"That's bullshit."
"Can you blame them?"
"Yes," Rune said.
In her prototype Piper Sutton voice, Piper Sutton snapped, "It wasn't my decision to make."
"Wasn't it?"
Sutton took a breath to speak then didn't. She shook her head slowly, avoiding Rune's eyes.
Rune repeated, "Wasn't it?" And surprised herself again by hearing how calm she sounded, how unshaken she now was in the presence of this woman--a woman who wore suede and silk and bright red suits, a woman richer and smarter than she'd ever be. A famous commentator, who now seemed abandoned by words. Rune said, "You'd rather the competition did the story? Prime Time Tonight or Pulse of the Nation?"
Sutton stepped up on a creosoted railroad tie bolted into the pier as a car barrier. She looked in the water; her expression said she didn't like what she saw. Rune wondered if it was her reflection.
She said simply, "The story won't run on Current Events."
"What would happen if it did?"
"If you want to know I posed that exact question. And the answer was if it does the parent'll cancel the show." Then she added, "And I'll be out of work. You need a better reason than that?"
"I don't think I want my job back, no," Rune said. She'd found some of her old comic books; they'd miraculously survived both the fire and looters. She looked at the cover of a 1953 classic--"Sheena, Queen of the Jungle," who swung out of a tree toward a startled lion. The cat stared at her spear and radiant blonde hair and leopard-skin-clad hourglass figure--a physique that existed only in the luxurious imaginations of illustrators. "That's me." Rune held up the book. "Queen of the Jungle."
Sutton glanced at the picture.
Rune stacked the books in the small to-be-saved pile and asked, "Your conscience bothering you yet?"
"I've never had trouble sleeping at night. Not in forty-three years."
"You want my opinion?"
"Not really."
"You're caving, just to keep your paycheck."
Rune expected a tirade but what she got was a surprise--a small, hurt voice, saying, "I think you know it's not that."
And after a moment Rune nodded, understanding that Sutton was right. Sure, she'd bowed to the wishes of the executives. But the reasons were complex. She'd caved partly because she was hooked on the prestige and excitement that went with being a prime-time news anchor. Partly to keep a job that she'd fought hard for.
And partly--mostly--because Piper Sutton felt the world of journalism, and her ten million viewers, needed her.
Which of course they did. They needed the news handed to them by people like this, people they recognized, trusted, admired. An old boyfriend had once quoted somebody--a poet, she thought--who said that mankind can't bear too much reality. Well, it was the Piper Suttons of the world who cut reality into manageable little bites and set them out, pleasantly arranged, in front of the public.
"I put it in context." Sutton shrugged. "Boggs was innocent and you got him out. That's a good deed. But
it's still a small story. There's a lot of news out there, a lot bigger news. Nobody says I've got to cover everything."
"I'll produce it independently." Rune sounded more threatening than she had meant to.
Sutton laughed. "Bless you, babes, and more power to you. All I'm telling you is the story won't run on the Network. Not on my program."
Rune turned to face Sutton. "And if I do it, I'm going to mention the part about how they wouldn't do the story on Current Events."
Sutton smiled. "I'll send you the files and all backup, the stuff I saved from your desk. Give us your best shot. We can take it."
Rune returned to her pile of salvage. "It'll be a son of a bitch to do by myself."
Sutton agreed, "Sure will."