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“What? No it’s not.”
He leaned closer. “Ellie, allow me to explain how News Scape works.”
“I know how the media works, thank you.”
“Do you? Have you seen the never-ending cycle of disposable stars, whose glamorous lives are splashed daily across the papers and TV channels?”
“Obviously – I have eyes. What’s your point?”
“Well, did you ever stop to realise that those papers and TV channels are owned and controlled by the very same organization as the stars themselves?”
“So what?”
“So, News Scape uses sex, sensationalism, and quick-fix thrills to make people like me famous, and then they exploit us for every cent until the public gets tired of the latest craze and demands the next best thing. I’m currently the latest craze, right? I’m huge; bigger than Elvis – adored by millions.”
She feigned admiration. “And yet still so modest.”
“Maybe not. But I’m not stupid either. At the moment, Robertson Records are using my music for their own gain, but soon some other clone will be found to replace me and I’ll be forgotten.”
“Poor you, Joseph, having wealth, fame, and adoration thrust upon you so cruelly by bad old News Scape.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “Ellie, my point is that everyone forgets it’s all being controlled by one puppet-master: Mr Blair Robertson. He owns the whole damn thing. Don’t you see?”
Eleanor scoffed. “Yeah, yeah – it’s all a big secret conspiracy.”
“It’s not a secret.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Look, Joseph, I want to… I just feel if I can get in there, then maybe I can make a difference from the inside.”
Joseph shook his head. “Impossible. They’ll change you.”
She stared at him with serious eyes – the jokey banter forgotten. “You’re wrong. Just because you can’t change things with your music, it doesn’t mean no one can. One person can make a difference. We all have the power to stand strong against the tide.”
Joseph gazed at her. He could see she really believed it. It was quite inspiring in a sweet kind of way. “Well, I wish you luck with that.”
“There’s no need for sarcasm.”
“I mean it. I honestly hope you succeed.”
She gazed at him suspiciously. “Thank you.” She closed her eyes and composed herself. “Life is simply giving me a test and I can handle it. This is a passing event in my life – like a bit of bad weather on the road to achieving my goals. And we’ve all gotta take the rain as well as the sunshine, right?”
He smiled. It was true. He wanted to say ‘Ellie, you’re so wise. I’d love to take you out to dinner and get to know you better. We could talk about the world and our place in it. Then perhaps we can go back to my place and I can make love to you all night long – possessi
ng your beautiful body with the best orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Why don’t you ditch your no-good boyfriend and get with a man who actually cares about you?’
But instead he smirked and said, “Did you read that in a fortune cookie?”
She huffed, composing her snarky retort, but – before she could speak – she was interrupted by the sound of the elevator pinging at the other end of the corridor. She dropped out of the conversation and leaned forward to grab her purse, as if she’d been waiting for whoever this was. But – as they both saw a man step out into the corridor – her expression dropped to terror.
Joseph’s primal instincts jumped into action to protect her and he prepared himself to fight. The guy looked about thirty, and he was dressed in scruffy jeans and an old coat. His brown hair was receding, but he seemed like a man on a mission. And – from the look of his demeanour – his orders were coming directly from an insane part of his brain. He halted partway down the corridor and inspected the nameplate on one of the other doors, oblivious to Joseph and Eleanor.
“Who is it?” Joseph whispered.
Eleanor’s gaze was fixed on him. “He’s a journalist, or at least he was. Bob Crowe. He was imprisoned last year for using illegal techniques to acquire stories. He was sued by that Hollywood director – do you remember?”
Joseph frowned as the story drifted into his memory. “Oh yeah. He used coercion techniques to expose a malicious bit of gossip, right? Can’t remember what it was now.”
“Right. He broke all kinds of privacy laws.” Eleanor lowered her voice. “It’s terrible, I mean, what kind of reporter uses underhand methods like that to get a story?”
