The Newsmakers by Lis Wiehl Page B

which is good. Nylan and everyone else at GNN—and all the other networks—know who you are, and that you’re good at what you do. But it does raise the question of how do you top it.”
    â€œI don’t want to get desperate and search for something sensational. I’m a workhorse, Greg, I’m in this for the long haul. I’d like to do some substantive stories even if they don’t blaze across the screen.”
    â€œGood to hear. I’ve seen a lot of smart young reporters so anxious for a hot story that they made stupid mistakes.”
    â€œLike?”
    â€œNot doing your homework is number one. You have to understand what you’re covering. Showing up unprepared for an interview is a close—and closely related—second. Being so aggressive that it backfires is another—if you push too hard, people’s natural instinct is to recoil. It’s really Journalism 101.”
    â€œStill, it’s good to be reminded.”
    The restaurant is filling up; everyone looks bright and attractive, leaning toward each other, saying fascinating things. Erica finds the chatter and hum enlivening, inspiring; who cares about food—this city nourishes her. And being here with Greg—savvy Greg—makes her feel a part of it all, a nascent New Yorker.
    â€œIf I quoted Shakespeare, would you think I was a pompous jerk?” Greg asks.
    â€œTotally.”
    â€œI just had to make sure. Hamlet tells the actors that ‘in the tempest and whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperament that will give it smoothness.’ ”
    â€œDidn’t you do a little editing?”
    â€œI quit. You’re too good.”
    They laugh. “I’m sorry, that was obnoxious of me,” Erica says. “It’s just that my mentor at Yale loved that quote too . . . give it smoothness . . . ” The words hang in the air between them.
    Their food arrives. Suddenly Erica is famished, and she digs in with gusto.
    â€œHow’s the angel hair?” Greg asks.
    â€œHeavenly. Listen, Greg, you know my history because you hired me. I’d like to know more of your story.”
    â€œI don’t want to turn this into a dull dinner.”
    â€œHow about I be the judge of that?”
    â€œYou have only yourself to blame. Grew up in a small town in western PA. Father mailman. Wants son to follow in footsteps. Son says no way and joins army day he graduates high school. Learns photography. Leaves army. Works as a freelance photographer. In midthirties gets tired of hustling assignments and having roommates. Gets into news business. Works hard. Gets promoted. Makes good money. Is having dinner with recently hired, incredibly attractive reporter.”
    â€œWho thinks he uses irony as a defense.”
    â€œWhich only makes her more attractive.”
    â€œGreg, I’m an investigative reporter. I know that you worked as a war photographer during the first Gulf War and then in other hot spots around the world. I’d like to hear about that.”
    Greg looks down at the table and something sets in his face, his mouth tightens. “You want to know what that was like? You want to know what it felt like to witness the fog of war, the wanton killing of civilians, the rapes, the piles of rubble where houses once stood and families once lived and where, from under the twisted wreckage, you hear the dying cry for help with their last breaths, where you see a six-year-old boy with his leg just blown off, where you see a mother nursing her infant until a piece of shrapnel decapitates the baby and you still hear her wail when you wake up in a sweat at three a.m.? Is that what you want to know?” Still not looking at Erica, Greg sits back in his chair and exhales. “I’m sorry. That was unfair and unkind.”
    Erica waits a moment and then says, “And honest.”
    He looks at her, and under the anger she sees loss and