Meeting the Press

FEATURED AUTHOR—FICTION Meeting the Press Ron Rash WHEN BOBBY WILCOX CAME into Barbara's office and told her a private plane had crashed near Hot Springs and at least four people were dead, she understand the event would change a number of lives, and one of them might be hers. Barbara had been at WROX for three years now, two years longer than she had planned. She had believed, as a number of her professors at Ohio State had told her, that she would make a mark for herself quickly. "A year at most," Barbara's major professor said when Barbara reluctantly took the job in western North Carolina, "and you'll be out of hillbilly land and in a major market." Even Bobby Wilcox, who as station manager had hired her, admitted during the interview he knew she would soon be lured away by a bigger station. But it had not turned out that way. No story she reported had been picked up by a network, thus givingher exposurebeyond the hinterlands of North Carolina. She had sent tapes out to over one hundred stations in the last two-and-a-halfyears. There hadbeen little interest, but how could there be when all she everreported were events no one outside Buncombe County could possibly be interested in. How could she make a tape that caught a station manager's attention in Atlanta or Cleveland when she was reporting on livestock auctions and county council meetings. "How long ago did the plane crash?" Barbara asked. "The dispatcher said fifteen minutes ago," Bobby said. "The ambulances aren't there yet. Doug's got his cameras and is downstairs ready to go. I figured you and Tom could both go and each do a report. He should be back from lunch in thirty minutes." "I think it would be better if I did it alone," Barbara said. "And the quicker we get out there the better." Bobby smiled. "You're thinking CNN might pick this up, aren't you?" "I don't know anything about that," Barbara said. "I just think this is the kind of story I can do better than Tom." "Why is that?" Bobby asked. "I know better how to deal with people in a situation like this," she said. 29 "Funny," Bobby said. "I thought your degrees were in journalism and cosmetology, not psychology." Barbara looked at Bobby's thinning hair, the high forehead that always looked shiny as though polished with oil. He was thirty-eight years old, and Barbara knew he would never go to a bigger station. He had gone as far as he could, and she knew he resented her for seeing WROX as a mere stepping stone. "I'm going on now with Doug," Barbara said. "If we wait for Tom we could miss some important footage. We've got a responsibility to the community to get out there as quick as possible." She waited for a protest or threat, unsure what she would do, but none came, only more sarcasm. "I see," Bobby said. "It's your civic duty. I expect despite your responsibility you'll find time to brush your hair and apply make-up." Bobby's words revealed again to Barbara how much her station manager resented almost everything about her—her ambition, her academic record, her appearance. She knew that Bobby Wilcox was glad she had not gotten a better job offer yet, had secretly gloated over her being stuck as long as she had been at the backwoods TV station that would be the pinnacle of his broadcasting career. She had dealt with envious people all ofher life, and she had always been good at getting them to like her. She went out of her way to talk to such people, to show that she was not snobbish or self-centered or shallow. She got them to talk about themselves, and the flow of their words was to Barbara like a poison being drained from their bodies. Almost always the person soon considered Barbara a good friend. She had never understood how anyone could be immune to her concern for others, what more than one person had called...