Natalie was baffled by the way news people always asked with unbridled excitement if she was perhaps a niece or cousin of the trailblazing news anchor Jessica Savitch. True, as one of the first women to anchor network news, Savitch had been a talented pioneer. But she’d also led a slightly tragic life that included a string of broken relationships, an on-air meltdown, and an early death by drowning in a car that flipped into a canal. Natalie hoped she would have a slightly different trajectory. She was fairly sure that Savitch, with her clear-eyed view of the world, would have wished that for her successors as well.

“Our names are spelled differently,” Natalie explained.

“Too bad. Always good to have a famous relative. Anyway,” Matt said, gesturing grandly to the podium at the front of the room, “welcome to the Big Show. First day at the White House?” he went on. “Nervous?”

“No.”

“Liar?”

“Yes.”

He snickered. “Good, we have something in common.” Typing on his phone, he continued, “If you’ll take a bit of advice from someone who got here before you, there’s no reason to be nervous. You’re thinking it’s the White House, the big top. Screw up here and it’s available for viewing on YouTube for the rest of your life! Worse, YouTube is the only place you’ll ever be seen. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter what you say at this briefing. Nobody listens or cares.”

Natalie gave him a look of wide-eyed admiration. “Are you a doctor? I feel so much better now.”

He laughed again but didn’t look up. “It’s not just you, it’s everyone. The Reals think there’s news at the White House briefing, but inside the Bubble we know it’s just theater. Everyone plays a part. It doesn’t matter what you say, only how you say it. Nothing worth reporting gets said here.”

Natalie performed a mental eye roll (a physical one was counter-indicated by the fake lashes) at the posture of bland unconcern that he was working so hard to effect. As if not caring about the issues or the state of democracy was proof of his objectivity and superior reporting. She wasn’t buying it; if he was as blasé as he pretended, he’d have a different job and not be frantically glued to his phone.

Matt went back to his phone, which was quivering in his hand spasmodically like a heart waiting to be transplanted. Natalie stared at her lifeless device. He had to be getting a dozen messages and updates to every one of hers.