Newspapers tend to reflect their communities, and so it is at the Nashville Tennessean. Country music is big business in Nashville -- really, not the biggest business, but the one for which the town is best known. That meant that the entertainment section was a bigger proposition than it would have been at some newspapers, like the automotive section is a bigger proposition at, say, the Detroit Free Press than it was at the Tennessean.

Annette Funston had been a country music fan ever since she'd given up on Sesame Street thirty years before. As far as she was concerned, being a reporter in the entertainment section at the Tennessean was a dream job for her. She'd been around the business long enough to realize that it wasn't all glamour and glitz; she'd seen the seamy side too, more of it than she wanted. Though not the lead reporter in the section, she was still on first-name terms with people like Garth Brooks, Tanya Tucker, Dolly Parton and a hundred others. It also meant that she knew people like Mark Wolf, whose release from the jail in Murfreesboro was a bigger deal in today's Tennessean than it had any right to be as far as she was concerned. It had been a feeding frenzy down there yesterday. She'd been right in the middle of it and would much rather have been elsewhere. Oh, well, tomorrow it would be someone else, something else, and it was just as nice to have an easy day.

Even on a busy big-city newspaper there are slow afternoons, and this was one of them. She was surfing the net, trying to see what anyone else was covering in the country music community, looking for a possible lead on a future story, when she saw Tom Burnham approaching. Tom was her boss, the Entertainment Editor, and it hadn't escaped Annette's notice that when he got around to retiring she might be in a good spot to replace him. It would be a nice spot, but it would take her off the street and out of a lot of the contact with the people she liked to be around. "You got anything cooking for the next two or three days?" he asked.

"Nothing in particular, unless Mark Wolf decides to celebrate his release by busting up another bar," she said cynically.

"I've got something that might be worth looking into," he said. "You know Brenda Hodunk?"

"The Assistant City Editor?" she asked, cringing a little inside. She didn't know her well, but knew that in the city room downstairs the staff called her "Brenda the Hun." "I've met her; I can't say as I know her."

"Yeah," Burnham said. "She says she can arrange for an interview with Jenny Easton."

"I didn't know she was down here," Annette said without much interest. Jenny Easton was a moderately big name, but not exactly front rank. She hadn't heard of anything particularly newsworthy about her recently.

Burnham picked up on her apathy. "I mean an in-home interview," he said.

"That's different," Annette said brightly. "That'd have to be a first. I don't think she's ever given an in-home interview. Not to us, since I've been here, anyway."

"Not in my time, either," Burnham agreed. "That makes it a moderately big deal. Go down and talk to Brenda about it. If it sounds like it's worth the effort to you, I'd say go for it."

Annette was still cringing as she headed for the city department on the floor below. An in-home interview with Jenny Easton had possibilities -- but to have to go to Brenda the Hun to get it? She'd heard the stories in the staff lunchroom. Lots of stories. Brenda was still fairly new at the Tennessean, but from the moment she walked in the door, the city room realized that they were dealing with a serious hardcase. While her title was Assistant City Editor, in the scheme of things here it meant that she ran the department. Brenda was young, ten years younger than Annette, but she had an Aherns Award hanging on the wall of her office, and no one could believe what she'd done to get it! It was almost her signature -- get the story, whatever you have to do, but get it right. The gossip said that she'd come to the Tennessean from some paper up north where she'd set a crappy staff to working so hard that they'd knuckled down and won a Pulitzer just to get her off their backs. And as far as that went, looked at objectively, in less than a year she'd shaped up what had been a pretty crappy city room here, too. Several heads had rolled, and at least one young reporter who even Annette thought was pretty arrogant was working in the mailroom for a while, just to get some idea of where he belonged in the scheme of things.

Oh, well, at least Brenda the Hun wasn't her boss . . . just try to be professional, she thought, as she knocked lightly on the open door of the office. "Ms. Hodunk?" she asked lightly.

"What is it?"

"I'm Annette Funston, from the entertainment section. Mr. Burnham sent me down to see you."

"Oh, yes," she smiled. "Come on in and have a seat. Give me about two minutes to deal with this story, and I'll be right with you."

Annette went in and sat down, getting a good look at Brenda. She was medium height, sharply dressed, and had a full head of dark red hair. She watched as she turned to her computer terminal, pounded several keys viciously, read for a moment, then reached for the phone, savagely striking three buttons. As she waited silently, Annette couldn't help but let her eyes stray to a wood and glass case hanging on the wall. In it was the Aherns award and a picture of Brenda receiving it -- the stories were true! She'd actually been wearing handcuffs at the awards ceremony! And, if there was any doubt, the handcuffs were there in the case as well. Annette had heard people from the city department say that they'd have liked to have handcuffed her, but that it wouldn't have done any good . . . "Bob," she heard Brenda say sharply. , "The seventh graf on the Lawrence murder. Couldn't you have used a direct quote? . . . I see . . . You're right, there's no need to print that kind of language. Sorry to have bothered you."

Brenda put the phone down, tapped a few more keys, then turned around. "So, what can I do for you today?" she said in a friendly voice.

"Mr. Burnham said that you could arrange for an in-home interview with Jenny Easton," Annette said.

"Well, not exactly arrange," Brenda said. "Jennifer called and asked if I'd like to do one. I turned her down."

"Turned her down?" Annette said in disbelief. "Ms. Hodunk . . ."

"Please, call me Brenda," she broke in.

"Brenda, an in-home interview with Jenny Easton is unprecedented. As far as I know, it's never been done."

"Actually, it's been done once," Brenda said. "Back in '93, a newsmagazine show, but it was actually tied into a Wonderful Winter World promotion. Look, I just told her I wouldn't do the interview myself. There are three reasons for that. One, it's not my beat. Two, I have other things I have to deal with right now. And, most important, Jennifer is a friend, and I don't feel that I could be objective. Jennifer said that was fine, she could understand that, and if I could come up with someone on the staff who could do an objective job, not try to grind an axe, she'd still be willing. Tom suggested you. I've read some of your stuff; it's pretty good, but I wanted to talk to you about it just so I could be sure in my own mind that you were the right person to send."

"You know Jenny Easton? She's a friend?" Annette said, a little unbelieving.

"Not a real close friend, but a friend," Brenda smiled. "Annette, do you know what a Saxmayer is?"

"Sure," Annette said, wondering where this was going. "They use it in mailrooms to tie bundles. I worked my way through college running one, over in Memphis."

"I thought you were good people," Brenda smiled. "Jenny Easton taught me how to run one."

"What?" Annette exclaimed, all pretense of professionalism gone.

"Long story," Brenda grinned. "I got my first real job in this business at the paper in Spearfish Lake, where Jennifer lives. The Record-Herald, a good little country paper. The editor there is a guy named Mike McMahon, taught me the difference between J-school and the real world. I honestly think that everyone in the business should have an experience like that, with a teacher like him, and things would go a lot easier all around. Anyway, that's beside the point. It's a small paper, a weekly, so on press day the whole staff right up through the publisher, turns to on the mailing. Jennifer's mother works there. From clear back when Jennifer was in junior high, she'd come in and fill in on the Saxmayer if needed. She still does if they're shorthanded for some reason. In fact, they still pay her when she does, but she signs the checks over to the local Red Cross. Well, a newbie counts as shorthanded, so Jennifer came in on my first day to help out." She shook her head and laughed. "I had no idea who she was, just a nice woman in her thirties who everyone calls Jennifer, some housewife or something, I thought. I didn't find out until later who she was."

"Surprised, I'll bet," Annette smiled.

"Oh, yes," Brenda laughed. "I'll be the first person to admit it was hard to believe that Jennifer Evachevski, this friendly thirty-something woman who helped out on the Saxmayer sometimes could actually be the same person as Jenny Easton. I still think of her as Jennifer Evachevski -- well, Walworth, now. I was invited to what turned out to be her wedding, but it was right after I came here and I couldn't go. But, that leads to the point I really wanted to make with you. I don't know for sure, and I have not discussed this with her, but I suspect that you're being asked up there to interview Jennifer Walworth, not Jenny Easton. That really is unprecedented, at least for someone who doesn't work for the Spearfish Lake Record-Herald."

"You may be right," Annette said. "I've met her, but I've never written anything serious about her. But, as long as I've been here, she's been very adamant against in-home interviews. I wonder what brought this on."

"I don't know," Brenda replied. "But, I figure you'll have the chance to find out." She sighed, and went on. "Look, Tom said you were the best person on his staff for this, and that's good enough for me. This is advice on my part, not orders. Just go up there and do a straight interview story. She'll probably have some spin on what she's telling you, but this is an interview, not an investigative report. Don't try to interpret her or second-guess her. Just do straight, honest, objective reporting, and don't try to get cute or grind an axe."

Annette felt some uneasiness come over her. "Brenda, I need your advice on one thing," she said, realizing that she was dealing with another professional who took the job seriously. "There were some stories going around in the tabs a few months ago, about Blake, the guy she married . . ."

"That he's gay? I saw some of those stories," Brenda said. "I don't know anything about it one way or the other. The subject never came up in my presence, either with Blake, Jennifer, or anyone else in Spearfish Lake, and I never caught a hint of it from him. He's one heck of a nice guy. I got to know him even better than I got to know Jennifer, since he was my martial arts sensei. He got me working toward an aikido black belt."

"You have a black belt?" Annette frowned. She'd never heard that about Brenda . . .

An interesting grin came over Brenda's face. "Working on it," she laughed. "You don't need to spread it around the city room," she said, almost with a snicker. "I think I've got them scared enough as it is. It's just a hobby, something I do to stay in shape. The point is that it's probably a legitimate question. I don't think I'd open the interview with it, but if the opportunity arises, it might be a good idea to bring it up in the context of those stories." She sighed. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if that's the whole point behind this interview, or at least one of them. If he or she denies it, I wouldn't push it, but I think you should give them the opportunity to air it out if that's what they want."

"Just good, straight interview reporting," Annette said. "I can do that. Thanks for the advice."

"No problem," Brenda said, sliding a scrap of paper with a phone number on it across the desk. "This will get you through to Wendy at Jenny Easton Productions, and she'll get with Blake and Jenny to work out the details with you. Just be professional, but enjoy yourself, too. Jennifer really is a good person and lots of fun. Don't expect to get in and out in an hour. It might even run over a couple days, but you should have some fun along the way, too."

"I suppose you'll want to review the story before it runs," Annette noted.

"No, it's not my department," Brenda said. "I'm just the contact person on this one. But, I'd appreciate it if you could send me a tear sheet."

"But won't you . . . send you?" Annette said uncertainly.

"Send me," Brenda said. "I'm out of here, the end of the week, and you don't need to spread that around the city room, either. I don't need any premature parties. I'll e-mail you my address when I know what it is. I'll be in Atlanta for a few days, getting tuned into how they do things at CNN, and then they're going to have me in their New York bureau."

"Copy editing?"

"Good grief, no! You know, I've found out that while I make a pretty good editor, I miss doing the down-and-dirty reporting. It was the only way I could come up with to get back out on the street where I belong."

"The best of luck to you," Annette grinned, but with a touch of sorrow. In a few minutes she'd learned that this woman wasn't really Brenda the Hun, but a real professional reporter -- one who she'd like to get to know better. While Brenda was a decade younger, there were obviously things she could learn from her. "Thanks for your advice on this, and thanks for clearing the way for me."

"No big deal," Brenda replied. "Jennifer did a big favor for me one time just by being herself, and she never knew about it. I figure I owe her this one. Just do good, honest reporting."

"I will," Annette said, getting up to go. There was one question she really wanted to ask, and if she didn't do it now she might never know. Oh, well, why not? "I know this is off the subject, and probably pretty personal and sounds pretty stupid, but are the stories true that you wore handcuffs for two months to get your Aherns Award?"

"It's not quite that simple. Yes, I wore handcuffs for sixty-three straight days, 24/7, but it wasn't to get a story. The story came out of the experience, and probably wouldn't have come out the way it did if I hadn't done it. And really, I wrote the story for myself to sort things out in my own mind, and it was only run as an afterthought. But that story won me the award."

Annette shook her head. "I can't imagine doing that. Wasn't it terrible?"

Brenda looked thoughtful. "I have to say I couldn't have imagined doing it until I did it. Terrible? Well, there were good days, and there were bad ones, but I can't say terrible."

"But, how could you do it?"

"Did you ever break an arm when you were a kid?" Brenda asked.

"No, never did."

"Back when I was in grade school, a kid in my class took a header off a swing set, and busted himself up pretty good," Brenda said. "Both arms broke, both shoulders broke up." She crossed her arms in front of her. "He was in a cast like this for weeks. He hated it. Even on the worst days, I could think about him and realize how much better I had it. In fact, there were times it was a lot of fun to the point where it was almost addicting, just hitting people up for their reactions, which I suppose is why I keep that case up on the wall," she smiled. "I certainly learned a lot about myself from the process, and I wouldn't be here today or heading off to CNN next week without having done it. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone else, though. It was a pretty unique circumstance."

Annette smiled. "They say New York either builds you up or it tears you down. I don't think it's going to tear you down very easily."

"I hope not," Brenda sighed. "Hey, you have a good time up there in Spearfish Lake. If you have time to kill, drop by the Record-Herald and say 'hi' to Mike. Tell him I'll drop in sometime. Stop off and see Wendy, too. She's really a neat person, but she doesn't get a lot of visitors, and she likes them. And say 'hi' to Jennifer and Blake for me, too."

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