Heart of Cole

by Micheal Maxwell

  “I suppose so,” Cole answered.

  “None of which means a damn to me. This paper is an albatross around the neck of the corporation. My job is to cut the fat, turn a profit, and bring this dinosaur into the twenty-first century. According to HR, you have two years to go on a bloated, overpaid, unjustified, iron-clad contract. You make too much, and you work too little. I can’t fire you because your contract has an air-tight severance package, thanks to my predecessor who, I understand, is an old friend of yours.”

  “So, Mr. Faraday?” Cole said, loving the ironic tone.

  “So, Mr. Sage, I am stuck with you.”

  “It would seem we are stuck with each other.” Cole was beginning to feel his anger rising up.

  “That is the case.”

  “Let me ask you something,” Cole began.

  “I don’t think…” Faraday interrupted.

  Cole pressed on, and a bit louder than the editor, “What paper did you come from?”

  “I didn’t. I come from finance and acquisitions.”

  “That explains your total lack of understanding of the history, tradition, and value of the press.”

  “Like that overpaid jock that was in here before you? Sports should be a list of scores like the Dow. Pages of retelling accounts of silly games are a waste of paper. But, there is an element of society that must relive the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. I prefer my news online, and capsulized, so I don’t waste time being bothered with things I don’t like. Which brings us back to you, Mr. Sage.”

  “You should have been a writer, you have such a way of turning a phrase,” Cole said, confident that Faraday didn’t know he was being insulted.

  “I can’t be flattered, Mr. Sage, nor can I be swayed from my course. Your column needs to be more focused. Who gives you your assignments?”

  “No one.”

  “It shows. There is no pattern, no continuity, and no consistent political ideology. From now on I will assign the topic, and the final approval will come through me. You are an expensive racehorse, Mr. Sage. I am here to see you hit homeruns and convey the agenda of this organization.”

  I just hope they don’t put all their eggs in one basket, and it misfires. Cole fought to keep the smile from his face. You want to mix metaphors? Never tell a writer he doesn’t know how to paint! Cole nearly giggled at his own thoughts.

  “So, Mr. Sage, here is your first assignment. Father Thomas Melo is leading the fight to keep San Francisco a sanctuary city. Frankly, I don’t care one way or the other, but this is a liberal city and we need to back the play of our movers and shakers. I want a piece done on Melo that makes him out to be the next Mother Teresa. We run it this weekend.” Faraday stood and began walking to the door. “Understood?”

  Cole didn’t move. He didn’t turn his head. He spoke as if Faraday was still sitting at his desk. “That’s not what I do.”

  “How’s that?” Faraday fairly choked on the words. It was apparent he was not used to having his order questioned.

  “I don’t write puff pieces to reinforce someone’s public image. That’s what PR firms are for.”

  “So, I’ll order a new sign for your door. Now, if you don’t mind, I have more weeds to pull.”

  Cole didn’t move for a long moment. Then, he stood with his back still to Faraday. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Turning, he walked toward the editor pausing for a moment in front of him. The height difference was substantial. Cole was standing close enough to smell the splash of his three hundred dollar a bottle Clive Christian cologne, and sensed he was seriously invading the new editor’s personal space. There was a battle of wills playing out. Cole understood the dynamic: Faraday couldn’t step back without showing what he perceived as weakness. Cole had no intention of moving for a while longer. He was enjoying the thought that this little bully was getting a taste of his own medicine. Unspoken, non-threatening, Cole wasn’t angry or hostile, but he was making Faraday extremely uncomfortable, and it showed.

  Cole smiled broadly and said, “I think we understand each other quite well.”

  Faraday didn’t respond, but Cole heard the new editor let his breath out as he walked through the doorway.

  A door just opened, and there was no question as to if Cole would go through it, just when. Faraday was just a minor player in life’s plan. People come and go in life, and Cole knew in the end, Joseph Faraday would be nothing more than a footnote.

  Hanna and Lindsey, the aspiring writer, had not returned when Cole reached his office. He flipped through the mail, but didn’t bother to open any letters. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t frustrated. He was done. He neatly stacked the mail in a tight pile and set an old bronze “S” paperweight on the pile.

  “We’re back!” Hanna called from her desk.

  Cole walked out and joined Hanna and Lindsey. “Well, young lady, do you still want to work in a newspaper?”

  “It seems a bit confining. But if it’s what I need to do to be a real writer, I guess so.”

  “All the walking around must have made you two hungry. Ready for lunch?” Cole glanced over at Hanna.

  “Sounds good to me,” Hanna said.

  “Me, too,” Lindsey agreed.

  “Then we’re off!” Cole raised his pointed index finger to the sky.

  Chapter Three

  Lunch consisted of chicken strips and fries for Lindsey, and a salad with oil and vinegar for Hanna. Cole ordered two brownies and a café mocha. The conversation was light, and hit on a dozen non-threatening subjects before Cole got down to what he really wanted to know.

  “Tell me something, Lindsey, what part of the city do you live in?”

  “Near the Tenderloin. On Eddy Street above a gay Karaoke bar.”

  “Kind of a tough neighborhood, huh?’ Cole took a sip of his mocha.

  “Can be. I’ve been there since I was six, so some of the old guys look out for me. It can get scary ‘specially when it’s late. I try to get home before two.”

  “What time is school out?” Hanna asked.

  Lindsey laughed and replied, “Not in the afternoon, at night.”

  “You’re out of school at two in the morning?” Hanna was trying not to seem as shocked.

  “I’m not trying to be nosey, just trying to get acquainted.” Cole broke of a piece of brownie and watched Lindsey dip another French fry in the mayonnaise she had squeezed onto her plate. “What’s your mom do?”

  “Meth.” Lindsey said as nonchalant as if she were telling the time.

  “No, I meant for work.”

  “Whore sometimes, panhandles at the Wharf, mostly lives off my grandma’s Social Security, and guys she brings home.”

  “You seem pretty relaxed with the life.” Cole smiled.

  “I suppose if I walked into it today I might find it off-putting, but after a lifetime of it you tend to become desensitized.” Lindsey didn’t look up.

  “You’re a pretty smart kid. Do you read a lot?”

  “I like to surf the net at the library. Did you know that Barack Obama never had a real job? I was reading the other day that he went to college, did community organizing in Chicago, whatever that is, and then went into politics. Is that crazy or what? Oh, and I read that Hitler wanted to be an artist, but they wouldn’t let him into art school. Man, that must have really pissed him off. You know what I think? I think the head guy at the school was a Jew. Think about it. That could be why Hitler hated the Jews so much.” Lindsey reached in her pocket and took out a palm-sized notebook and a pen. She flipped back several pages and began writing feverishly.

  “Notes?” Hanna asked.

  “Yeah, I’m going to do some research on that Hitler idea.” Lindsey stared down at her notes and nodded her head.

  “You know, I have carried a notepad in my pocket since I was in college. All of us geniuses do.” Cole winked at Lindsey.

  “If I don’t, I forget things. I get a lot of ideas and I don’t want to lose them.”

  “H
ow old are you again? I have the same problem! But mine is old age.”

  Lindsey looked up at Cole and giggled. “This is nice.”

  “What’s that?” Hanna asked.

  “Sitting and talking to real adults who aren’t high on something, who actually listen to me. Ask me questions about me. It’s nice. Almost never happens.”

  “I like it too,” Cole nodded. “Say, if we were to figure out a way to get you to school on a more regular basis, and a way for you to spend some time here at the paper, who do we get permission from? Mom or grandma?”

  “I don’t need permission. I do what I want. Nobody cares.”

  “I care, and I’m pretty sure the paper will care. For insurance and stuff, you know?” Cole tried to play down any impression of responsibility in hopes of getting Lindsey to agree to more structure in her life.

  “In that case, grandma. She is my guardian really.”

  “OK, when we finish we’ll go back to my office, make a few calls, and see what we can come up with. Whaddaya say?”

  “You know something, Mr. Sage?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You always say ‘we’ not ‘I’. I think that’s cool.”

  “It’s your life. We’re trying to get you on track to be a real writer, like you said.”

  “I think we are going to be friends. Are you what normal is like?”

  “Oh, hell no!” Hanna blurted out. “I’m normal. He’s a writer!”

  Lindsey smiled broadly and looked at Cole with pure admiration. “Then I’m not going to be normal either.”

  Cole worked the phone for nearly an hour before he got what he wanted. He tried hard to not let the bureaucrats at Lindsey’s school, and paper shufflers in HR, hear his frustration with their lack of imagination.

  Finally, he was able to get a young sounding woman at the San Francisco Unified School District on the speaker phone who agreed with Cole that a work experience internship at the paper could be the carrot dangling in front of Lindsey that just might keep her on the road to success. The woman was willing to fax Cole the necessary paperwork, and he promised to get all the required signatures.

  “I think we’re set. Be on the lookout for a fax.”

  “Here it comes,” Hanna replied.

  Lindsey was writing in her notebook when Cole exited his office. She was so focused she didn’t look up.

  “She’s been at it since we got back,” Hanna said.

  The stairwell was gloomy, and dark green paint chips from the wall covered the stairs. The hollow, unpainted door was missing a long, thick section of veneer. Lindsey grabbed the doorknob, gave it a quick hard jerk upward, a stiff shove, and the door opened.

  “Nice lock, huh?” Lindsey stuck her head in the partially opened door and yelled, “Grandma, I’m home! Got company!”

  The door opened to a view of a large wall, badly in need of paint, and the windows at the front of the apartment. The floor was cluttered with beer cans, paper, styrofoam take-out boxes, and clothes.

  “Come in to my humble abode. Careful not to step on any needles.”

  Hanna pushed Cole from behind, not wanting to be the first one to enter. Inside the apartment was a table with three chairs, a broken down sofa with a mismatched stained recliner that set with its back to a hallway. Shoved in a corner was a gold metal TV stand and a small flat screen television. The TV looked strangely out of place in the disarray and filth of the apartment.

  Sitting in the middle of the room was a woman of indeterminate age. Her hair was fiery copper on the bottom four or five inches, and a dingy, six months of grey growth coming from her scalp. Across her lap was a knitted throw and a skinny black and white cat.

  The woman didn’t change her expression or greet Lindsey and her guests. The woman’s eyes were a milky blue and void of life. At first Cole thought she was blind, but then she looked up at him.

  “What’s all this?” the old woman said.

  “These are my new friends, Grandma. This is Cole Sage, the famous newspaperman. “And this,” Lindsey said, putting her hand on Hanna’s shoulder, “is his assistant.”

  “What have they got to do with you? Why’d you bring them here?” The Grandmother’s expression changed to one of suspicion and anger.

  “Nice to meet you. Lindsey has told us a lot about you.” Cole smiled and gave the woman in the wheelchair a nod.

  “They are going to help me become a real writer.”

  “Bullshit. Nobody does nothin’ for nobody in this world. What’s your angle?” The woman glared up at Cole. “What’s she got to do with anything?” she asked, jerking her head toward Hanna.

  “She thought it would be good if she came along, since I’m a girl.”

  “You afraid he’ll touch my Lindsey?”

  “Hardly,” Hanna said firmly. “These days appearances are everything and it is better for young girls not be taken places alone with men.”

  “Grandma, the reason they’re here is to get you to sign some papers for the school and the newspaper saying it’s OK for me to go after school for work experience.”

  “You get paid?”

  “No, it’s for school credits. I have to go to school as part of the deal.”

  “Then that damned attendance woman will stop calling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that would be something.”

  “Here’s what we’ve got,” Cole said, slipping two sheets of paper from an envelope he took from his jacket pocket. “On this form you give your permission for Lindsey to come to my office after school. This form is from our personnel office, registering her as an intern.” Cole handed the papers to the grandmother along with a pen.

  “Why wasn’t I invited to the party?”

  A bone thin woman stepped in from the hallway. She wore a grimy pair of red Forty-Niners sweatpants and a man’s sleeveless undershirt. Her sagging breasts were evidence of her lack of undergarments. Her arms and neck were covered with purple and greenish bruises. Her neck bore signs of being choked, and the right side of her face was in the final recovery days of a black eye.

  She moved across the room and extended her hand to Cole. “I’m Natalie.” She turned and glared at Lindsey. “House rules, girly, you turn tricks, I get half.”

  She stood uncomfortably close to Cole and he could smell the acrid stench of methedrine. Her face was worn beyond her years and her dancing eyes and dilated pupils showed she was heavily under the influence. She looked up at him and smiled revealing a mouth missing two teeth and a serious lack of oral hygiene. “You’re kind of cute. You and I could have a real grown-up party. None of that kid’s stuff. I know things we can do that she’s never dreamed of. Fifty bucks and I’ll turn you inside out. Whaddaya say?”

  “I say you are embarrassing your daughter to death. I’m here to get her guardian’s signature for her school and my newspaper, for a work experience program.” Cole stepped back.

  “I guess if you’re hittin’ at that, you don’t need to pay after all.” Natalie turned and grinned at Hanna. Hanna stood by stoically.

  “Have you signed the papers?” Cole turned back to the grandmother.

  “There you go, my best Marie Schoenberg.”

  Cole reached down and took the forms and slipped them back into the envelope. He turned and smiled at Lindsey. “All done.”

  As he turned to go, Natalie reached out and grabbed Cole’s arm. “I got an idea. A hundred bucks and all four of us can go back to the bedroom and get really acquainted. We can get naked and I’ll have you clawing the wall paper off the walls.”

  “You are about the most disgusting piece of…” Hanna was silenced by a man coming from the hall.

  “What’s going on here? Who the hell are you?” The man’s tone was hostile and threatening. His greasy hair hung far below his shoulders. He wore a beard that only in patches covered his raw meth-induced acne.

  “If I were the least bit interested, I would ask you the same.” Cole glanced at Hanna, signaling i
t was time to go.

  Before anyone had a chance to move, the man crossed the room and shoved Natalie out of the way.

  “Stevie!” Natalie squealed.

  “You hittin’ on my old lady? Who do you think you are?”

  Cole chuckled at the stupidity of the question. “If she was the last woman on earth, I’d consider a gay lifestyle. On the other hand, I might just kill myself.” Cole laughed, shook his head and gave the man a sneer.

  “You gonna let him insult me like that, baby?” Natalie’s voice went up an octave with the possibility of her honor being defended.

  “I think you need your ass kicked to teach you some manners.” Stevie’s fists were clinched and he was tensed, ready to strike.

  “Let’s go,” Cole said to Hanna.

  “What about Lindsey?” Hanna asked.

  “Up to her.” Cole looked at the girl and saw fear in her eyes. “Maybe she better come too.”

  “Says who? Stevie stepped closer to Cole.

  “Look, Tiger, we don’t want any trouble. We came here trying to do the kid some good.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You tell him, baby!” Natalie chimed in.

  “You really don’t want to get involved. Just pay Natalie here the twenty bucks for her services and leave well enough alone.”

  From his back pocket Stevie pulled a knife. In a heartbeat the blade was open and he waved it in front of Cole.

  “Stevie, you stop it now!” the grandmother shouted. “Natalie, make him stop!”

  “I’m thinking I’m going to show you what happens when you wander into places you’re not welcome.”

  “It strikes me that thinking may not be your strong suit, so I’m going to give you a moment to reflect on what is obviously going to be a bad decision.”

  “You think you’re better than me, comin’ in here insulting my woman, showing off for your lady friend and…” There was a long pause while Stevie tried desperately to remember Lindsey’s name. Finally he said, “The kid there. I’m going to beat you blind.”