Chapter Two
You never knew what would set her off.
One morning, Miss Swanson was happy to reflect on her peers. The next, just the mention of Roger Mudd would result in spewing. She was like a coffee maker on the fritz, always in danger of shorting out.
Randy had resisted her suggestions that they move their interviews to a later time. By mid-morning, she was half-way through a bottle of Wild Turkey and he doubted she slacked off as the sun set. It was day three.
The rules were in place. She would great him, he would tell "Miss Swanson" how wonderful she looked, she would insist he call her "Hilda," he would demur and then they'd begin the interview.
There were topics that were off limits by royal decree but, strangely enough, these were the topics she would bring up herself once she got going.
Take her most recent marriage that had ended over a decade prior.
This was "the one." This was what she'd been searching for all her life -- or so she said in countless interviews. They were always seen in photos smiling broadly. Hands around one another. Faces pressed close together. They shared the same hobbies so it wasn't surprising to come across, for instance, a photo of them on the slopes at Aspen.
A month prior to the separation, he had been interviewed by Fortune Magazine. He was in publishing so that wasn't all that surprising. But he'd spoken of her in such glowing terms. There was no hint of problems.
"Goddamn actress!" Hilda had hissed on the second day in the midst of a reflection on Horace, her, so far, last husband.
Randy had stayed silent hoping she might open up further.
She didn't. She fell into a funk and that ended day two.
Day three she was in the midst of recounting her glories of the eighties when she went off on a tangent.
"They wanted to replace me," she said gesturing with her shot glass. "Me! Imagine that. They brought on daytime talent to do a prime time special! Didn't work out, did it? I had 'em by the balls, by the balls! Still do."
This was news to Randy.
"Why would they want to replace you? You were an inspiration to millions."
At "were," Hilda raised an eyebrow.
But she decided to let it pass.
"Don't you listen? I was telling you this yesterday. The goddamn actress."
Sighing, she poured herself another shot.
"Goddamn actress cost me my marriage and nearly cost me my career."
There was a long pause that followed.
Randy wasn't sure what to do.
He decided to go with flattery.
"Well you kept going. Nothing ever stopped you."
"Damn right," Hilda agreed. "Four face lifts, three chemical peels and two nose jobs. I could still pass for fifty. In the right light."
Randy felt an "Of course you could" would sound as phony as it was -- so he stayed silent.
"You know what the key is?" Hilda asked after a few moments of silence. "Know where the bodies are buried. Not just who your boss is screwing but what stories they killed and why. Marriages bust up all the time. These days no one even cares where you're parking your cock, really. But if you know, say, why a peccadillo becomes a scandal but an actual crime is brushed aside, then you got power. I've written my memoirs back and forth, several times over. Each time I sign a deal, they announce it will be my most revealing book yet. And every time that happens, the network offers a bigger raise, a bigger office, you name it. Why? Because they're scared I might really reveal all. Know where the bodies are buried, kid. That's the way it works today."
"Everything changed," she said standing and moving to a window.
"Once upon a time, you could pit 'em against each other."
"Who?"
Hilda spun around a little too quickly for someone consuming as much alcohol as she had. Steadying herself by placing a hand against the wall, she stared at Randy long enough to make him uncomfortable.
"The networks," she said finally. "Back then, who ever you were you could pit 'em against each other. You could be an actress signed to CBS and, even though your contract wasn't up yet, you could sign to another network for a new project as soon as your current contract expired. Good Lord, Susan Lucci played NBC and ABC off each other for years. That's back when the agents ruled. Then everything got bought up by the same people and the possibilities got a lot slimmer."
On "slimmer," Hilda put a hand to her stomach and walked over to a mirror behind the bar to check out her waist line. She also checked her make up. Her own reflection appeared to sober her up and she strode purposefully towards the couch.
"Do you know what power is?" she asked sitting down.
"Knowledge?"
"That's part of it," she said nodding. "You need the knowledge. The know how, the what have you. But it's how you use the knowledge that gives you power."
"By being a trusted news source," Randy replied nodding along.
If Randy were a stand up comedian, he couldn't have had a better audience. The remark produced gales of laughter from Hilda that stopped only when she began hacking.
Wiping some spittle from her mouth, she cursed herself for not giving up cigarettes a decade sooner. Then she leaned forward, cupped Randy's groin and smiled at him.
"What would a trusted news source do with this?"
"Beg your pardon," Randy gulped.
Releasing his groin, Hilda leaned back and studied Randy.
"What would a trusted news source do with what just happened?" she asked him.
"Report it," Randy said wishing she wasn't looking at him so intently.
"So you would dispense the information?"
"A reporter would, right?"
"That would give you a story for one day," Hilda nodded. "For today, you would be the talk of the country. What about tomorrow though?"
"I'd hunt down another story."
"Eager little thing, aren't you?" Hilda mocked. "But here's the thing, by reporting it, you would piss me off. By pissing me off, you would make an enemy. I'd be on the phone to everyone. The world that was so open to you the day before would now start to close off."
Randy studied Hilda as she poured herself another shot.
"Information isn't knowledge," Hilda said before downing the shot glass. "Knowledge is knowing what to report and what not to. By not reporting, say, a clumsy pass, you would have something to hold over someone's head. Or maybe you'd play it as, 'We're in this together' and be welcomed into the club. Either way, chances are you'd have a much longer career. That's how it works. Or that's how it's worked for me."