Work Text:
The only lights in Laura’s apartment come from the city lights outside.
She is standing in the dark next to her kitchen counter. Her extractor fan on full blast as she smokes a cigarette. It is not a habit she encourages but today is an exception.
Even in the dim light she can read the headline of the open magazine:
Mystery Woman Spotted Leaving Laura Peterson’s Apartment at 1 A.M.
Laura sighs softly and dials her agent’s number.
She does not know why exactly it happened. Maybe she had been making her circle of people she trusts too big. Maybe it was just a slow gossip season. Maybe who she was dating was just more important than her work. This was not the first headline about her private life. The whole city seems to be on the hunt for who she is dating.
The blurry picture does not help. It makes it seem much more shady.
‘Laura, how can I help you?’, her agent’s voice cuts through her thoughts.
‘Martin, have you seen The Vault lately?’, Laura asks, winding the cord around her finger.
‘Yes. I’ve seen it.’, her agent replies. He is good with numbers and the legal stuff but otherwise far removed from the showbiz world. That is why Laura picked him.
Laura fiddles with the cord. ‘Am I in trouble?’
‘No.’, Martin replies calmly. ‘It’s not illegal, Laura.’
—
But it feels illegal, the next morning as she walks into work. There are definitely more eyes on her than usual.
Her make-up lady Monica does not ask her how her weekend was. She probably already knows what Laura did this weekend. There is a picture of what she did this weekend. She sits in silence as she watches herself be prepped for air.
Then she moves towards the desk in the studio.
‘Hi kid.’, Howard, her co-anchor, greets her. It is the same greeting he has done for the two years that they worked together and it brings some sense of normality to Laura. She smiles at him.
‘Hey, Laura.’, her producer is walking towards the stage. ‘Quick change to today’s rundown. We’ve bumped your housing segment. We’re pushing up our reporter’s piece on dog spas, it’s lighter, plays better for Monday morning.’
Laura blinks. There are usually changes on Monday but she is actually quite proud of her housing segment.
‘You bumped my reporting piece… for Pomeranians in bathrobes?’, Laura tries hard not to let the annoyance seep into her voice. She is an anchor not a diva.
‘Yeah.’, her producer answers. ‘It’s Monday, we need people to have a little hope at the start of the week. Speaking of that.’, he raises his voice to be heard by other people in the studio. ‘can we put Laura in something lighter maybe? It’s Monday, people!’
It has been Monday before. It is the first time they made her change.
She is ushered backstage and her blazer and tie are changed for a Bordeaux colored sweater. It is from her wardrobe.
It is not out of order but still it feels unusual. Laura feels a bit dazed as she listens to the YDA intro tune.
They are live.
—
Laura always stays after the show for the meeting with the producers about next day’s segments but when she walks into the meeting after she has changed out of her broadcast clothes, the room is fuller than normal.
Even Howard is here.
The meeting is not unusual. Until it comes to her piece about AIDS.
‘Sorry, why is my segment cut?’, Laura interrupts. She has been working for weeks to get the nurse to trust her and the interview she did with her is one of her best.
The room goes quiet and tense.
The executive producer is the one that answers. ‘Let's not make it about you right now, Laura. Optics are already sensitive.’
Optics.
It goes like that the whole week. It is never mentioned. Not gay, not problem, just optics.
On Tuesday there is suddenly an appointment scheduled with their stylist.
They do not say anything is wrong.
Instead, she is called in to revisit her on-air wardrobe.
‘You’ve always looked incredible,’ the stylist says, flipping through hangers. ‘But we’ve been thinking something… softer. More accessible.’
Laura frowns. ‘Accessible to whom?’
‘To everyone.’, he gives her a dumb grin but Laura knows Todd well enough to know that he is smarter than that.
‘You are the first thing that people see in the morning.’, he explains a bit too upbeat to sound sincere. ‘You are there during their breakfasts. Let’s find something that resembles that.’
But what Laura hears is we need to make you less disgusting.
At the end of the meeting her wardrobe is filled with pastels. Peach dresses that go well with breakfast.
‘Let’s all remember to protect the brand.’
Lesbians do not mix with cereal.
—
It is barely eleven as the bell above the door jingles in the Pink Tree, signalling that someone entered the bar.
‘We are not open yet.’, Tom looks up from the glass in his hand and sees Laura.
‘Not even for an old friend in need of a scotch?’, Laura questions, her arms spread in a request to enter.
‘Scotch?’, Tom does not hide his surprise. ‘Honey, it is not even noon.’
‘Well, I was up at three.’, Laura defends herself as she hoists herself on a barstool. ‘So this is five o’clock for me.’
Tom does not seem to approve but pours her a Jameson anyway. ‘Rough week?’, he questions.
Laura swirls the drink in her hand. Today she had barely any airtime. She read five lines about Pumpkin Spice. She had no segment. Her guest was being interviewed by their regular field reporter, just to feel it out.
She had walked out of the studio as soon as airing was done. She wanted the week to be over.
‘Do you read the Vault?’, Laura asks the bartender. She has known him for years.
‘I tend not to.’, Tom says.
That makes sense. The bartender has worked for years in this place. The place where all the journalists catch their after work drinks. He does not need a tabloid to keep up with gossip.
‘So you don’t…’, Laura does not quite know how to ask if Tom has been reading the headlines about her without sounding terribly vain.
‘No, I’ve seen a few of the things they are saying about you.’, Tom says.
‘I think everybody at the network has read them.’, Laura confesses. She feels so incredibly observed the past few days.
‘They ever think you were straight?’, Tom asks. Laura has always been out to him. She never had to tell him. He just knew. He has been out since Stonewall.
Laura shrugs. ‘They never thought about me at all.’, she says flatly. ‘What I am does not matter. What the American public can or cannot handle during breakfast is the problem.’
She takes a sip. It burns. But so does everything else
‘O, Laura.’, Tom looks empathic. ‘You want the good news or the bad news?’
‘Dealer’s choice.’, Laura replies but she finally looks up to look her friend in the eyes.
‘Bad news is they’re cowards.’, Tom says.
‘Not news.’, Laura replies. She is not naive. She knew when she started the job as anchor that she had to be discreet.
‘Good news is you’re not.’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’, she sighs. She let her aids-segment be pushed to the side. ‘I’m not sure how long I can keep it up.’, she confesses.
‘You just have to survive it long enough for someone else to walk through after you.’, Tom offers.
‘I’m not sure it matters.’, Laura is not impressed by how whiny her voice sounds.
Tom looks at her, almost a little strict. ‘It does matter, Laura.’
‘Why?’, Laura’s voice is soft.
‘Because somewhere there’s a girl in Iowa. She watches you every morning before school. Her parents don’t know she’s gay. But she knows you are.’, Tom says softly.
Laura blinks. Her fingers tighten around the glass.
‘You’re helping her.’
—
There is someone waiting in front of her house on Saturday morning. Laura just went to the little shop around the corner. To get breakfast. And maybe to look at some of the headlines about her.
She sees him. The camera. He is paparazzi.
‘Laura, Laura. Dave from the Vault. Are you a lesbian?’
She hurries inside. It is a question she cannot answer.
Yes will mean the end of her career.
No is a lie.
She takes her phone off the hook. She knows Maggie will probably call to drag her along to a party but she is too afraid of people calling with questions she cannot answer.
She just reads a book.
Or at least pretends to.
—
Monday she is ready for work.
She thinks about the girls watching from Iowa. She thinks about laying a stone that makes this path a little easier to walk on for the next person.
At her dressing room door, someone calls her name.
‘Laura?’
She turns. Jenna from production. Polite smile, coffee in hand.
‘Hey. I just… wanted to say I saw the thing. The paper. And I think it’s so unfair what they’re doing to you.’
Laura nods, her throat tight. ‘Thanks.’
‘My cousin’s gay too,’ Jenna says, a little too quickly. ‘She’s super butch, you know like, leather jackets and buzzcuts. But you’re not like that. You’re classy. People will come around.’
Laura freezes for a beat. It is the first time that someone at YDA explicitly calls her gay. She does not know what to say.
Jenna smiles like they’ve shared something. ‘You’re really brave.’
Luckily for Laura, Jenna does not seem to want an answer and is walking along already.
By the time the Laura hoists herself in her anchor chair and the intro tune starts, she is pissed.
Monica has been doing her make-up in utter silence, again. They put her in a dress, again. They cut her segment, again.
The red light clicks on.
She smiles, tight, professional.
‘Welcome back to Your Day America. Our next segment takes a look at the whirlwind romance between pop sensation James Ray and Broadway star Caitlyn James, who just announced their engagement after only three weeks of dating.’
A beat. Laura stares into the camera.
‘We’re told it’s true love.’
Another pause. This one long and deliberate enough for Howard to notice.
‘Because love, when it fits the mold, is always easy to understand at breakfast.’
The silence after the line is sharp. Just for a moment Laura’s eyes wander from the auto-cue to the people behind it. Her co-anchor blinks beside her.
Because this is why her segment about the female cop has been pushed. And she wants her co-workers to think about that.
She turns to the next cue like nothing happened.
—
Tuesday starts horrible.
Monica does not want to do her make-up anymore. Apparently Laura is not only too disgusting for breakfast. She is too disgusting to touch.
Laura tries her hardest not to come across as entitled. But the executive producers act like it is her fault that she has no one to do her make-up.
‘You are difficult to work with, Laura.’, the show runner explains. ‘And you haven’t been around long enough to get away with it.’
Laura blinks. There is nothing that she can say. She is difficult to work with. Not because she has some diva-attitude but because some of her co-workers find her disgusting.
She walks towards her dressing room. It almost feels familiar. The fight against tears. Eyes down. Do not interact with anyone. The dressing room is where she can let go.
She closes her door and wills the tears to go away. Because she is sure she can do her own make-up but she sure as hell does not have the skill to hide puffy eyes.
There is a knock on her door. Laura dabs at her eyes and opens it.
It is Juan. This year’s intern. She has not worked with him much, he is mostly Howard’s errands boy. But here he is, holding a mug with her favorite tea.
He steps inside and places the mug in front of her vanity. ‘I heard about what Monica did.’, Juan says softly. ‘I’m really good with make-up, do you want me to help you out today?’
Laura is stunned for a moment. She does not know what surprises her more. Someone being nice to her or Juan being good at make-up.
‘You are good at make-up?’, she says.
Juan chuckles. ‘I put half of my friends in drag every weekend.’, he explains as his hands wander through the foundations on Laura’s vanity.
Laura hears it. Loud and clear. I am like you.
‘That would be great.’, she tells him softly. ‘But you need to stop being nice or I’m going to cry.’
Juan smiles. ‘Can’t have that.’, he says as he puts his hands on her shoulders and gently guides her in her chair. ‘Don’t cry.’, he tells her as their eyes meet in the mirror.
‘Don’t cry.’, Laura repeats, determined.
‘And Laura, chin up. You are not alone.’, Juan looks into her eyes. And even though he is probably not even twenty, it is really comforting.
—
Wednesday she does not even go to work. They called it a reset day. To find her a new make-up artist. To see if their newest field reporter has some in-studio chemistry.
Laura knows it is wrong. Juan was nice enough to call her about her AIDS-segment, but nobody else found the need to call her. Not her producer and not Howard.
And that stings. She has worked with these people for years. She thought they liked her or at least respected her. But now they are dropping her.
The TV flickers in the corner of her living room, muted until the segment begins.
Laura sits cross-legged on the couch, still in her robe, one hand wrapped around a half-drunk mug of coffee that went cold. Her hair is up in a bun.
She knew what was coming.
Still, when it happens, it hits harder than she expects.
“Carolyn Adams has been a nurse for seventeen years…”
The voice is not hers. But the words are hers.
She turns up the volume.
“…Last year, one small accident, a needle-stick during an overnight shift, changed her life forever.”
The script is the same. Word for word. She knows it by heart. She fought for it. She convinced Carolyn to go on record. She promised it would be handled with dignity.
Now, she is watching someone else deliver it. Like a stranger reading her diary.
Laura watches the footage with an open mouth.
Carolyn’s hands. The IV carts. The empty hospital hallway.
And Laura?
Nowhere.
She sets the mug down too hard. It sloshes onto the table, but she doesn’t move to clean it.
They used everything. The interviews, the b-roll, even her closing lines, but left her out of frame.
Erased.
--
She is back in the studio on Thursday but she does not think the show would have been different if she was not there.
She functions as a prop. She is there to laugh at Howard’s jokes and read a few headlines.
Maggie is finally tired of her not picking up her phone and shows up unannounced on her doorstep.
They go to an Art Gallery opening turned dance party. Maggie always finds stuff like that.
Now Maggie is of to talk to the owner or an artist or a DJ, Laura had not been listening.
Her eyes scan the crowd.
Short curls. Bold earrings. A dark green jumpsuit that somehow manages to be both elegant and fun.
She is talking to someone, but she keeps glancing over to Laura. And when the conversation ends she walks up to Laura.
‘Hi.’ the woman grins, eyes playful but kind. ‘You’re Laura Peterson, right?’
Laura manages a smile.
‘I thought so,’ the woman says, setting her drink down. ‘I’ve seen you on air. You’ve got a great voice.’
Laura laughs. Too soft. ‘Thanks,’ she says.
She wants to ask her name. She wants to compliment her earrings. She wants to say something flirtatious.
She does none of it.
The woman waits, just a second too long. A tiny window, open and then shut.
‘Well,’ she says, still smiling but stepping back. ‘Enjoy the wine.’
There was a time she would have flirted back.
‘Jesus,’ comes a voice at her side. ‘You didn’t even throw her a line?’
Laura turns. Maggie is holding two drinks. One for herself, and one clearly intended to replace Laura’s untouched glass.
Laura takes it. ‘I wasn’t…’
‘You weren’t what?’ Maggie arches a brow. ‘Interested? Please, she is exactly your type.’
Laura does not answer. She sips the drink.
Maggie studies her. Not the way reporters study a subject. The way friends study each other when something is off.
‘That’s not like you,’ she says, softer now.
Laura shrugs. ‘It’s nothing.’
But they both know that is a lie.
‘I think you need to remember that Morning News was never the end goal.’, Maggie says finally.
Laura laughs, even though she feels tears sting in the back of her eyes. ‘But if I fail at this step already, I’ll never get where I want.’, she says, not quite meeting Maggie’s eyes.
‘You are not failing Laura.’, Maggie replies. ‘The world is just… lacking.’
But if she is not failing, how come even Maggie knows that her days in morning television are numbered?
—
Friday she is dead tired so it is good that YDA found her a new makeup artist. There are dark spots underneath her eyes.
Rita, the new makeup artist, is chatting softly about a new serum, something hydrating and dewy. Laura nods along, but her throat is tight.
She blinks again.
She is not even on air yet.
And still, tears.
She clears her throat, shifts in her seat. ‘Sorry. Dry air.’
Rita gives a small, sympathetic smile, reaches for a tissue. ‘It’s the weather. Everyone’s sensitive this week.’
Laura nods again, but in the mirror, she watches herself closely.
Because this is the third time this week.
Monday, after a pitch meeting where no one looked her in the eye.
Tuesday, during lipstick touch-up, just after her segment was reassigned again.
Now, no trigger at all. Just… tears. Quiet. Persistent.
They are not sobs. Not breakdowns.
But they are not nothing.
She used to hold it all in until she got home
—
She is a bit restless during the weekend. The head of the News Department had asked her to come in for a meeting Monday after the show.
‘Just a check in.’, they told her. ‘Touch base about the next quarter. Big picture stuff.’
It is a lot of empty words to say that her days at YDA are numbered.
Dave from the fucking Vault is still camping outside her house.
It is unsettling how much the tabloids care. They have one of their journalists here for days. Is there nothing better to report on?
It is not just the Vault. She bought all the tabloids at the kiosk in her street and she is a big topic.
Still Single? Laura Peterson Dodges Questions on Red Carpet
Laura Peterson’s New Look: Softer, Smarter, More Morning-Friendly?
Sources Say YDA Anchor Is ‘Prickly’ On Set — Staff Tensions Rise
YDA Defends On-Air Changes: ‘We Evolve With Our Audience’
Can America handle a lesbian with a microphone before their morning coffee?
It is not fair. From the moment she got the anchor chair, Laura has always worked hard. She knows the names of all the people she works with.
She is always on time even though she is the star.
Mostly because she is raised that way. It is human decency but also because she knows that she is the only anchor that can not get away
Also she loves her job. She loves giving 100 percent. She loves being at the studio.
She loved being at the studio. It is not as much fun now.
She sighs and lights another cigarette. It seemed longer than two weeks ago since she called Martin from this exact same position.
‘How much would it cost YDA to buy me out?’, she questions after Martin picks up.
Martin is silent for a second. ‘You still got a few months on this year’s contract.’, he explains. ‘So that can add up to a nice number.’ He pauses. ‘Laura, you did nothing wrong. We can spin the story. At least finish your contract.’
Laura takes a drag of her cigarette. There is a weight in her chest, a sense of being surveilled even in private. ‘I don’t want to spin the story.’, she tells Martin softly. ‘I’m a journalist. I tell the stories, I don’t want to be one.’
‘Okay.’, Martin respects her answer.
‘Thanks.’, Laura mumbles, her hand already moving to put the phone on its hook, but she pauses. ‘I tried Martin. I really did.’
The end of her contract is going to cost him money too.
‘I know you did Laura.’, his voice is gentler than she heard it before. ‘I’m still so proud to be your agent. NBN is going to hate themselves one day for letting you walk. I’m sure of it.’
It is the most sentimental thing he ever said.
—
Walking into a meeting with the head of news is much less intimidating now that she knows that she does not have a job.
She has nothing to lose and that at least is liberating.
It is not just Dick, the head of news. Susanna, one of the showrunners is there too. And someone whose name she cannot recall. Someone from Legal. Laura is not surprised anymore to see three faces instead of one. They are always multiplying lately.
Three against one. But Laura is not afraid.
She looks calm and collected as she sits down. She ignores the water in front of her. She ignores the bullshit greetings and just stares at Dick. Her glance unwavering.
‘We want to be very careful about continuity,’ Dick starts, ‘but we’re also exploring… flexible formats.’
Susanna looks at her. ‘This isn’t a reflection on your work. You’ve been… iconic.’
Iconic. Past tense.
‘Let’s be clear,’ Laura says, voice like cut glass. ‘Are you taking me off-air?’
She has always been good at hearing the meaning behind the corporate nonsense. She has always known how to play the game. It is a part of her quick rise to success. But today she does not need to play the game.
‘We’ve been reassessing the direction of morning programming. Tone. Accessibility.’, Susanna starts
‘Optics,’ Laura offers. She cannot help but sound sarcastic.
‘This is about evolution.’, Dick adds. ‘Your brand deserves… a better fit.’
Laura laughs once, dry and sharp. ‘You’re pushing me out so gently I almost missed it.’
The guy from legal takes over. ‘We want to offer you a graceful exit. A statement, on your terms.’, his voice is squeaky.
She laughs, once. It is bitter and short.
‘My terms were keeping my job,’ she says. Because she will not play along with this. Not behind these doors. This is not a mutual decision.
The legal guy does not respond. Susanna is staring at the table.
A folder is slid towards her. NDA paperwork, severance. Laura glances it over. Martin has done a good job, the number is higher than she had thought. It is decent.
She signs.
‘You got what you wanted,’ Laura says as she slides the folder back. She is not looking at the guy from legal. She is looking at Susanna. They worked together for six years. ‘But you know what I want?’
Her voice is soft but sharp and Susanna finally looks up.
‘I want the truth, Susanna. Say why you are firing me. Don’t call it optics. Just for once. Not optics. Not evolution. Not audience fatigue. Say the thing you are really firing me for. ’
A pause. No one speaks.
‘Say gay,’ she dares, her voice soft but razor sharp. ‘Say controversial. Say I make people uncomfortable because I wear a suit and don’t have a husband. Say it.’
Three against one. All at least twenty years her senior. They are all silent. Nobody is meeting her eyes.
Laura scoffs and leaves the room.
Morning News was never the end goal.
—
She holds her head high the whole way back. Tears that have been so prevalent the past few weeks are not coming right now.
She is fuming and she is calm.
Dave from the Vault is still there. He is there every day when she comes home from work. Everyday with the same question. It is almost comforting.
‘Laura, Laura, are you a lesbian?’, he calls out as she takes her key out of her bag.
It is the question she has been ignoring all week.
She is not sure who is more surprised when she turns towards Dave.
‘Yes, Dave. I am a lesbian.’, she tells him. Not even looking at his stunned face as she shuts the door behind her.
It is not illegal.
She has done nothing wrong.