Private Lives

the university to travel and learn about my father’s business.”

“Wish I could do that,” Bodie said. “I’m busting my buns at Columbia and holding down an internship at HoloNews.”

“It sounds like interesting work.” Leif wasn’t sure whether he should press for more details or spend a little more time charming the girl.

“That’s what I thought when I started out,” Bodie shrugged. “But for all its sources, HoloNews apparently hasn’t heard the news about the slaves being freed. And I work for the worst slave driver of them all, the news goddess — Tori Rush.”

6

Leif danced with Bodie Fuhrman, enjoying her moves. She was an energetic, almost reckless dancer, a young woman who moved the way she wanted to move. Several times Leif found himself having to duck if he wanted to avoid a flailing arm or a bumping hip.

By the time the music ended, Bodie had a faint sheen on her face and a twinkle in her emerald-green eyes. “‘Wild and crazy,’ that’s what everybody says about me.” She giggled.

“It just gives me something to keep up with,” Leif replied with a smile.

After a couple more wild dances, Bodie decided she needed a drink. Leif bought a simple soda. Bodie asked for one of those foaming, smoking concoctions that Alexis had been drinking.

Time to make my move, Leif thought. “So you work for the famous Tori Rush,” he said.

“I don’t know how famous she is in Sweden,” Bodie said, breathing out a puff of smoke. “But she’s a pretty big cheese over here. Just ask her! If you listen to her tell it, she’s a regular news diva.” Bodie’s eyes hardened as she looked sharply over her glass. “You’re not one of those low-wattage types who think she’s hot?”

“I don’t like blondes,” Leif lied. “For myself, I prefer a woman who looks like a woman.” He smiled. “Preferably with red hair.” He gestured at his own head. “Less chance to clash, you know.”

Bodie’s eyebrows rose in her round, expressive face. “Oddly enough, I’ve got a thing for redheads, too. We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

“Ah,” Leif said. This was interesting, but not what he’d come here looking for. Time to prod a little. “Forgive me, but I don’t think you like Ms. Rush.”

“You could say that,” Bodie said. “One semester of being her personal servant has just about killed my desire to go into the news business.”

“As bad as that?”

“Worse,” she assured him. “I had this completely idealistic conception of what journalism was like. You know, the whole Fourth Estate thing.”

Leif must have looked puzzled, because she said, “You know, the press as the ‘Fourth Estate.’ Being European, you must know about the Three Estates of the Realm, right? The Three Estates were the basis of feudal society — the Lords Spiritual, or the Church; the Lords Temporal, or the nobility; and the bourgeoisie, or the common folk.”

Actually, Leif had learned about that in his history class. He’d forgotten it as soon as it was convenient, as he did much of the information that he learned in school and considered extraneous. Who’d have guessed he’d have a need for that little tidbit? But now he nodded. He remembered enough to get by.

“Well, a couple of hundred years ago, as the press came to have more of an influence on society, journalism was jokingly referred to as a new political force — the Fourth Estate. Then it turned out not to be a joke. By the late twentieth century, newspapers and television had actually helped to unseat one sitting president, and got fairly close to unseating another. Even today, when they get really stuffy and serious, media people like to talk about their responsibility to the public. ‘The news sets the agenda,’ they say, as if that were a good thing.”

“But you began to have your doubts,” Leif said.

“To put it mildly,” Bodie retorted. “I didn’t see anybody in HoloNews carrying the sacred flame. The place is a for-profit business, worse than most of the offices you see in the holos, with all the nastiest parts of Hollywood thrown in.”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen serious stories, mine and everyone else’s, pushed aside to make room for coverage of some stupid actor getting caught with his pants down. Other stories I broke got spiked — ignored — because they didn’t suit the great Tori Rush’s personal agenda. And even when I did get my hands on a hot story, something that was ripe for the headlines, I was just a grunt, the lowest level of employee. I’d do all the work to develop a story, only to see the news diva get the credit. Nobody at the station was ever told how Tori got her hands on the information.”

Her full lips twisted. “It was enough to make me sick. Sure knocked all my high ideals about a free press defending democracy right out of my head. A guy named A. J. Liebling had it right: ‘A free press is guaranteed only to those who own one.’”

“Tori Rush is that bad?” Leif asked, hoping for some dirt.

“She’d stab you in the back just to get a convenient opening in which to view the time of day,” Bodie said. “I’m an intern. I know what goes into the job. I could live with her stealing the credit for all the work I did, and giving me all her work to do on top of it, but then she’d send me out to deal with her dirty laundry and her shopping and her lunches and her bills.”

“But if you were handling most of her work and her personal responsibilities, what was she doing?”

Bodie glanced around, then her voice became conspiratorial. She wasn’t exactly whispering — who could, with that wailing music in the background? But she lowered her voice and moved her lips closer to Leif’s ears. “She’s working on setting up her own show.”

Leif looked surprised. “But she’s the ‘fresh new face’ on Once Around the Clock. She’s only been there a couple of years. Is she really such a star that the network would let her do that?”

“She thinks she’s got the demographics,” Bodie said. “There was a time when even the best newsmen — or — women — needed a decade at the top before they’d get a shot at their own interview show. They had to stand out from the rest of the team on the magazine shows just to get a slot hosting those early-morning extravaganzas that start at six A.M. On Sundays they had to come up with probing questions for newsmakers on those panel- interview shows. But Tori-baby isn’t interested in actual work, just the perks that come with the job. She figures she can push her status as America’s Sweetheart to get what she wants — money and fame — right now.”

Bodie looked truly disgusted. “She spends more time on the phone with her agent, crafting the latest ultimatum to the network, than she does checking sources for her stories, even the stuff she’s purloined. Have you noticed that all the news she’s broken lately has been big scandals? Accusations that make headlines, even if they don’t stick? That’s ’cause they’re easy for her to do. She’s got a source even the network doesn’t know about. And those stories give her a high profile while she does development deals for her show. You ready for this? She wants to call it The Rush Hour.”

Leif shrugged. “Aim high,” he said.

“But to get there, she’s willing to go really low.” Bodie hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I shouldn’t really say this—”

Leif leaned a little closer, but she clammed up again.

“Ah,” he said, “this is — what do you call it? — the teaser?”

Stung, she swallowed the rest of her drink and glared at him. “Unlike some sources, I come through. The story will be out soon enough, and I’m quoted in it. Tori, the great news diva, has hired her own private eyes to dig up dirt for her. How’s that for investigative reporting?”

“Detectives?” Leif said in disbelief.

“No shinola, Sherlock. After her agent, the people Tori-babe called most were her professional peepers at I- on Investigations. They were supposed to give her ‘background reports.’”

Bodie’s lips curled in disgust. “But her highness just prettied them up into news scripts, didn’t even bother checking the facts or verifying the stories with multiple sources. I should know. She had me writing up the scripts