The absolute best thing about the internet is rediscovering old shows that you used to love. In this case, 'Lou Grant', the spin off from the Mary Tyler Moore Show, starring Ed Asner, Robert Walden and Linda Kelsey. It's about the city newsroom of the fictional Los Angeles Tribune and ran from 1977 to 1982 when it was cancelled for ridiculous reasons, as many great shows are. Anyway I've been watching episodes on YT, saw that there was no ffnet category for it, so I requested one. Shout-out to the people at ffnet for creating the Lou Grant category.

I'm no reporter. And Lou Grant had some of the best writers in the business. So I'm starting out with what I think is a pretty simple story focusing on character interaction rather than the logistics of newspapers in the 70s, BC (before computers.) I am always open to suggestions and advice from fans of LG who know the show better than I do. Thanks loads!

(PS: I'm British but I'm using American spelling because the show was American and so is my spellchecker)


Neighbors

Chapter 1

Billie Newman entered the news room, stifling a yawn. She dodged around her fellow reporters with her coffee held high, hoping to reach her desk without anything more than a brisk 'good morning' over the clattering typewriters and ringing telephones. She was still a rookie at the Tribune and didn't want anyone thinking she couldn't handle the pace. It wasn't that she couldn't handle the pace, it was more that she just had to get used to the pace. Which she would.

Eventually.

Just maybe not right now.

She arrived at her desk and put down her coffee cup, draped her jacket over her chair and dumped her purse haphazardly next to her phone. Without even glancing at the person working opposite, she sank into her seat, pulled it forward, and began organizing her notes and papers. So far, so good.

Her phone rang. she glanced at it briefly, saw whose extension had lit up, and answered it with a mixture of relief and exasperation.

"Good morning, Lou."

"Good morning, Billie!" City editor Lou Grant's voice was gruff as ever, with a dry hint of good natured sarcasm. "Everything okay?"

Cradling the handset between chin and shoulder, Billie continued to riffle through her notes. "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

"No reason. I was just checking in."

"Lou, you don't just 'check in'. You're checking up."

"I am not!" He sounded indignant- Billie smiled to herself. "I'm just making sure my favorite new reporter is doing okay, that's all."

"I'm fine, Lou. Really. You don't have to treat me any differently to anyone else just because I'm new."

"Make the most of it, Billie. Soon I'll be yelling at you the same way I yell at Rossi."

"You certainly know how to motivate a person." The unmistakable sound of someone loudly clearing their throat made her turn around. "Excuse me a moment, Lou." She scowled at Joe Rossi, the Tribune's resident pitbull terrier. "What did you say, Joe?"

The dark haired man grinned at her. "I said, in the interests of equality, he should already be yelling at you the way he yells at me."

"How do you know what he said?" Billie asked, shooting daggers with her eyes.

"I can hear him from here. I don't even know why's he's bothering to use the phone."

Billie sighed loudly. "Goodbye Lou," she grumbled, and hung up.

"Why so cranky?" Rossi asked. "Or should that be, why more cranky than usual?"

"I'm not cranky," Billie said, crankily. "I'm just tired, that's all."

Damn. But there it was, she'd said it. She glared at Rossi and resolved to keep her cards closer to her chest. He didn't need any more ammunition than he already possessed. Although to be honest, the fact that she was a woman was all the ammo he seemed to need.

She slipped a blank sheet of paper into her typewriter and fed it through, but Rossi wasn't one to give up easily.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"That's none of your business."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'."

"Really? You take 'none of your business' as a 'yes'? That explains why so many of your pieces have to be rewritten."

Rossi sat up straight with a puff of indignation. "Boy, you try to be friendly..."

"Oh, is that what you were doing? That also explains why you don't have any friends."

"Jeez!" Rossi exclaimed, rubbing his upper arms. "I think the temperature in here just dropped by ten degrees!"

Billie slapped her palms down on either side of her typewriter. "Look, Rossi. I know you get a thrill out of tormenting me, but today I just want to do my job without the distraction of a verbal fencing contest. Okay? Is it too much to ask?"

Rossi sat back with what Billie could only describe as an air of triumph. "Sure," he said calmly, which only annoyed her more. "I know you need to concentrate. I know it's hard for you to work with other things going on around you. I guess it was a lot quieter at the magazine. Probably just a few old ladies drinking tea. I can understand why you would..."

"Rossiii...!" Billie resisted the urge to pick up her telephone and throw it at him.

"Okay, okay! Don't get excited. I got work to do anyway." Rossi spun his chair around and went back to his notepad. "Real work," he added, indicating pages and pages of scrawled, messy shorthand. "Read it and weep, Newman."

"If I could read that, I would weep."

"Yeah, well it may not look like much now, but you just wait til it's printed. It'll knock your socks off."

"I don't wear socks." Billie began typing, hoping it would shut him up.

"Your shoes then. Or whatever you call those things on your feet."

Billie mistyped half a sentence, but kept going. Maybe it would have helped if she was actually interested in her report. A woman named JoBeth Granger was claiming her neighbor, a Mr. George Braddock, was making her life hell. She said he threw trash bags over the fence and stared at her when she was in her yard. Billie had been out to interview her twice already, and everything had been quiet- just a normal day in the suburbs. But JoBeth was insistent. She wanted something done about it, because the police weren't taking her seriously. Billie had seen nothing untoward in her yard except for a rather docile looking dog sleeping in the sun.

Rossi's phone rang. He picked it up and began talking loud enough for Billie to hear. She knew he worked on more important assignments than she did. She knew he had worked at the Trib much longer than she had. She knew, although she hated to admit it, that he was a good reporter. But he was so smug and full of himself that instead of being able to ask him for help or advice, she guarded her work against him, felt compelled to type faster and be more pushy on the phone. Maybe that's why she was tired- trying to keep up with Rossi was sapping her energy.

She took her fingers off the keys, closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax. She breathed deeply, lulled by the sounds of the newsroom; the comforting hubbub of voices, typewriters and phones. She wasn't even aware that Rossi had ended his phonecall until a candy bar landed in front of her and slid into a sheaf of notes, scattering them across her desk. She jerked upright with a yelp.

"Dammit, Rossi!"

Rossi laughed at her startled expression. "You need a sugar hit."

Billie picked up the Snickers, peering at it as though it were laced with poison.

"I don't think you understand the significance of me giving away a candy bar," he said, looking mildly insulted.

"Thank you Joe." She opened her desk drawer and dropped it in. "I'll save it for lunch. It was nice of you to think of me."

"Don't mention it," he replied airily. Then, "you still working on that neighborhood feud story?"

"Yep," she said, wishing more than ever that Lou would send him on a one way mission to Mars. But she wouldn't subject the Martians to such a punishment- unless they were hostile.

"Got anything juicy?"

Billie picked up her notes and read aloud. "'JoBeth Granger went out early Thursday morning to feed her dog and found two trash bags which she says were thrown there by her neighbor. "The bags were open. There was rotten garbage everywhere and it smelled terrible," said Ms. Granger, 35. "I've reported him to the police but they say they need more evidence. I'm tired of waking up every day not knowing what he's going to do next.'" Billie finished reading and put the notes down. "Juicy enough?"

"Not even close. Jazz it up a little. You know, like the Hatfields and the McCoys."

"The Hatfields and the McCoys? I hate to tell you this, pardner, but it's 1977, not 1877."

"Trust me- you have to write every story, no matter how insignificant, as though you're aiming for the Pulitzer Prize."

Billie tried to ignore the 'insignificant' comment, but it rankled.

"Like me," he concluded.

Billie stared at him incredulously. "Do you seriously think you're going to win the Pulitzer Prize?"

Rossi shrugged. "it's not out of the question- I'm good at my job." He leaned forward, ready to impart some invaluable advice. "Look, Billie. You have to give the readers what they want. A guy with a dead-end job needs to feel superior to someone. He may flip burgers all day but at least he doesn't have a stinking pile of someone else's trash in his yard."

Billie frowned and pursed her lips. "Hmm," she murmured. Maybe he had a point.

Rossi stood up and pulled on his brown corduroy jacket. "Well, gotta go."

"Goodbye," said Billie sarcastically.

"Don't you want to know where?"

"No."

"Well, I'll tell you anyway. I'm going out to interview a local businessman. He's seventy years old and thinks that someone on the payroll is stealing from him. I wish we could exchange assignments. I'd have your people tearing each others' throats out in time for the late edition. There'd be blood all over the streets- hopefully none of it mine."

"Cold, Rossi. Very cold."

"You'll learn."

Watching Rossi collect his notepads and briefcase, Billie had to admit that her story lacked oomph- but she didn't know how to whip up enthusiasm for an account of grown adults fighting like children. To be truthful, it depressed her. Society was starting to sink pretty low.

"See you later," said Rossi, and strode off without even waiting for a response.

"Don't hurry back," murmured Billie, watching him swing his briefcase down the corridor, making other reporters jump out of his way.

As soon as Rossi was gone, Billie yanked the paper out of her typewriter, crumpled it up and dropped it in the waste basket. She wound a fresh, unmarked sheet around the carriage, found JoBeth Granger's phone number and put it beside the phone. She took the candy bar out of her drawer, unwrapped it, and bit off a huge chunk. Immediately she regretted it- it was hard and chewy and full of nuts that stuck in her teeth. She gnawed frantically, trying to unglue her mouth before Lou showed up, or...

The telephone shrilled.

... the telephone rang.

She chewed furiously, flapping her hands around as though it would make the candy dissolve faster. She reached for the phone, unsure how she was going to answer it when she couldn't speak, but right at the last minute a hand came over her shoulder and picked it up for her. She looked up to see assistant editor Art Donovan standing there, an amused look on his face.

"Billie Newman," he said into the receiver, then laughed. "No, no... this is her deputy. She's busy right now but she'll be with you in a second." He held the receiver towards Billie while she swallowed the last of the sticky mess inside her mouth. She took it from him, clamping her hand over the mouthpiece.

"What were you doing?" he asked, folding his arms.

"I was trying to get into Rossi's mindset."

"Why?" His voice rose several notches in disbelief.

"He said I needed to jazz my story up a little." Billie removed her hand and spoke to the person on the other end. "Hello, this is Billie Newman I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Oh! Hello Ms. Granger... are you okay? He's what? Did you call the police?" She looked up at Donovan, who was now frowning quizzically. "Okay, okay... I'm coming over. Stay calm and wait for the police, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can." Billie hung up and got to her feet, grabbing her purse and jacket. "JoBeth's neighbor is threatening to kill her with an axe."

Donovan's eyes widened. "You move fast!"

Billie wrote the address down hurriedly and gave it to Art. She thrust her arms into the sleeves of her jacket and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I shouldn't be excited about this. Someone could get hurt."

"Don't think about it too hard. Take the Animal with you and make sure it isn't you that gets hurt."

"That's what Rossi said. There'd be blood on the streets, but hopefully none would be his."

"Forget Rossi. Just go and get us a story."

Billie shot him a smile over her shoulder and hurried for the exit, her mind alert and buzzing, her body full of adrenaline. Exhaustion be damned- she wasn't a magazine writer anymore, she was a general reporter for one of the biggest newspapers in the country. This was how it was meant to be, the cut and thrust world of city reporting.

She just hoped her new-found enthusiasm for this story didn't come at the expense of JoBeth Granger's life.