Private Player
“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.