Nina flung herself into one of the folding chairs in WWN’s top-floor headquarters back at the hotel. One morning interviewing pilgrims on St. Peter's Square had already taught her three major life lessons.

1) Nuns loved to talk.

2) Cobblestones and heels didn’t mix.

3) Anyone who said they’d met the news industry’s biggest jerk had never met Aiden Healy.

He didn’t seem to be a hard-core misogynist, as best as Nina could tell, but maybe that was the problem. If he’d hated women, it would have at least contextualized why he was such an unrelenting ass. But he seemed to be more than respectful to every woman on the square, and she hadn’t once caught him checking out anyone, least of all herself. He just hated her.

She probably could have seen the contempt dripping out of his pores if they weren’t hidden by his disgusting five-day stubble. She’d barely made it five steps with all morning without a snide comment about how he wasn’t here to babysit rookies, and any time she’d adjusted her hair or smiled at the camera, he’d reminded her to “stop primping and report.”

Luckily, he didn't need makeup and she did, which meant she got to sit down far away from him. Having spent all morning interviewing an assortment of pilgrims gathered to mourn Pope Stephen, it took all of Nina’s effort just to keep her eyes open.

Half of the top floor of the building was dressing rooms and production space supporting the actual set on the roof. The rest of the crew was just showing up for the morning, with the exception of Oakley the stylist. She was busy prepping two stations for the arrival of the on-air talent. Judging by the amount of attention she’d received thus far, Nina did not count as “talent.”

Madison wandered in, carrying a beat-up plastic Big Gulp mug that looked to be about the size of Nina's head - an odd choice for a woman who seemed obsessed with designer accessories.

“Hey Oakley!” Madison said with the first smile Nina had seen from her.

“Hey Mad-woman!”

Oh no, Nina thought, it's high school all over again.

“So, how's your suite?” Oakley asked.

Madison slinked into a makeup chair as if it were her favorite recliner. “Not bad. I had to pay out of pocket to get my own room but it's so worth it. Mini-bar needs some work, but in exchange for a Jacuzzi, I’ll take it.”

“A bad mini-bar has never stopped you from finding a good time. We all remember Toronto, right?”

Madison laughed as Oakley swiveled her chair to the side, finally forcing Nina into her field of vision.

“Oh, hey kid,” Madison said in surprise, “You look like garbage.”

“I-” Nina started.

Madison waved a dismissive hand. “I look like garbage too right now, don’t take it personally.  But your blouse is doing nothing for your figure. It’s wrinkled as hell, and you need professional help covering those freckles.”

That finally seemed to alert Oakley to Nina’s existence, and she patted the other chair. “Oh yes, that face needs some TLC. Come to mama.”

Nina dragged herself out of her seat and tried to muster a smile to make a good impression on Oakley. “I will certainly take all the help I can get looking presentable at this hour.”

Madison recoiled. “Honey, you're going to need to do a lot better than presentable. Oakley, show her how a master works.”

“If you insist,” Oakley said as she swiveled Madison’s chair back toward the mirror. A few minutes later, Madison was fluffing her chin-length blond locks after the quickest makeup job Nina had ever witnessed, and Oakley had moved on to splotching different foundations on Nina’s face - trying to find a pale enough shade of olive for Nina’s mix of Irish and Greek skin.

“Excellent as always, Oakley darling,” Madison said – and she was right. Five short minutes had transformed her from the angry woman Nina met earlier this week to the Madison Rylander that Nina had idolized growing up.  Madison sprung up from her chair without a hint of fatigue. “See you upstairs kid. Oh, and Oakley, be a doll and see if we can't get Nina a workable blouse before tomorrow. Something clean, no stripes, and this year’s cut. Expense it to Nina’s per diem.”

With that, Madison left, but not before sneaking one last look at her reflection.

In her mirror, Nina saw something in Madison’s eyes that she couldn't quite place – just for a second. It was dark, contempt maybe – or disappointment.

Oakley brought Nina her back to reality. “All right, Local News, time for some Oakley love. It's going to be a bit tough hiding all those freckles of yours, but we'll have you looking like a star in no time.”

Oakley began caking on foundation as Nina saw Priscilla enter the room out of the corner of her eye, bounding down the stairs with the spring of a woman half her age. She was clearly a morning person, and something about the atmosphere seemed to have her particularly enthused.

“Oh, Nina, there you are!” Priscilla shouted as she sprinted over to the makeup stand. “I don't have much time, but I wanted to go over your performance this morning.”

“Sure thing,” Nina replied as Oakley attempted to apply bronzer, “I'll be up in a second.”

“Never mind that,” Priscilla said, “I can talk while Oakley finishes.”

Out the corner of her eye, Nina saw Priscilla take a seat in the other makeup chair. “You did good work this morning, but your interview selection was a bit skewed.”

“In what way?” Nina asked as Oakley went to work on her eyebrows. “We got everyone. Tourists, locals, nuns – the Muslim guy selling commemorative postcards.”

Priscilla gave a forced giggle. “That was a good one, but our job is to show things as they are, not as people want us to see them.”

Her tone was syrupy sweet, but Nina could hear anger bubbling up behind it.

She scrambled for a response. “We didn’t filter at all. Just let people talk.”

“That's the point.” Priscilla snipped. “I know that square is crawling with Catholics, and finding reasonable people is hard. Your job is to root the interview in truth.”

Oakley finished Nina’s eyebrows and reached for the lipstick, but Nina held up a hand. “Sorry,” she said to Priscilla, “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking.”

“I think you know very well.” Priscilla said, all the sweetness draining from her voice. “What is the truth here? Not the Appleton truth, the real truth?”

Nina almost bolted upright, but Oakley’s hand anticipated the reaction and pushed her shoulder back into the chair and added some bronzer to her cheek.

Priscilla tried again. “It’s not a rhetorical question. What is going on out on that square? Tell the truth, Nina.”

Nina closed her eyes and leaned against the headrest. “A lot of devout Catholics are gathering here because either they came for the Pope Stephen’s funeral or they want to see the new pope.”

“That’s a lie,” Priscilla said, “Try again.”

“I-“

“Facts without truth are lies. Again, what is the truth?”

Nina took a breath, noticing that Oakley had stopped in the middle of her makeup job. The truth? Did Priscilla mean the deeper emotional aspect of telling story?

“The crowd is feeling a mix of sadness and excitement. There’s a buzz, an anticipation.”

Pricsilla let out a long sigh. “You can do her lips now, Oakley.”

“Got it,” Oakley said, “Mouth open, honey.”

Nina opened her mouth and felt the lipstick slide on as Priscilla started again.

The words came out of her editor’s mouth measured and clipped, but with something seething behind them.

“You have no questions about this buzzing anticipation? I have plenty. Why would these people invest in such an ethically problematic institution? What does their uncritical presence here say about them as people? What are the consequences to our viewing audience of allowing these people to talk freely?”

The lipstick was done, and Oakley was adding some final rouge on the cheeks.

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking me to do,” Nina said.

Priscilla got up from her chair. “I think you do,” she said, walking off, “And I think you know how seriously I take this.”

“And done,” Oakley said, setting down her brush, and yanking Nina’s mind back into her chair. “Am I good or am I good?”

Nina sat up and stared forward into the mirror. Her reflection looked every bit the WWN news-goddess. Not a hair out of place, skin perfect and porcelain. Oakley had even pulled in a subtle green eyeshadow to match her eyes.

The woman in the mirror looked like she belonged here, but Nina had no clue who that woman was.

"Basic Cable" text copyright © 2020 Adam Brickley. All rights reserved.