Picking up my fork, I sampled the tuna curry and instantly almost tore the roof of my mouth off. “Oh, my!” I panted as I lunged for my water glass.
“It’s a little on the spicy side,” Caroline conceded, “but for $3.99 a plate, what do you expect? You get what you pay for.” There was an almost menacing glint in her eyes as she spoke and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was telling me, namely that I’d already botched my entrance into the world of journalism by accepting such a low salary.
Slowly I ate my tuna curry, ignoring the burning sensation that accompanied every bite. While I agreed that Caroline had a point, I also wasn’t in the position to start anything. All I wanted was a job. Was that so much to ask for? “This is very good,” I said after a few minutes.
“It’s all right,” Caroline replied. Her pretty face grew determined. “Someday I’m going to have a job that gives me an expense account. When that happens, I’ll never eat lousy tuna curry again, I can promise you that.” She looked a little bit like Vivian Leigh swearing that she’d never be poor again in the scene right before the intermission in Gone with the Wind.
I believed her. There was something about Caroline that told me that she was the kind of person who always got what she wanted sooner or later. I continued to eat my tuna curry half wishing I’d gone home for lunch instead.
Chapter Four
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Steve told me later that night. We were both in our recliners with the news on, cocktails in our hands, and the tension of the day was quickly draining away. Dinner (lasagna) was in the crock pot, our son Tyler was out with friends and the house was blissfully serene. Taking a long sip of Chablis, I intended to make it even more serene. Steve continued. “You know what’s right for you, not Caroline Osborne. Personally, I think it would be pretty dumb to ask for a raise a few days after being hired.”
“Exactly. Besides, if all I’m going to do at the paper right now is make coffee and do some cleaning, then I don’t think I can complain about what they’re paying me,” I said and then I sighed. “Caroline doesn’t agree with me. She made me feel like I was a traitor to journalists everywhere because I settled for nine bucks an hour.”
“You aren’t a trained journalist, honey.”
“You’ve got that right!” I took another sip of wine, my forehead furrowed. “She did kind of make me wonder why the paper bothered to hire me in the first place,” I admitted.
“Don’t do that to yourself. You gave them your writing samples and they must have spotted potential in them or else they wouldn’t have hired you. Isn’t that what that Henderson guy said? And he’s the publisher so he should know what he’s talking about.”
“I guess he edits stuff too,” I said.
“See? He knows what’s good. And that the editor spotted potential in what you’d written, right?”
“Yes, but––”
“But nothing. A newspaper wouldn’t bother to hire someone as a reporter if what they really wanted was someone to clean for them. That’s way too complicated. The Kemper Times isn’t exactly known for being run by a group of evil geniuses and if you don’t believe me, read their editorials sometime.”
“That’s what I think too,” I said, feeling relieved to hear Steve’s take on my new work situation. “Besides, I’m sure I’ll get a raise once I’m there for a while.”
“I know you will. They’d be nuts not to keep you. Give yourself some time and let them see how terrific you are. In the meantime, don’t listen to Caroline Osborn. She sounds a little on the bitter side.”
“She’s very bitter, which is a shame because she’s a lovely girl and obviously quite smart and talented. I think she hates working for the paper but I can’t tell if it’s the Kemper Times in particular or newspapers in general. Maybe she’s burnt out. When I get to know her better, I’m going to suggest she get some job counseling. She’s too young to be so mad.”
“Well, if anyone can help her out, you’re the one, DeeDee. You did a great job with Jane. She’s always had her head on straight about what it takes to make it in the working world and that job she has at Kutrate Kemicals is fantastic. It’s such a relief not to have to worry about our daughter. Now Tyler, on the other hand––”
“Did I tell you that Tyler has another job interview tomorrow?” I said, interrupting Steve before he could get started on how our son apparently lacks having any kind of career goal other than becoming the next Eddie Van Halen or George Harrison or whoever Tyler’s latest guitar hero might be. I know Steve loves Tyler but I also know how frustrated he is over Tyler’s seeming lack of ambition. Steve is an extremely focused person, just like our daughter, while Tyler is a free spirit, just like yours truly. I’m sure that once Tyler decides what he wants to be when he grows up he’s going to do just fine. I’m not worried about him…too much, anyway.
Steve perked up. “He does? Where?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I certainly hope he gets something soon. He’s getting way too old to sleep until noon every day. Say, you never told me. Did you get an assignment today?”
“No, not yet.”
“It sure would be great if you could cover what’s happening at Jane’s company, that weight loss thing. That sounds like a real scoop.”
“I know. That kind of story might even get picked up by the AP. I’d love that.”
Steve reached over and squeezed my hand gently. “It will happen, DeeDee. After you’ve been there awhile I’m sure you’ll have more stories than you can handle and as soon as Jane gets the green light she’ll tell you and you’ll be the first journalist to write about the story.”
“I hope so but in the meantime I’ll try not to be so impatient. I have the feeling that I’m not going to feel like I really belong at the newspaper until I get that first assignment.”
“You’ll get it,” Steve assured me.
We both turned our attention to the news then but I have to admit that I was only half listening to what was happening in the rest of the world. I was more interested in what was happening in my tiny corner of it, namely my brand new job and what Caroline had implied over lunch that day. I sure hoped that it wasn’t what Caroline had said—that the paper wanted me more for my dusting skills than my writing skills and that I was a reporter in name only. If that was true it seemed like a pretty sneaky thing to do to a person. But as Steve had said, it would be stupid to pretend to hire me for one job only to have me do another. What would be the point of that?
Ours is not to reason why… My mother always said that whenever she couldn’t figure something out and I supposed she was right. Either Jeff or Kate would give me a story sooner or later or I’d continue to make things sparkle down at the paper and never interview anybody but the guy who came in to clean the bathrooms once a week—provided I happened to be at work on a Sunday. Either way there wasn’t much I could do other than try to absorb as much newspaper ambiance as much as I possibly could. That and keep bugging Jane about the weight loss spray story. Jeff said he didn’t want input from his reporters but surely he’d bend the rules if one of his reporters came across a really huge story, wouldn’t he?
Feeling better, I decided that the next day when I went to work I was going to do my best to get to know some of the other reporters a little better. I wanted to make a niche for myself at the newspaper and to do that I was going to have to like the people I worked with as well as like the work I was doing. After living with me for all these years, I know me pretty well. I have to be comfortable in my surroundings to perform at my optimum.
Tomorrow. Open mind. Positive attitude. This is all going to work out just fine.
Squaring my shoulders firmly, I got up and went into the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Steve asked.
“To get our dinner. I’m starving. Being a sort of Girl Reporter has really given me an appetite.”
“Well, I’m not a Boy Reporter but I’m starving too. I’ll take an extra b
ig serving of lasagna.”
“You got it,” I told my husband. “Want to eat in front of the TV since no one else is home?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Steve agreed.
“Are you DeeDee?” A man with sleepy-looking eyes paused next to my cubicle where I was busily using a toothpick to clean out the gunk that had accumulated between the desktop and the fabric covered wall.
“Yes,” I told him, happy to hear my name said out loud. Three days on the job and I was starting to feel invisible.
“I heard there was fresh meat in the newsroom. How are you doing?”
Fresh meat? Well, that was one way to look at it. “Fine. Great. I’m very happy to be here.”
Looking around the still empty newsroom, the man sighed. “Yeah, well, it beats standing on the corner with a sign announcing to the world that you’re homeless, I guess.”
“Um, what’s your name?” I asked. It felt wonderful to be talking to another human being. Who would have dreamed that journalism would be so lonely?
“Frank Austin. Sportswriter and resident blogger extraordinaire.”
This must be the Frankie Two-Face Caroline had mentioned. He didn’t look two-faced. He looked like a pretty nice guy. “It’s nice to meet you, Frank. You said that you blog? What do you blog about?”
Frank stared at me as he picked at a scab on his left thumb. “You’ve never read my blog? It has the highest readership on the paper.”
“I’m not really into reading blogs,” I admitted. “I like books.”
Frank stared at me like I’d just admitted that I liked eating sweat socks. “Everyone reads blogs. Or they should.” His voice became a touch patronizing. “I suppose it’s a generational thing.”
Since Frank and I were about the same age I felt comfortable disagreeing with him. “I’d say it’s more a technological thing. Blogs seem so cumbersome to me. You have to find them and pull them up—it’s a bother.”
“Cumbersome? You’re out of your mind. It’s a lot easier to read a blog than it is to read a book or a newspaper. Better graphics too.”
“Well,” I said doubtfully. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll have to check yours out.”
Frank laughed. “If you plan on working here for longer than two weeks, you’re going to have to do more than that. All of the reporters are required to have their own blog. Didn’t anyone tell you that?”
“No…are you serious?” My stomach sank. What on earth would I blog about? I was a wife, a mom—I had nothing to write about on a blog! “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m dead serious. We have to Twitter and do Facebook too. I suppose no one told you about those either?”
I shook my head. Of course I had heard of Twitter and I had a Facebook account but the only things I posted were pictures when Steve and I went on vacations and snapshots of any extra big tomatoes my garden happened to produce. “How often do we have to do those things?”
“At least once a week. More if possible but it usually isn’t possible. I mean, there’s just so much to blog about in a town the size of Kemper.”
“But what are we supposed to write about?”
Frank gave me a small smirk. “If I could tell you what to write about, DeeDee, why would the paper need to keep you around? I could do all of your writing and then management could give me a raise.”
He had a point. “I suppose you’re right. Well, I guess I’ll have to take a crash course in blogging.”
“I guess you will,” Frank agreed. “Good luck with that. Where’d you go to J school?”
“Where did you go?” I asked, turning the question around.
“The U along with everyone else. I thought maybe you went to someplace a little more impressive like Northwestern or the University of Missouri and that’s why they hired you at your age.”
“Actually my degree is in psychology.” From a city college but there was no way that I would share that tidbit with Frank. I wasn’t sure how much lower my reputation at the paper could go but I wasn’t in any hurry to help it along.
Frank laughed. “That should come in very handy working around here. Hey, I almost forgot. There’s a reason I’m talking to you. I’m supposed to tell you to go see Kate. She has an assignment for you.”
“Really?” I leaped up out of my chair, almost knocking it over in the process. “I thought Jeff handed out the assignments.”
“Kate…Jeff…there’s not much of a difference between the two of them. They’re both demanding, arrogant and can’t spell worth a darn.”
Jeff Henderson appeared behind Frank. “Who can’t spell worth a darn, Frank?”
Turning around, Frank instantly morphed into the perfect employee. “My next door neighbor’s kid. It just amazes me how he could be in high school and still not know how to spell ‘separate.’ What are kids learning in the public school system these days anyway?”
Jeff shrugged. “Tell me about it. My own kids can’t spell either and their teacher told them that’s what spell check is for on their computers. I don’t know why we pay teachers those outrageous salaries with our tax dollars.” He looked at me. “Kate wants to see you, DeeDee. I told her it was all right to give you your first assignment. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to it and I really can’t be bothered with something so minor.”
“No one ever forgets their first assignment,” Frank said in a tone of voice so sincere that it was almost nauseating. “I know I’ll never forget mine and I also know how much I’ve appreciated each and every assignment you’ve ever given me, Jeff.”
“Well, support the winners, that’s what I always say,” Jeff responded, “and with your batting average, you are most definitely one of our stars, Frank.”
Leaving Jeff and Frank to enjoy their mutual admiration society in private, I headed for Kate’s office, my heart pounding with anticipation. I hoped that my assignment would be something human interest oriented. I had the feeling that hard news and I were not going to like each other very much. I’m pretty much a wimp when it comes to things like blood, gore and violence, and while Kemper is for the most part an uneventful town, I still didn’t want to be sent out to cover a car accident or anything else that might end up with blood-stained sheets covering still warm bodies. I’d had enough of that during my last foray into the working world.
At Kate’s office, I knocked on the door. “Kate? Jeff said you wanted to see me.”
Kate was sitting in front of two large computer screens, the expression on her small face intense as her eyes darted back and forth between them. I glanced at the screens too and was surprised to see that she was watching what appeared to be surveillance cameras. One shot looked like the lobby of the newspaper and the other screen was of the back entrance where trucks picked up the papers that were ready to be delivered. “Where is that woman?” she muttered.
“Who?” I asked.
“Natalie Cooper. She’s our customer service rep but she’s never at her desk. This is the third time today I’ve caught her sneaking off.”
“Maybe she’s in the bathroom,” I suggested.
“I certainly hope not.” Kate pulled her attention away from the screens. “Bathroom breaks are scheduled for ten o’clock and three for her. She shouldn’t be anywhere but at her desk.”
“Well, nature calls,” I said weakly. Kate scheduled bathroom breaks for her underlings? Talk about micromanaging.
“Not on my watch,” Kate replied. She stared at me for a few seconds, apparently unsure of who I was. “Oh. DeeDee.”
“Yes. Frank said you wanted to see me,” I repeated.
“Right. I have an assignment for you.”
“Great!” I responded. “I’ve been looking forward to getting an assignment.”
Kate ignored my bubbling enthusiasm. “Go to this address and talk to Meryl Cunningham.” She held out a slip of paper for me.
Stepping into her office, I took the paper out of her hand and saw that it was for an address out in the county. “Ummm…wh
at am I supposed to talk to Ms. Cunningham about?”
“About her lead in the community theater’s production of Ten Little Indians.” Although she didn’t add a ‘duh’ at the end of her sentence, she did say it like I was supposed to know that vital bit of information through osmosis or extra sensory perception.
“Oh, I didn’t know that the community theater was doing Ten Little Indians.”
“Well, they are,” she said, clearly bored with our conversation. “I want about 800 words and I’d like them ASAP. That means ‘as soon as possible.’”
“Yes,” I said, “I know that.”
“Then what are you waiting for? You want a driver? Perhaps a chauffeured limousine?”
“No, I was just wondering if you wanted me to bring the photographer with me.”
Kate sighed loudly, sounding like a tire rapidly losing air. “I suppose so.”
“Um, how do I find a photographer?”
“Do I have to do everything around here?” Kate asked. “Maybe you’d like me to take you by the hand and lead you to where you’re supposed to go?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m new at all of this and no one has told me too much…” My voice dried up and dribbled down my throat under Kate’s laser-like glare.
“We have one photographer,” she said slowly and clearly like she was talking to someone who had just landed from Mars. “His name is Sam Weaver and his desk is the first desk in the newsroom. Go and tell him to come with you if he’s free. If he isn’t, try to take some photos with your phone. But if the photographer is free, drive together so the two of you can’t double charge for mileage. Got it?”
“Thank you,” I said although I felt like sticking my tongue out at her.
“Amateurs,” she muttered under her breath before turning to her computer screens, her attention back to searching for the hapless Natalie Cooper.
“All right. I’ll see you later.” Needless to say, I wasn’t surprised when Kate didn’t say good-bye, but I didn’t really care. My good mood had returned full blast. I had my first assignment and it wasn’t for anything gory. I happen to love theater stories and I knew that talking to Meryl Cunningham was going to be fascinating. I could hardly wait to get started.
Black and White and Dead All Over: A Midlife Crisis Mystery (Midlife Crisis Mysteries) Page 6
