Thank you thank you thank you....
"Okay, what it is, I want to do a story about--"
"What do you mean you want to do a story? You said you're a cameraman. Give the idea to a producer."
"I want to produce it myself."
Sutton's eyes swept over her again, this time not recording her name for referral to the Termination Division of the Human Resources Department but examining her closely, studying the young, makeupless face, her black T-shirt, black spandex miniskirt, blue tights and fringy red cowboy boots. Dangling from her lobes were earrings in the shape of sushi. On her left wrist were three wristwatches with battered leather straps, painted gold and silver. On her right were two bracelets--one silver in the shape of two hands gripped together, the other a string friendship bracelet. From one shoulder dangled a leopard-skin bag; out of one cracked corner it bled an ink-stained Kleenex.
"You don't look like a producer."
"I've already produced one film. A documentary. It was on PBS last year."
"So do a lot of film students. The lucky ones. Maybe you were lucky."
"Why don't you like me?"
"You're assuming I don't."
"Well, do you?" Rune asked.
Sutton considered. Whatever the conclusion was she kept it to herself. "You've got to understand. This ..." She waved her hand vaguely toward Rune. "... is deja vu. It happens all the time. Somebody blusters their way in-- usually after hiding by the filing cabinet until Sandy goes to get coffee." Sutton lifted an eyebrow. "And says, Oh, I've got this like idea for a great new news program or game show or special or God knows. And of course the idea is very, very boring. Because young, enthusiastic people are very, very boring. And nine times out of ten--no, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, their great idea has been thought of and discarded by people who really work in the business. You think hundreds of people just like you haven't come in here and said exactly the same thing to me? Oh, note the proper use of the word like.' As a preposition. Not an adjective or adverb."
Both phones rang at once and Sutton spun around to take the calls. She juggled them for a while, jamming a short-nailed finger down on the hold button as she switched from one to the other. When she hung up she found Rune sitting in a chair across from her, swinging her legs back and forth.
Sutton gave a harsh sigh. "Didn't I make my point?"
Rune said, "I want to do a story on a murderer who was convicted only he didn't do it. I want my story to get him released."
Sutton's hand paused over the phone. "Here in New York?"
"Yep."
"That's metro, not national. Talk to the local news director. You should've known that in the first place."
"I want it to be on Current Events."
Sutton blinked. Then she laughed. "Honey, that's the Net's flagship news magazine. I've got veteran producers lined up for two years with programs they'd kill to air on CE. Your like story ain't getting slotted on my show in this lifetime."
Rune leaned forward. "But this guy has served three years in Harrison state prison--three years for a crime he didn't commit."
Sutton looked at her for a moment. "Where'd you get the tip?"
"He sent a letter to the station. It's really sad. He said he's going to die if he doesn't get out. Other prisoners are going to kill him. Anyway, I went to the archives and looked through some of the old tapes about his trial and--"
"Who told you to?"
"No one. I did it myself."
"Your time or our time?"
"Huh?"
"'Huh?' "Sutton repeated sarcastically. Then, as if explaining to a child: "Were you on your time or on our time when you were doing this homework?"
"Sort of on my lunch hour."
Sutton said, "Sort of. Uh-huh. Well, so this man is innocent. A lot of innocent people get convicted. That's not news. Unless he's famous. Is he famous? A politician, an actor?"