News Blues (3 page)
Authors: Marianne Mancusi
FROM:
“Victor Charles, MD”
TO:
“Madeline Madison”
SUBJECT:
re: cosmetics that kill?
Dear Maddy,
Thank you for writing to me regarding your story on “Cosmetics That Kill.” However, in all my forty years as a doctor at this
major medical institution, I have never once come across a single case where cosmetics were responsible for someone’s death.
Perhaps you’d be better serving the community by doing a story on a new over-the-counter diet drug that uses herbs hand ground
by Aboriginal tribe members. As the company’s paid spokesman I’d be happy to extol its virtues to your viewing audience and
I’m sure it’d be a great ratings booster. I could even provide you with a patient who lost over fifty pounds in one week by
taking this pill.
Your favorite TV doc,
Victor
P.S. The FDA has not yet approved this drug (you know how
they
are!) So I would suggest you don’t bother contacting them to ask them if it is safe and effective, but rather take my word
for it. After all, I am a doctor.
Bing!
I squinted in puzzlement as an instant message popped up on my computer the next day at work. We weren’t really supposed to
be IMing on the job. The IT department had even put a block on our computers so it’d be impossible to download an IM program.
Luckily, AOL’s service had a Java Express version, which meant it could run online and there was nothing to download. Let’s
just say the brilliance of such a concept wasn’t lost on our department.
In fact, in News 9 Cubicle Land all you ever heard was
bing, bing, bing
all day long with a sole
bong
thrown in from Jodi’s computer. She had gotten sick of thinking other people’s
bings
were hers and changed the sound settings.
So, while the appearance of an IM wasn’t unusual in and of itself, I couldn’t help but notice this particular IM came from
my father, the most un–computer savvy, low-tech guy on the planet. The man didn’t know how to program his DVR. Didn’t own
a cell phone. And now he was IMing me? I had no idea he even knew IMing existed. I would have been willing to make a bet before
this very minute, in fact, that he would have happily gone through his whole life never knowing or caring that communication
with his oldest daughter was simply a
bing
away.
Bing!
[email protected]:
Are you there, sweet pea?
[email protected]:
Yes. Hi Dad. What’s up?
[email protected]:
Wow! This instant messaging thing is very tight, huh?
Oh-kay. Now I’m officially freaked out. Not only was my dad using IMing technology, but he was using expressions like “tight.”
[email protected]:
Yeah, it’s a gr8 way to communicate
[email protected]:
Listen, hon. I was wondering if you would like to come over for dinner tonight.
[email protected]:
Well, it is a work night . . .
[email protected]:
Your mother and I have some news we’d like to share with you.
[email protected]:
Is it bad news??????
[email protected]:
Oh no. It’s nothingbad.
[email protected]:
Okay, phew. For a moment it sounded like you guys were going to get a divorce or something.So what is it? Did you win the lottery? If you did, can you buy me a condo?
[email protected]:
My hands are getting tired from typing. Just come by for seven, okay?
[email protected]:
Ok. Bye dad.
Oh. My. God. My dad used an emoticon! Another twenty-first centuryism that I figured he’d never work out. Something was definitely
up.
“So, what are we doing today?” Adonis—sorry, that would be Jamie—slid into David’s seat and smiled at me. I tried not to cringe
as my insides instantly turned to mush.
That smile of his had to be outlawed in at least thirty-three states. He shouldn’t be allowed to spring it on me like that.
But what could I say? Excuse me, gorgeous photog, could you please not smile at me? Ever? Then he’d want to know why, and
I’d have to admit I had the total hots for him, which he’d think was “really cute” and say I was a “nice kid” but he had a
real woman back at home. One with caterers, swan napkins, and a sparkling diamond ring that he’d placed on her delicate finger.
She probably had perfect nails and went to the manicurist seven days a week.
Stop it, Maddy. Imagination running wild. She could be an
ugly troll for all you know.
I realized Jamie was still waiting for the response one would typically receive after asking a simple question of one’s coworker—if
one’s coworker didn’t belong in a drooling mental ward due to raging female hormones.
“Well, I don’t know if I have anything for you to shoot, ” I said with a sigh. “I’m desperately researching a story on ‘Cosmetics
That Kill’ and unfortunately keep coming up a bit short on interview subjects.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Cosmetics can kill? I had no idea.”
“It’s okay, neither does the rest of the world. But promos decided it’d sound like a good ad to run during that
Extreme Makeover
reality show we air on Tuesday nights.”
“You know, now that you mention it, I think I received some chain e-mail with something about deadly lipstick, ” Jamie said
thoughtfully. “Though I probably deleted it.”
“Really? Do you think it’s still in your trash folder?” I asked, trying not to get my hopes up. Wow. First day on the job
and my photographer was helping me produce! He was actually interested in my story and wanted to contribute.
You got to understand. Most of our photographers at News 9 were die-hard union guys. They did exactly what you told them,
with no thoughts or creative suggestions. It was not a team effort. Ever. They might as well have been robots, though I was
pretty sure robots didn’t bitch and whine every time they were asked to do something. And heaven forbid you break a union
rule. One time, I hit the “eject” button on the camera to get my tape. I thought the photographer was going to have a heart
attack. I had to sit through this half-hour lecture about how my hitting “eject” could lead to photographer layoffs because
there wasn’t enough work for them to do. Evidently I’d personally be responsible for hundreds of starving children whose photog
daddies and mommies stood in the unemployment line.
Jamie turned around in his chair and logged into my cubemate’s computer. I watched eagerly as he pulled up his Internet e-mail
account and selected his trash folder.
“Here it is.” He clicked on the little envelope icon and the e-mail popped up. Because I was blind and refused to wear glasses
or get contacts, I had to come up pretty close behind him to read over his shoulder. And this close proximity made me realize
he was wearing spicy cologne that sparked a direct tingling effect you know where. Man, this guy could turn me on without
even touching me.