Bubbles Ablaze by Sarah Strohmeyer Page A

folding her large arms. Despite her extra weight, she was a striking woman. Strong, not fluffy. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
    â€œWho is this?” Mr. Salvo asked.
    â€œIt’s Bubbles. I’ve got a hell of a story.” I turned back to Louise. “I can do the basics. Foundation through eye shadow and a bang trim.”
    â€œAww Christ.” It irked Mr. Salvo when my other life as a hairdresser intruded. “Don’t tell me you’re doing that girlie stuff.”
    Louise glanced at her watch. “Okay. But we have to do it fast. I’ve got to be back at my desk in a half hour.”
    â€œI don’t have time for this,” Mr. Salvo said. “Call me back.”
    â€œHold on.” I led Louise over to an empty chair. Roxanne pulled open a drawer to reveal the makeup supplies. “You want bold or neutral?” I asked.
    â€œWhat?” Mr. Salvo said.
    â€œNot you. I’m doing a makeover.”
    â€œNeutral,” Louise said. “I’m at work, remember?”
    I pinned Louise’s hair back and began to dab her face with a cotton ball to clean it. “You hear about what happened to me?”
    â€œWhat happened to you?” Louise asked.
    â€œYeah, I heard,” said Mr. Salvo. “A little tip? If I ever send you on assignment, it will never be by fax. I’ve been in this business for over twenty years and I never, not once, heard of an editor sending a reporter to cover a story by fax. What were you thinking?”
    â€œSo glad to know you’re safe and sound, Bubbles,” I said, shaking out foundation onto my fingertip. “What a horrible ordeal you went through.”
    â€œOh, don’t start with the guilt trip. I’ve left dozens of messages on your answering machine at home, making sure you were okay. So what’s the big story?”
    As I blended in the foundation lines, I filled in Mr. Salvo about the press conference and the documents Roxanne reportedly possessed. By the time I was finished, I had applied a transparent brown lipstick and mentally written the lead to the story.
    â€œWow,” Louise said, examining herself in the mirror. “I want that lipstick.”
    â€œNext week. You can work on that story next week,” Mr. Salvo said. “In the meantime, I want to inform you of a change in the schedule. You’re on for Sunday day shift. I’m thinking of sending you to the Catasauqua Republicans’ annual barbeque.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThis lipstick,” Louise said, holding up the tube. “I want it. How much?”
    Roxanne, aware of my growing desperation, came to the rescue and led Louise over to the makeup counter. I focused my attention on Mr. Salvo.
    â€œYou’re not going to tell me this story is out of our circulation area, are you?”
    â€œNo,” he said. “Lehigh Steel has a historical connection to McMullen Coal and the other coal companies in that area. Hell, the Lehigh Valley Railroad physically connects the two. Our readers will definitely be interested in what you’ve got. Just not tomorrow.”
    This man was becoming impossible. Almost as bad as his evil boss, Dix Notch. “But we could run an exclusive proving that Carl Koolball was a bona fide whistleblower who is now being smeared by McMullen Coal who may have been robbing coal to avoid state oversight. Are you telling me you don’t want that?”
    Mr. Salvo sighed. “What I want, Yablonsky, is two moreeditors on the night desk. As it is, it’s just me and Griffin tonight to handle three school board meetings and a profile that’s as thick as mud on the mayoral candidates. I’ll be damned if I have to unravel some overly complicated forty-inch saga you call in to Cora at the last minute.”
    I was silent. Fuming.
    â€œBesides,” he added, “Thursday is poker night. I missed last week and I told the guys I’d get there by