Suck It Up by Brian Meehl Page A

TVs, the anchorman continued. “But why quibble with the story?” he asked with a smirk. “Everyone’s a winner. Hound TV gets a ratings boost, the PR firm gets a fee, and Morning McCobb gets his fifteen minutes of fame.” His voice dropped to funereal. “The only loser is the truth. And everyone who still believes in reporting it.”
    Portia’s swelling rage over her mother’s infamy dashing all hopes of her getting into any film school, ever, careened in a new direction. The only way to recover from the curse of having a mother who was a whore in the temple of journalism was to do the Jesus thing: Clean out the temple! Her video essay wasn’t going to be a little
60 Minutes
segment. It was going to be a kick-ass exposé of the media-industrial complex! A story of how two forces of blatant self-interest, Hound TV and her mother, had plucked Morning McCobb off the street and turned him into the newest fake of the month. It would be so Michael Moore!
    As Portia hurried out of the museum, she flashed on a title.
Sucko.

11

    Vanishing Act
    The same stone-faced anchorman filled Penny’s living room with his gravitas. Morning stood at a window and peeked through the crack in a closed curtain. Penny’s voice drifted out of her office. She had been on the phone for the last hour. He pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number.
    â€œHello, Morning,” Birnam answered. “We’re off to a fine start.”
    â€œFine start?” Morning stammered. “Everyone thinks I’m a fake.”
    â€œOf course they do. When they’ve logged billions of hours watching fictional vampires doing their thing on movie screens, one vampire playing misty for them on the news is not going to turn them into true believers.”
    â€œBut there were eyewitnesses.”
    Birnam laughed. “UFOs have witnesses too. That doesn’t make everyone a believer.”
    Morning peeped through the curtain. “If they don’t believe me, then why does the street outside Penny’s apartment look like a media block party?”
    â€œMorning,” Birnam explained patiently, “they don’t even know you’re in there. They’re there for Penny.”
    â€œWhy Penny?”
    â€œShe’s the witch behind the ‘alleged vampire.’ And there’s nothing the masses like better than a witch-burning. Believe me, I’ve seen a few.”
    Morning was in no mood to appreciate Birnam’s little joke. And the fact that nobody believed him wasn’t the only thing on his mind. “How did Sister Flora hear a rumor about me becoming a vampire? Did you plant that?”
    â€œVery good, Morning. Yes, I did it to move things along.” Morning started to speak but Birnam cut him off. “But that’s water under the bridge. Or fog under the bridge. For now, just let things play out, and trust Penny. You’re the Leaguer, she’s the handler. Remember that.”
    Birnam hung up as Penny leaned into the room with her portable phone pressed to her chest. “Guess who I’m on hold with.”
    He shrugged. “Not a clue.”
    â€œAlly Alfamen.”
    â€œThe host of
Wake Up America
?”
    â€œThe one and only.” She gestured at the television. “We’ll give the spinners of spin city till morning to get it wrong, then, first thing tomorrow, we’ll set the record straight.” Hearing a voice on her phone, she disappeared into the office.
    Morning tried to absorb the latest development. From Drake Sanders to
Wake Up America
was a huge leap. His next appearance would have dozens of witnesses and millions of viewers. He had to plan it carefully. And there was one place he did his best thinking.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    The jam of news crews clogging her street didn’t surprise Portia. She was glad none of them had done enough homework to know what Penny Dredful’s daughter looked