs and producers whose names had been listed on the email chain, including Rich Garrett, but Elyse’s tech people hadn’t found any videos featuring them. Edwin never appeared, on camera or on the list of names receiving and circulating the videos. Still, it was hard to imagine he didn’t know what was happening on his watch, that there’s basically a rape ring operating in his midst. Yet the question of “What does he know and when did he know it?” remains outstanding. He has plausible deniability.
Is that why he’s smiling?
In the booth, Graham has gone still.
“These images speak for themselves,” I say. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking that it’s just a few bad actors, a few bad apples. Women are being harassed, abused, and assaulted in workplaces everywhere. We have to look at the larger cultures that spawn and enable this horrifying behavior, and how corporations continue to have the means to intimidate and silence victims. But the onus falls to all of us, every one of us, to demand justice. To demand true change.
“Yes, of late, the floodgates have opened, and some of the accused have been punished. But it’s a very small percentage of those who are out there abusing their power. Far more victims suffer in silence than speak out. And the status quo relies on us mistaking catharsis and storytelling for change, when the fact is, a movement is only as strong as the corporate and legislative policies that are enacted and the true protections that are put in place. Additionally, we have to address the ways our society dehumanizes and objectifies women, and the men who benefit by maintaining their power and privilege.
“What about industries that are a whole lot less sexy than entertainment and broadcasting? What about when the coverage dies down? When the appetite for the stories inevitably diminishes? We have to seize this moment and make real and lasting change now. Open dialogue is necessary but insufficient. Let’s not confuse talk with justice.
“As Americans, we have a long, long way to go. But I hope that we take another step forward tonight.”
Chapter 46
Silence has fallen. I’ve been so preoccupied with what’s going on in the booth that I’ve paid little mind to the fact that it’s Beth’s former show, the one with a nearly all-female crew. We’ve gone to commercial, and I’m still at Beth’s desk, frozen. The crew appears frozen too. We’re in uncharted territory.
I’ve given no thought to this moment, to the “what now” of it. I haven’t thought of an escape route, of how I’m going to make it out of this studio and this building, and where I’ll go. I’ve been living in an apartment paid for by INN. Do I go straight to the airport? I’ll be recognized, of course. Exposed. Defenseless.
Two officers are positioned around the set, and one is Officer Mortimer. Neither of them are looking at me kindly. Did they already know what was in that report? Have they been covering for INN all this time? I’m not sure if I’m going to get a police escort out of here, or if I’d be better off taking my chances on the street.
I’m starting to panic, when I hear it. The first clap. Then the whole crew is applauding wildly.
I don’t know how many of them had already known what was in my report, if any of them were victims whose footage I simply haven’t seen. But I do know that it’s the proudest moment of my life.
When the applause finally dies down, I look back up at the booth. I see that Albie’s gone. So’s Graham.
Edwin speaks to me through my earpiece. “You’re going to finish tonight’s show, because that’s what’s best for INN. Meanwhile, I’ll figure out what I’m going to do with you.”
I feel my knees shaking under the anchor desk. I can’t speak back to him, not without the whole studio hearing me. I don’t even know what I want to say.
I assumed that I would be in no danger once I’d told the world what was going on behind the scenes, that INN wouldn’t harm me once the heat was on the network, but that’s only if Edwin behaves in a rational manner. Edwin must have realized I was using him, and his vengeance might have no bounds.
I’ll figure out what I’m going to do with you.
Has a more terrifying sentence ever been uttered?
“You created television history,” he says. “A cultural moment. Only on INN.”
Is he crazy? Everyone knows his network is full of rapists!
As if he can see my thoughts—has he managed to obtain Until’s technology? I wouldn’t put anything past him, at this point—he says, “You were talking about a small rogue element. We’ll clean house and move on. So thank you.”
That’s why he was smiling. He wanted Graham out of there. Perhaps Graham already is out. He could have already been arrested, for all I know.
But Ty, the network’s cash cow?
I think of what Ty said to Reese, how angry he’s been at Edwin and how Ty sabotaged my first Until report. Yes, Ty too.
The chess master outsmarted me. I’ve taken care of his enemies for him, and he gets to come out smelling like a rose. He’s independent even of the most powerful man on his own network, Ty.
Now I’m supposed to finish the show because that makes it look like my report had been planned, like it was sanctioned by the network. INN is so morally upright that its leadership chose to expose the villainy of its own staff, live.
If I stalk off, if I refuse to be his puppet, then what?
I’m in breach of contract. There’s that clause about how I have to not only forfeit my salary but pay back the money they’ve spent on me. Boilerplate, that’s what he said. Standard, my ass.
I’ve outed his staff, and somehow, he’s won. My triumph
has receded, the applause is no longer in my ears, and I’m filled with a terrible impotent rage.
I’ve been doing so much thinking, and writing, and rehearsing. I was a real VJ: I wrote and produced my own story, and it was good. It was muckraking at its finest. But I’m spent. I can’t think anymore.
So I do as I’ve been told. I finish out the show. Albie’s still gone, and Edwin leaves too. I don’t know if that’s more frightening or less.
I think of Elyse, then and now. The Elyse who said she would write her own ending and who’s gone on to author her story. I don’t have to channel the Elyse of 1991; I can channel the one I met the other day, the one who believes I can carry the torch.
The show is over. I take in the congratulations of the staff, and the booth clears. The lights are dimmed, and still I remain at the anchor desk like I’ve sprouted roots. It’s just me and the two police officers. I’m not going anywhere, not without some assurances. This game isn’t over yet.
When Edwin reenters the studio, Daphne is with him. She speaks to the officers quietly, and I’m not surprised to see them vacate the premises, without so much as a backward glance at me.
Daphne stands in front of me, impeccable in a power suit. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. Obviously, I wish you would have given us the footage ahead of time so we could have found the best way to handle it.”
“So you could have had me killed too?”
Daphne shakes her head. “You millennials do like your conspiracy theories, don’t you?”
I can’t tell what Edwin is feeling. What he’s decided to do with me.
“There’s no Roger Ailes here,” she says.
“Unless it’s you,” I say. “I’ve learned more about your theory of management.” Elyse filled me in. “Give your employees enough rope to hang themselves. Know all the skeletons in their closets, and bring them out when it suits you. You were the one who put in the surveillance, and you gave Graham and Ty access. That way, you could always have the goods on them. You’d always be in control. The women who were sexually assaulted were just collateral damage.”
