Happy Endings

by Sally Quinn

  Today’s stories were routine. A plane crash investigation, yet another British espionage story, which happily Allison knew more about than anybody else though it was on foreign’s budget. There was a stock market scandal and an investigative story on the oil and gas industry and the environment that was ready to run.

  Fineman had his feet on the conference table. After everyone had had his turn, he went down the list.

  “We’ve got three extra columns on oil and gas, stay in touch with the people who are dummying foreign front and national front. We’ll look at scandal, possible front, more than a key. If we get a front-page lead on stocks, then we can key to the plane crash.”

  With that everyone was up. Allison got outside the door, then remembered something she wanted to ask Malkin. As she walked back in several of the men were standing around Fineman laughing.

  “So then the guy says, ‘Well, if that’s pussy I’ll eat it….’ ”

  More laughter.

  Then someone saw Allison. They all stopped abruptly. A couple of them coughed with embarrassment and they quickly left the room without looking at her.

  Finally just she and Walt were left.

  Walt didn’t say anything at first, then he simply shrugged.

  “I don’t want to be one of the local jocks and sit around laughing at dirty jokes, Walt. I don’t want to be one of the boys.”

  “So what do you want to be, Sonny?”

  “I want to be neuter.”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  “You watch. I am going to be so sexless in this job that after a while nobody will think of me as a woman.”

  “A hundred bucks says someone will come on to you before six months is up.”

  “You got it,” she said, slapping his hand.

  “On second thought, make it a night with you at the Inn at Little Washington.”

  “Are you coming on to me?”

  “Yeah. You just lost your bet.”

  * * *

  It was the cutback at 3:00 P.M. Allison and “the boys” stood around the national desk discussing length of stories. Once again she watched Malkin to see how he conducted his business. Soon to be hers.

  “Spill. Gulf of Mexico. Twenty-five inches long. Everybody happy with that? Who’s unhappy? Did you address Jack’s concerns?”

  “Not all of it,” was the reply.

  “Well, I’m not going to change the lead.”

  “What about tanker? Can we keep it to sixteen?”

  “I still don’t see why they can’t be one story.”

  Allison found her mind wandering as she listened to the men discuss the stories. She was still jet-lagged and her concentration wasn’t the greatest. And, she felt a bit shell-shocked. There was so much to learn and the terrain was perilous. Not only that, she had a long evening with Des coming up. She would have killed to be able to go home, have a glass of wine, a hot bath, and collapse into bed. But Des had planned a birthday dinner and probably a long talk. She didn’t know whether she could get through it. All she knew was that she wanted to have an unstressful time. But Des’s voice had sounded so full of meaning.

  She was musing to herself when she looked up and saw, standing halfway across the newsroom, one of the best-looking men she had ever seen in her life. He was talking on the telephone and taking notes, his notebook balanced on the top of his computer, his phone cupped under his chin. She thought she knew everyone in the newsroom, but she had certainly never seen him before. His sandy hair was flopping over one eye, his tie was loosened around his neck, his khaki suit jacket wrinkled.

  He finished his conversation, hung up the phone, and took off his jacket, tossing it in a heap on his already hopelessly messy desk. His shirtsleeves were already rolled up but he jerked his tie even looser and began rifling through the pile of papers. Finally he looked up, seeming to search the newsroom for somebody. As he did he met her eyes and they stared at each other for a moment before he looked down again and continued to go through his papers.

  “Malkin,” she said, without taking her eyes off the stranger. “Who’s that guy over there, the one in shirtsleeves standing up? I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Oh, that’s Tyson. From Savannah. Hot shit. Fearless little fucker. He’s after the drug boys. The way he’s going about it he’s likely to get his brains blown out before he’s through. He’s a pain in the ass, too. He’s got his own agenda, and if it coincides with ours fine, if not that’s tough.”

  “He doesn’t look little to me.”

  “I mean age. He’s only in his thirties.”

  “I guess I should introduce myself to him.”

  “Hey, Sonny, just stand warned. The guy is not a piece of cake. He’s very difficult and if he weren’t a major talent he’d have been outta here so fast it would make your head swim.”

  “I hear you.”

  As she walked toward his desk she instinctively ran her fingers through her hair and smoothed her skirt. He watched her approach but there was neither a hint of a smile nor any sign of recognition on his face. Or appreciation for that matter. Allison was not used to having men look at her and not appreciate her.

  She stuck out her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Allison Sterling. I’ve just started as national editor. I think you’re the only person on the staff I’ve not met. You came when I was in London.”

  “Tyson,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a cursory shake. “Sprague Tyson.”

  His glance was cool and appraising. Not of her as a woman but of her as a boss.

  “I look forward to working with you,” she said, trying to sound warm, though his gaze gave her a chill. “You have quite a reputation.”

  “I’ll try to live up to it.”

  There was only a trace of a Southern accent, and strangely it hardened rather than softened him. He had not taken his eyes off hers, and she finally glanced away to avoid his penetrating stare.

  “Well, at any rate,” she began. She couldn’t believe she sounded nervous. “I’d like to take you to lunch sometime in the next few weeks. I’m trying to get around and talk to everybody on the staff—”

  “I don’t do lunch.”

  There was almost a contemptuous tone.

  “It’s a waste of time. I’m usually out on the streets then anyway.”

  That last sentence. An afterthought. Had he realized how rude he sounded?

  “Fine. Then at your earliest convenience I’d appreciate it if you’d come to my office so we can discuss your project.”

  She saw him wince and she realized he was about to speak up. She hurriedly finished what she was about to say.

  “I realize that you are reporting to Warburg but he and Fineman have asked me to work directly with you on a day-to-day basis. Why don’t you check your schedule and let me know tomorrow when you would like to sit down and talk? Or do you not sit down either?”

  Before he could answer she had turned and walked away. She was stunned to find herself shaking slightly. She wondered if he realized how angry she was. She didn’t want him to see that he had gotten to her, but she also didn’t like the fact that he had managed to upset her so. She never got angry like that. And here was someone she was going to have to work with very closely.

  She was sitting at her desk when Malkin walked in with a grin on his face.

  “Not a scratch on you,” he said reassuringly.

  “What a prick,” she said. “I can’t believe him. Who does that little son of a bitch think he is?”

  “He’s not that little.”

  “Age, Malkin. I’m talking about his age.”

  * * *

  “Sonny?”

  “Oh, hi, Des.”

  “What’s the matter. You sound depressed.”

  “Oh, nothing. Nothing that a case of sleeping pills wouldn’t cure.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I don’t know, Des. Maybe I’m just not cut out to be an editor. Particularly an editor of men. Men on the national staff.
Arrogant, cocky men who think they know everything and think because you’re a woman you’re basically a piece of ass or an airhead or at least not worthy of respect. It’s been a very tough day. Happy birthday, by the way. I’m afraid I’m not going to be a million laughs tonight. Poor Des. I came all the way back from London early so I could be here for your birthday and now I’m an exhausted mess.”

  “We’ll fix that. I thought you might be a little strung out after today, not to mention jet-lagged. So I’ve planned a little dinner at home tonight. That way we can talk.”

  There was something in his tone that made her uneasy, but she decided it was just her imagination.

  “Oh, Des, you angel, I love you, I adore you. I’m mad about you.”

  “How does caviar, baked potato, and champagne sound?”

  “Perfect, and if I can have a hot bath and dinner in bed, I’m yours.”

  “I’ve even got my own birthday cake for dessert.”

  He wasn’t going along with her suggestive teasing, very unlike Des.

  “Well, I’ve got a can of chocolate icing I plan to smear all over your body and lick off for dessert.”

  “What time do you think you’ll be out of there?”

  “In time to light your candle and blow it out.”

  She felt he was struggling not to respond to her silliness. Though after her last remark he did begin to chuckle, almost, it seemed, in spite of himself.

  “You should have more terrible days like this,” he said.

  “Is that your birthday wish?”

  “We’ll discuss that later.”

  * * *

  “May I see you for a second, Allison?”

  Lauren Hope, the congressional correspondent, stuck her head into Allison’s little glass cubicle just as she was hanging up with Des. She glanced quickly at her watch. It was a little after five-thirty. She was desperate for a cup of tea, a habit she had picked up in London. The evening story conference was at six-thirty, so she had an hour.

  “I was just going down to the cafeteria for a cup of tea. Why don’t you join me?” she said.

  “Great, just let me get my purse.”

  Allison tried not to stare at Lauren’s belly as they went down in the elevator. She still showed no visible signs of pregnancy. Allison was curious as to what it felt like in a way she had never been before. It surprised her. She didn’t want to bring it up. She was embarrassed, even though she knew that that was what Lauren wanted to talk about. She didn’t even know why she thought it was embarrassing. Perhaps because she had always looked at pregnancy as an affliction of some kind. She had always felt somewhat contemptuous of women who were pregnant, as though they had allowed themselves to become inferior, lesser beings.

  Lauren chatted amiably as she poured herself some coffee.

  “Decaf,” she was saying. “It’s driving me crazy. I can’t function without caffeine. But no caffeine while I’m pregnant. No anything. No booze, no cigarettes, no medicine. They’re really so strict now about what you can have and do. It’s terrible.”

  They were sitting at a table near the window and Lauren was smiling as she looked out the window and watched the turning October leaves swirl around in the breeze.

  “Just think, it will be spring when I’m due. New buds on the trees. What a perfect time to have a baby.”

  Allison felt awkward. She couldn’t think of a thing to say but Lauren didn’t seem to notice.

  “If only I can just get through the next couple of months. This morning sickness is really getting me down. It’s as bad as they say it is. Worse.”

  Here was this redheaded, freckle-faced woman just jabbering away about her stupid pregnancy as though it were something to be proud of. In fact, she was not doing her job and should be apologizing, should be asking for a second chance. Allison was appalled. At what point was she going to tell Allison she knew she was letting the paper down and ask for a less demanding assignment? This attitude was not acceptable.

  “So when do you plan to take your leave?” Allison was trying to sound nonjudgmental.

  “Well, the Daily only allows six weeks paid maternity leave and I plan to take at least three months off after the baby comes. So I guess I’ll just keep on working until the big day. Or as near as possible, depending on how I feel.”

  “Well, we’ll have to work out some accommodation for that time. You’ll need some backup in your job. I was thinking about giving Estrella some of your assignments now. He can fill in for you on the days you don’t feel well and during the time you’re away. Which I suspect will be longer than three months.”

  Lauren’s face went white.

  “Estrella? He wants my job in the worst way. He’s sick of covering the agencies. He’s been trying to weasel his way up on the Hill for the last year and now that I’m pregnant he sees his big chance.”

  She was now very angry.

  “Really?”

  Allison was genuinely surprised, both at what Lauren had to say and at the depth of her anger.

  “Yes, really. I’d just as soon keep that little shit away from my beat if you don’t mind, Allison.”

  “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about him, Lauren,” she said carefully. “I’m sorry. But he is a good reporter and he is hungry and available and he does know the Hill. I don’t see that we have any choice. I’m sure you agree that the paper needs to be covered in Congress. If you continue to have morning sickness we can’t let ourselves get beat by not sending anyone. This way Estrella will be conversant enough with the beat that he’ll be able to take over for a few months while you’re gone.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Allison. But I can’t hack Estrella. The guy is a snake. We’ll have to find another solution.”

  “I’ll be happy to consider any suggestions, Lauren. What did you have in mind?”

  She couldn’t help but be aware that they were calling each other by name with each sentence and the tone was getting testier and testier.

  “I had in mind that I would do my own job. Occasionally somebody who might be free on the national staff would fill in if I couldn’t make it. I did not envision having someone actually assigned to take over my job on a semi-permanent basis, Allison.”

  Lauren’s eyes were beginning to get misty and Allison could see she was going to have to calm her down. But the more Lauren talked the madder Allison got. She seemed oblivious to the needs of the desk or the paper. It was all about what was good for her.

  “Look, Lauren. I know this is a difficult and emotional time for you. I understand that and I respect that.”

  She didn’t do either but she felt she had to say it.

  “But your job is to cover the story and my job is to make sure the story gets covered. If you can’t do your job, then it’s my job to make sure somebody can. It makes more sense to have someone who’s on top of things cover your beat on a regular basis when you’re not around than to assign some hit-and-run artist. We’ll get creamed if we do that and if we get creamed who is going to have to answer for it? What am I going to say? Lauren didn’t want Estrella to do it because she was scared he would run away with her job? Think about it.”

  Lauren was fighting back the tears now. She reached into her handbag, pulled out a Kleenex and tried to wipe her eyes without anyone else in the cafeteria seeing her.

  Finally she turned to Allison.

  “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you, of all people. Everyone else, the men, have been wonderful, so understanding and supportive. The few stories I’ve missed, they just picked up the wires. It was no big deal. Now you come in here, the first woman national editor, well-known feminist, and chew my ass off. What’s going on with you, Allison?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on, Lauren. What’s going on is that I am the first woman national editor and that means I have to do a better job than any national editor before me. Because if I don’t they’ll say that women can’t hack it. You don’t have any idea what’s going on behind our ba
cks. These guys are just sitting there waiting for us to fail. They like to think they’re such liberal feminists but in their very guts they’d like to see us all barefoot and pregnant. You are conforming to their vision of what a woman should be and do. You have now attained nonperson status. If you don’t do your job now they can forgive you because you’re just a woman anyway and a pregnant woman at that. They’d rather lose a story than lose their perception of what women should be. Well, Lauren, I’m sorry, but I’m not buying into that. You do your best work or you’re history. I don’t mean to be cold-hearted. I’m just realistic. If I let it happen once it hurts all of us. You included. My attitude about pregnancy is the same as if somebody took a leave to write a book. This is not an illness. This is elective. If you took a leave to write a book I’d put Estrella on your beat and you wouldn’t dare say a word about it. Having a baby doesn’t make you special. I like you, Lauren, and I think you’re a great reporter. There’s nobody covering the Hill who does a better job. But if you’re not cutting it, you, more than anyone, should have pride enough and guts enough to say that you’re not. You should step aside and let someone else do it until you can cut it again. Any other attitude is unprofessional and you are a professional.”

  Lauren didn’t say anything for a while. She just sat there twisting her tissue and trying not to cry.