First up for the interviews is Benny. Benny! He says something I don’t quite catch because a)I pressed Record a fraction of a second too late after the adverts ended and b)I can’t lip read. Anyway, we’ll pretend it’s “what”, or something like that. “You heard me,” says Prince.
“You’re crazy.” Benny examines his fingernails.
“It’s been said,” Prince agrees amiably.
“The Bulletin’s dead.”
“Yes, it is,” Prince says; once again, amiably. Well, what a change from the previous scenes! Instead of a spoilt child, here we have a suave businessman who really looks like he knows what he’s doing. He’s even wearing a suit.
“And you want to bring it back to life?” Benny wants to know.
“Like Bobby Ewing!” Or Stefano Di Mera.
Benny changes to another line of defence. “I’ve got a job.”
Prince leans forward. “You wanna work as a reporter the rest of your life?”
“It’s what I do.”
“It’s all you’re ever gonna do.” He frowns meaningfully. “People don’t trust you. They don’t even like you,” Prince continues. And he would know this…how? Anyway, he then adds something about “your own personal CV” that, again, I don’t quite catch. But Benny catches it, because he gets up to go. “Well, shot for that analysis, hey.”
Having beaten the donkey, Prince now tosses out the carrot. “Unless...of course…you want to be my news editor.”
Benny turns, not quite believing this. “News editor?”
“You come work for me for a year. After that you’ve broken through and you can work wherever you want.”
“You think I’d want to work for a Modise?” Benny asks, his tone dripping with derision. “You think I’d want to owe a Modise something? Nah. Never.” He gives Prince a last loaded look, then turns and walks out.
“That’s one,” Prince remarks cheerfully to Noxee.
“He said yes?”
“No,” Prince concedes. “But he will.” Noxee then brings up the issue of finance…or rather, the lack thereof.
Prince: “We’ve spoken before about you being a nay-sayer.”
“Your father already said no,” Noxee reminds him.
“He’s a nay-sayer too,” says Prince.
“Just say ‘nay’ to nay-saying; you’ll feel much better. Don’t say nay, say yay,” he adds, a la Dr Phil .
“He’s tearing down the buil-ding,” Noxee says slowly and clearly.
“Say yay,” Prince insists. “Go on, say it. Say it.”
Eventually, she says it. Grimly. “Yay.”
“Don’t you feel better now?” Prince asks as he disappears into his office. Noxee just laughs, thereby missing a prime opportunity to go “nay.” I would have.
Next up for interview: Kim. As in, the actual Kim. She reels off an impressive list of personal information she has gathered about Prince Modise, including an educated guess about a stay in rehab, which was fairly amusing.
“What’s all this in aid of?” he wants to know.
“I want to be your investigative reporter,” she says simply. Tell me, what would an investigative reporter on a tabloid actually do? Anyway, Prince examines her CV. “You’re an…entertainment journalist,” he says, the unspoken but hovering in front of his words, implying that there is no possible way she could ever write any other stories, ever! Sheesh.
Kim looks at him grimly, then begins reading from her notes again. “In 1998, you were arrested for possession…”
“All right, all right,” he interrupts. He pauses for a moment, thinking. “I’ll give you a test. If you pass it, you’re my head reporter.”
Kim starts to smile a little, but: “What test?” she wants to know.
“Jurgen Fitzelroy.”
See? I told you it was important! Kim also thinks it’s important, because she immediately begins scribbling in her notebook. “Who is he?”
“Fitzelroy is a partner at a firm called F, G & M. Now, I want you to find me something he would rather I didn’t know.”
“Uh…what’s this about?”
“That…you don’t need to know.” Kim grimaces. “Uh, it would help if I knew.” “You have 24 hours,” is all Prince will say.
Scene. One of the Meysel brothers arrives to have a quick look around. He is shocked that they haven’t begun to clear out yet. Noxee catches another glimpse of the Mysterious and Unknown Stranger.
Scene. Prince is reeling off a list of stats to a not-at-all drunk Ivan. “28 pages, daily, no one piece longer than 500 words, 300 average.” Ivan stares straight ahead. (Incidentally, much of his hair seems to have migrated from his head to his chin, where it has sprouted in fluffy patches. It looks…a trifle odd.)
“And what about The Bulletin’s old readership?”
“Oh, I’m targeting a much broader demographic. You know, black, working man. Never picked up a paper.”
Ivan nods thoughtfully. “And how many pages?”
Prince raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Twenty-eight.”
“Oh, ja” says Ivan. He shrugs. “Sorry. Go on.”
Prince looks a little incredulous. “Are you drunk?”
“No! Of course not,” Ivan blusters. There is a pause.
“Well, thanks for coming in.” Prince shows him out. However, as Fate would have it, at the same time Dorothy is arriving for her interview with Prince. They catch sight of one another: there is an Awkward Moment.
“Ivan,” says Dorothy.
“Dorothy,” says Ivan. “Looking good,” he adds. (She really does, by the way.) “Thanks, you too,” she says. “How’ve you been?” she asks, with genuine concern.
“Since you kicked me out? I’ve been just peachy thank you.” He brushes past her.
She turns with a look of almost pity. “Ivan…”
“In the words of the poet, ‘Ob la di, ob la da, life goes on,’” he snaps. Oh, he’s not bitter at all. Dorothy, evidently deciding there was no more to be gained from that line of conversation, inclines her head towards Prince’s office. “And this guy?”
“Yamnh,” says Ivan, nodding. “He’s got some ideas. I think you’ll like them.” Oh, Ivan, you naughty boy.
Cut to Dorothy in Prince’s office. He is relaxing in his swivel chair, while the horror of realisation is dawning across her face. “What?”
”A tabloid…,” Prince begins, but she cuts him off.
“I heard you the first time!” She leaps to her feet and begins pacing. “Have you any idea how hard we fought to protect this newspaper’s reputation for telling the truth? The Bulletin…”
“The Bulletin’s gone,” Prince interrupts.
“Then let it stay gone. Let it rest in peace. This meant something to a lot of people.”
“That is exactly what I’m trying to tell you,” says Prince with exaggerated patience. He tears off the paper’s name from a newspaper on his desk. Picking up a pair of scissors, he says, “The Bulletin is dead.” Snip. “Long live...The Bullet.”
Dorothy looks at him as if he were some rather repulsive specimen of insect life that she would dearly like to take an industrial-size can of Doom to. She leaves with one last glance of loathing over her shoulder.
Meanwhile, Kim is back from her scavenger hunt. Noxee brings her to Prince in the coffee room, and Kim is forced to admit that she couldn’t find any dirt on Fitzelroy.
“Clean? Nothing’s clean,” says Prince. “If you don’t see any germs, then you’re not using a big enough microscope.” How…profound? He hands the folder back to Kim.
“Thanks for coming by.”
“There’s nothing on him,” Kim defends herself. “What can I do?”
“Perhaps you should stick to entertainment journalism.”
“What exactly are you looking for?”
“He has…something I want.”
“What?”
“Goodbye, Ms Smollen.”
Obviously at the end of a long, hard day, Kim says tightly, “What harm can there be in just telling me?”
Finally, Prince explains about the paintings. He ends, “I want…Love.” Oh, don’t we all?
“OK,” says Kim, and she turns to go. An afterthought strikes her, and she turns back. “You know, if you want a journalist to do something, at least have the sense and brief them properly.”
Scene. Noxee lays a trap for, and catches, the Mysterious and Unknown Stranger. Turns out he’s an old man who’s been squatting in the building. Next morning, Noxee’s on the phone, finding out about squatters’ rights, when Grant arrives for his interview, and Noxee sends him through.
He introduces himself, with a salute, as “Grant Fletcher, IT geek, reporting for duty.”
“Oh,” says Prince.
“Yes,” says Grant.”
“You’re not a journalist?”
“Oh, uh, no. I, uh, do the PC’s.”
“Oh, right. Well. Sorry, no: I’m actually just looking for news staff at the moment.”
“Yeah, but you can’t run a newspaper without IT,” Grant points out.
“I’m very much aware of that…”
“I can give you an online presence…um, you know, start a website…”
“Not much demand from our new demographic…”
Grant rushes in a desperate, last-ditch attempt. “I have…experience as a receptionist.”
Prince is somewhat taken aback. “I prefer my receptionists good-looking…”
“I could get a haircut,” Grant offers.
“And female,” Prince adds.
“Uh, I, I’m not a female,” Grant points out hesitantly.
“No,” Prince agrees. He waves a hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
Suddenly, Alan Meysel and his workers invade the office. He tells them the job has been bumped up the roster…by Daddy M.
Adverts.
There is much activity in the office…unfortunately, mostly involving heavy machinery of the destructive kind. Noxee, clutching a length of chain, tells Prince she can delay them. Kim arrives with the information Prince wants. Noxee tries to tell Prince about the squatter, but he is too busy to listen. He meets up with Fitzelroy, and manages to strike a deal with him, mainly because Prince now knows that the painting forms part of Nazi loot from World War 2.
At the office, chaos reigns. The squatter has chained himself to a pillar, and is keeping people away by means of a hefty-looking wooden implement of some sort. Daddy M walks into the middle of it.
“What the hell is going on here?”
“Ntate...” says Noxee.
“Some kak about squatters’ rights, boss,” says Meysel.
“This is my home! I will not leave!” cries the squatter.
“What are you talking about?” says Modise, exasperated, grabbing the pole out of the squatter’s hand. “This is MY building! Now cut him down, and throw him out, and let’s get on with this!”
Prince enters, and Modise asks him wearily, “Are you behind this?”
“My office please,” says Prince coolly; and really, who has not wanted to say that to their father? Prince shows him the painting. He explains that the owner will only sell through him, Prince.
“How much, how much?” his father asks impatiently. Prince wants the building, the newspaper, and R10 million in capital. Modise will get 50%. At first, Modise laughs at him. Eventually, they reach an agreement: Modise gets 51%, and only give R5 million. Modise warns him that if he, Modise, does not recoup his capital, it will be the end for Prince. Well, basically.
Scene. Noxee and Prince are drinking wine out of polystyrene cups. Noxee is somewhat…under the influence…but soon decides she must go. She looks at Prince. What almost could have been a Moment passes between them. They say goodnight, then Noxee leaves. I guess no ride in the Batmobile today.
Episode score: A
John Matshikiza was fabulous in this ep, and the newbies handled themselves really well. Looking forward to tonight's episode!
(Apologies for the delay in getting this recap out: in future, the recap will be up by the weekend.)