"Police say the suspect is a 5'10, 165 pound white male, and was last seen fleeing from the Greenville Wal-Mart, heading east on State Route 45. Now let's check in with Leticia Guerrero for this weekend's forecast," as I spoke, I turned my head slightly towards the green screen to the left of my desk, my plastic smile remained plastered to my face until I was sure that the camera was no longer on me. The smile died instantly, and I looked back down at my notes. I crumpled up the story about the Greenville Wal-Mart flasher and tossed it under my desk, sighing. More nonsense stories that no one cared about.
"Thanks Brooke, well everyone if you thought last weekend was unseasonably cold, you aren't going to like what I have to tell you next..." began Leticia, the new meteorologist at my station, KQTV, Channel 10-Fairview. I wasn't really listening anymore, I knew I had a couple of minutes before Leticia threw back to me and Karl Fowler, my co-anchor.
Instead I was thinking about the phone call I'd had three hours earlier from another ABC affiliate in Tucson, Arizona letting me know that they were going to go another way for their morning news anchor. They thanked me for my interest. I was thinking that at the age of 33, my chances of leaving Channel 10 were basically non-existent. Tucson was my last chance. I was doomed to spend the next 15years of my life as the female anchor for the Channel 10 Action Evening News at 6 o'clock, the third-ranked local afternoon news broadcast in America's 191st-largest media market. That is, in a city with a grand total of 90,000 men, women, children, and houseplants, two other local stations got more eyeballs. Essentially, no one watched my broadcast. When I started getting close to 50 years old, KQTV would give me a minuscule raise and an office job to keep my old face off the air. Then I'd retire and, later, die. It was all planned out.
And as I organized my papers for the next segment, I thought again about how deeply unfair it was. I was a good journalist. I mean, I wasn't just some news reader. Karl, sitting next to me, he was essentially Ron Burgundy come to life, right down to the miserable mustache. But I had earned my spot at this desk. I cut my teeth at KQTV after college; interviewing public officials, following viewer tips, digging through records, and earnestly asking questions in an attempt to educate the people of Fairview about the matters of local concern. I put in 12-14 hours days every day. I was the closest thing to a real investigator that this town had ever seen on TV (the local newspaper was actually pretty good, before it was shuttered). And I brought the same devotion to the anchor chair that I'd shown in the field.
Further, to be even more frank, I was damn good looking. At 33 I was 5'4 and no more than 115 pounds. I had long, straight (naturally) blonde hair and big green eyes. My nose was small, my cheek bones defined (but not too defined), I had a long elegant throat, high firm breasts, a flat stomach, an hourglass frame, and slender legs that looked incredible in a miniskirt. I looked like the kind of woman who got picked up by Fox News to keep the old men interested.
I'd gotten into the anchor chair early; I was only 27 when I got promoted. I saw myself advancing up the ladder. Going to bigger and better cities, maybe New York or LA, before getting picked up by a national broadcast. I saw myself doing fluff pieces on Good Morning America, before rotating up to the evening news. Maybe switching over to a cable station and having my own show. But somehow, things had never taken off for me. I'd worked harder and harder every year, perfecting my craft and trying to think of new things I could do to improve the broadcast. But, I'd never shown an ability to actually pull up viewership on my own. In fact, KQTV's ratings had declined 2% across the board since I became anchor. New York and LA didn't want me and that meant the national broadcasts would never want me. Hell, a mid-sized city like Tucson didn't even want me.
I'd given everything I had to my career. I'd missed important family events like my sister's wedding and my grandmother's funeral. I'd foregone all of the normal aspects of a personal life. I'd never had anything even approaching a serious, adult relationship. Hell, I didn't even dare adopt an animal because I was afraid I wouldn't have time to take care of it. I'd done everything in my power to become a success in my chosen field and it wasn't enough. I was 33 years old, single, and I wasn't going anywhere.
"Brooke," I heard Leticia finish up. My smile instantly returned as the light on the camera in front of me signaled that the weather report was over. I didn't think I'd ever been more miserable in my life than I had been in that moment. But regardless of what Tucson thought, I was a professional. I would keep doing what I was doing. I didn't know how to do anything else.
"Thanks, Leticia," I said, "When we come back, Kyle Schrader will have a report on Superintendent Clinton's controversial remarks on the upcoming school board election. Some people are asking: did he cross the line? Please stick with us." And the cameras went dark.
* * * * *
"Well I mean, I agree that it is good news. But it is weird," I heard my producer, Gary, saying to one of his assistants. It was about two weeks after I'd gotten the word from Tucson and I was walking through the newsroom. I was on my way to make-up, in preparation for the night's broadcast. Gary was hunched up over his assistant's desk (I think the assistant was named Carla?) rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. I wondered if something was breaking, whether I'd need to make some changes to my notes while I was in the make-up chair. I got the sort of tingling feeling I always got when there was a hint of a new story to cover. Even if I was stuck in Fairview forever, the rush of that feeling would never get old.
"What's up? Something about the Mayor?" I asked, stopping next to the desk. Councilman Gillman had recently accused Mayor Tester of abusing his position to assist his brother in obtaining the sole city license to collect garbage. As of yet, it was just an unsubstantiated Facebook post by the councilman, but I had been trying to dig in to whether there was some basis for it. The bidding process had been closed, I needed documents showing there'd only been one accepted bid. "Good news" might mean a break in the story.
"No," Gary said, distractedly, and I am sure the disappointment showed on my face. Gary looked up at me and smiled, something he never did, "Better!" he finished. Now my instincts were really thrumming.
"What is it then," I said, walking around behind the desk and looked up at the computer screen. Before I had a chance to see what it was, Gary filled me in.
"It's the latest ratings," He said, "Viewership is up one percent compared to this month last year." The sense of excitement I'd had quickly disappeared.
"Oh," I said, nonplussed, "That's a rounding error. We are still in third place, right?" I asked. Gary laughed a little, which was very strange, and nodded.
"Yeah, by a good margin," He said. Now I was thoroughly confused. This was good news how? "Its not the overall amount that matters. In fact, in a couple of our strongest demographics we are down a bit. But that loss, and then more is totally made up with men 18-25."
"Men 18-25?" I said, more confused than ever.
"Well, 18-49 males broadly, but 18-25 even more so. Up 12%" he explained.
"Did you check to make sure there wasn't an error on the report?" I asked. I simply rejected the ratings out of hand. A 12% jump in any demographic after flat-lining for so long was unlikely, but men age 18-25 simply did not watch the local news. Anywhere. A 12% increase was impossible because 12% of 0 is still 0. They were the great white whale of local news: the most coveted demographic for advertisers generally and no way to reach it. "Lightning must've struck someone's computer or something."
"That's what I said," Gary replied, "I got Carol," he gestured to his assistant (I was close), "to call over. They double checked the numbers. It's right. I don't claim to understand it. It is weird. But good." Now it was my turn to laugh. I smiled at Gary and we just stared at each other like we were moonstruck kids. This didn't make any sense. But I liked it.
"What did we do?" I asked, thinking back on the programming for the previous month. Stories whirred through my mind, but nothing stood out.
"I don't know. I've been trying to figure it out. Nothing comes to mind. Maybe it is finally sticking. We wanted to be the most substantive local news in the market. Maybe people are catching on?" Gary suggested.
