That’s what they’ll call me.
Journal Day 1.
I figure this is as good a time as any to get going on this.
Of course, they leave out the part about how I’m the first woman to ever do the job, but that’s neither here nor there.
Henry is beloved by all, but since no one will ever read this, I’ll say what I’m really thinking: Get that dinosaur out. If he calls “X” “Twitter” one more time or makes one of his folksy jokes about “not being an Internet person” I might vomit.
No, the station managers were plain about it: We love him, everyone loves him, but we’re sick and tired of losing every night.
So I’m the change they’re making. In two short weeks – enough time to appropriately celebrate his life’s work with his wife, three ex-wives, four children, six stepchildren, and 16 grandchildren of various lineage – I will be in his seat, presenting the news to the Greatest City in the World.
Our station manager, Earl, was plain as well: “You don’t go in for all the ooohing and ahhing over Henry, so go upstate for a week, do some digging, and come back fresh and ready to lead!”
My disdain for Henry is thinly veiled at best, but not unusual. If you asked every reporter that came through the station why they left, they’d all blame him.
He’s not going anywhere, they’d tell you, and by extension, neither am I.
No, that anchor chair has had his buttprint in it for nearly a half-century. Such a boys’ club thing – they stuck with that man through everything … the first mistress scandal that landed on Page Six (the print version of “going viral”), the All Fans debacle that burned through social media. Hell, they even covered his second and third weddings, raised a glass to him at the end of the broadcast … twice!
It was the third affair – this time with a tenured faculty member at Columbia – that broke the station’s back. One of her students had come forward to say they’d been having an affair for years, which led to Henry’s name being outed as another occasional suitor and the ouster of said faculty member. That was all the brass could take.
The reporter that broke that story is here in Middle Valley … Marjorie-something … but I’m sure Earl didn’t send me here for that.
No, in fact, I have arrived in Middle Valley to uncover the chilling truth behind the reports of human remains scattered throughout this seemingly idyllic town. With my keen investigative skills and unwavering determination, I am on a mission to bring justice to those whose stories have been silenced.
(Gross. I don’t know why I lapsed into The Muppet Show voice in my head there. Forgive me. You know, “the cat … whose gone to the dogs.”)
Sigh. Two more weeks ‘til my buttprint takes that seat. For now, there’s a mystery to solve.
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