Эбби Луби - Nuclear Romance

“I’m sure ALLPower workers are curious just how dangerous the plant is. We are living in an age where power plant accidents at Three Mile Island and Chernobyl have changed the way we think about nuclear power forever. We are demanding to know if our immediate safety is at risk as well as the safety of millions of others just south of us in New York City.”

People started waving their signs and chanting “Shut it down! Shut it down!” Plant workers bellowed out, “ALLPower means jobs! Keep our jobs!”

The shouting match increased. Suddenly Diana unclipped the wireless mic from the stand and stepped down into the audience and walked directly up to one of the plant workers. The crowd silenced, and she spoke into the mic.

“Can we just talk? Can you tell me your name?”

The plant worker looked at her in disgust.

“Ain’t tellin’ you nothin,’ Lady.”

She ignored him. “Did you know if they shut down the plant you would still have a job?”

“You don’t know anything about it, Sweetheart!” the worker barked out. “The plant is safe, and we should know because we work there every day. There’s no reason to close it, so call off your tree huggers!”

“Did anyone even explain what happens when they close down a plant?” Her voice was amplified, and she took advantage of it. “It takes about twenty years to close down and decommission a nuke plant, and workers stay there, but in a different capacity. Did you know that?”

The ALLPower worker eyed her suspiciously. Then he turned his head and spit on the ground. Off to the side, a camera flashed.

“What are you talking about? A closed plant is a closed plant,” the man seethed. “And we do lose our jobs. Then what?”

He stormed away. Diana realized she was surrounded by plant workers. She looked at them and lowered the mic.

“You know we can agree to disagree, but we can also sit down and have a dialogue about this at some point. Anyone here willing to do that?”

No one moved.

Slowly she walked backward and then turned toward the podium. For a brief moment she was blocked by two workers. She looked them in the eye, holding her own. They belligerently scuffled aside and let her pass. When she got to the podium she passed the mic to the next speaker.

Lou watched from the back of the crowd. Gal has backbone, he thought.

He had showed up without committing to write the story. It was research, wasn’t it? As a local politician took the podium to speak, Lou walked over to Bob who looked like he was holding up the bus. The PR man stared straight ahead, still pissed off about Lou’s front page story about the plant leaks.

“Hey, Bob. Who organized the ALLPower hecklers?”

Bob shook his head no and kept his eyes on the podium.

“Hey, they’re hardly ‘hecklers,’ Lou. These guys got worked up all by themselves and wanted to come. They are looking out for their jobs. We just made it easy for them to get here in the company bus.”

“Are they on company time? Are they getting paid to come here and disrupt a public demonstration?”

“They’re here because they want to be.”

“Are you paying them?”

“Can’t say. Payroll is not my department anyway. How come you’re not at a game, making some poor coach miserable?”

“Just thought I’d check this out. No big deal. We may not even write it up, so calm down, okay?”

Lou noticed a young woman standing behind Bob. He looked at her curiously as she put her hand on Bob’s arm.

“Mr. Stalinsky? I’m Chrissy Dolan with the Register . Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Bob beamed. It would be pleasure to talk to this charming young thing.

“Certainly. Shall we sit down over at that picnic table?” he said, steering her away from Lou.

Lou walked toward some of the information tables.

“Excuse me.”

A black man was at his elbow, and Lou whisked around.

“Hey. How are you?”

The man reached inside a folder and held out a piece of paper.

“Listen, you’d understand this.”

Lou read the sheet.

“Let me get this straight. You’re with a group of African Americans who are pro nuclear power? How come?”

“You know how many blacks have asthma? It’s from the coal-fired plants making electricity. They dirty up the air so much our kids can’t hardly breathe. But nukes are clean. We got to make sure they stay open.”

“Hmm. Never thought about it,” Lou admitted.

“You work around here?” asked the man.

“Yeah. I’m a news reporter.”

“Really? You’ll write about us, won’t you?”

“Maybe. I really cover local sports, but give me your contact information, and I’ll pass it on to my editor. You never know.”

The man handed Lou a slick-looking packet filled with news articles, medical reports, and a list of board members.

“Thanks. I’ll look this over.”

“Cool. Appreciate it.”

It was an odd liaison. Lou assumed most blacks had more pressing issues than the environment. There were still vast inequities between whites and blacks, not to mention other minorities, where it was a constant battle to be heard and stay vocal. Lou flipped through the pamphlet and ran down the list of members. On the bottom of the list was ALLPower.

Interesting.

He checked out other tables and picked up some basic information about power plants, promising himself to read it all later. Better yet, he could ask Diana to explain it all. He ignored the nagging issue of mixing socially with people from your stories. Wasn’t it worth never writing about nuclear power again if he could get to know this woman?

He looked her way, and Diana spotted him from the side of the podium. He nodded at her. The speakers were finishing up, and the crowd started to move about. Lou was about to walk over to Diana when Chrissy Dolan suddenly was at her side, pen in hand. Lou slowed and watched the young woman work. He would have to check out her article when the weekly paper came out in another day or two. You never know what a rookie reporter could come up with.

After a minute, and feeling a bit competitive, Lou walked over and interrupted the two.

“Hi, Ms. Chase. I’m Lou Padera from the Daily Suburban . When you’re finished with Ms. Dolan here, can I ask you a few questions?” His eyes twinkled, hoping she enjoyed the pantomime, but she held her cool, professional stance.

“Sure, Mr. Padera.”

He stood by and listened to Chrissy’s questions. The girl had done the kind of homework he had refused to do. She asked Diana about other possible dangers that lurked at the plant, the spent-fuel pool, the history of leaks. When they finished, Chrissy took a picture of Diana with the two domes in the background. The girl thanked her and left. Diana turned to Lou.

“Well, I’m ready for your questions. Where is your pad?”

“It all goes in here,” Lou tapped his head.

Diana was wary. “Oh really? Meaning you’re not here to cover the story, right?”

“No, not really. Although I had an interesting talk with Mr. Stalinsky that could be a story at some point. Sorry. You very disappointed?”

“Yes. Very.”

Tight-lipped, she collected mounds of paper and petitions while Lou waited. He had to make good, somehow. Was she really put off because he didn’t cover the rally? Would she change her mind about the ride? Maybe she was a bit too stoical for him. But still, there was some kind of simmering attraction at work here.

Out of nowhere, a plant worker clad in a white ALLPower T-shirt tapped Diana on her back.

“Here’s my name and number,” he said, quickly looking around. “We need to talk.”

He was gone in a flash and disappeared inside the ALLPower bus. Diana looked at the scrap of paper. On it was scribbled Larry Hines, ALLPower engineer. 524-3828.