Day 8

Two-dollar shelf company

It’s Friday evening and Tiffany’s getting ready to read the news.  She’s sitting alone in the darkened studio.  There’s no one else on the floor.  Over the years, she’s claimed these fifteen minutes before the bulletin goes to air — after all the preparation is done and before the live feed into the city’s lounge rooms begins — as her own.  Nothing’s ever been said, it just happened.  Every performer needs a bit of space, time to compose and transform themselves before they go on.

And that’s just the thing.  Tiffany’s getting to be a bit tired of the performance part of her job.  Bob, her director, had her believing she was a story teller once, part of a tradition dating back in this country for tens of thousands of years.

“You’re a shaman, an oracle, the high priestess of the news, Tiff,” he’d once said, early on when she was a bit younger and in his thrall.

And it’s easy to get caught up in the mystique and the exclusivity of it at all.  When you’re on TV, everyone wants to be at your side, everyone wants you to pay attention to them, everyone wants to stand next to your light.  Everyone.  Wants.  You.

And Tiffany loved it.  Sucked it all up.  Inhaled it like a massive doobie and let the high carry her along.  She was a fucking high priestess!  And she was gorgeous with it, too!  Everyone told her so.  Those who were bold or cheeky enough to come right out and say it, and those who were too shy to say anything at all.

But they’re not her stories.  She’s just the front, the two-dollar shelf company.  Tiffany Robson is a professional liar.  A shell game where the punters always lose, especially when they feel like they’re winning.

“Tiffany?”

It’s the floor manager.  Performance time.

“Yep.  Right.  OK, ready to go.”

The floor manager and the newsreader exchange studied looks.  He knows she’s not ready, but there’s no time for anything else but on with the show.

“On my cue, Tiff.  Let’s do this.”  The floor manager smiles like a father encouraging a teenager to have one more crack at that important task that’s just beyond their reach, part love and part desperation.  Tiffany doesn’t reply, doesn’t hold his gaze.

“On in five, four three ...”

“Good evening, I’m Tiffany Robson and this is Six News.  It’s Friday the second of February.  Tonight, the Treasurer’s future hangs in the balance as yet another scandal confronts the government.  The asylum seekers who announced their arrival in Australian waters yesterday by calling triple zero arrive on Christmas Island.  And, tonight’s Six News poll question:  do you think the government should take more action on climate change?  Lines are open now and we’ll have preliminary results at the end of the bulletin and on our website.”

“First, we cross live to Parliament House, where the Treasurer is waiting to speak with me about his latest indiscretion.”

Tiffany turns to monitor at her left and begins to speak down the line to the figure whose bulk is taking up most of the wide screen.

“Mr Jamar, yet again you’re being forced to defend your actions after being accused of misusing your Parliamentary allowance to carry on an extramarital affair with a member of the Greens.  So many questions, Mr Jamar, I can hardly decide where to begin.  Let’s start by asking about the fraud allegations.  Are they true?”

Tiffany gives the politician all the respect he deserves.

Tiffany owns the bulletin, every last second of it.  She’s mesmerising all the way through to the final news summary.