threatening to sue the paper, and that set him off again. Elizabeth wanted to smash some= thing, shout at someone, vent her own frustration over the sidetracking of their plans, but she couldn't do any of those wonderfully violent things: she had to make coffee, sit at the kitchen table, and talk calmly to Matt. "We have to fire Cal."
Matt nodded, his mood swinging from rage to suspicion. "No question about it; Cal goes. But who else goes too? Someone did a new paste-up after you'd approved the front page, and sent it to the pressroom, and Axel Chase made a new plate from it ... Of course if you'd followed through—"
"What was that?" Elizabeth sat straight in her chair. "Am I one of those you're going to fire?"
"I said you didn't follow through. Did you?"
"I checked and initialed each page and when the plates were made I checked and initialed them. When the paper went to press, I assumed—"
"Incorrectly."
She took a long breath. "What about Matthew Lovell, editor-in-chief? Why didn't he follow through and check each page of the paper as it came out of the pressroom?"
"That's the managing editor's job."
"Which we supposedly share. I did my half. Are you saying I should do it all so you have someone to blame if we're sued?"
"It's not a question of blame; it's whether we're behaving like professionals or amateurs."
"We're learning to be professionals. And we made a mistake. We knew Cal was going to be trouble. I suppose when he didn't show up yesterday we should have paid more attention—"
"He works for you. Did you try to find him?"
"He works for us. And, no, I didn't. I was very busy yesterday, putting a newspaper together, and I had to spend time on an idiotic argument with Herb Kirkpatrick over whether a woman has the right to assign him to a story he doesn't want to do."
"I backed you up on that."
"Did you? Did you tell him I was the features editor and he was to follow my orders?"
"Yes."
"Or did you—" Elizabeth stopped short. "You did?"
"In almost those words."
She frowned. "That isn't what he said."
"What did he say?"
"That you told him no one else could take on an assignment at the last minute, and you promised him twice the space next week for his sheriff story."
Matt began to laugh. "The self-serving son of a bitch! I told him one thing: that he was a reporter and he'd been assigned a story and he'd damn well better write it."
After a moment, Elizabeth sat back in her chair. "I wish you'd told me yesterday."
"I had other things on my mind. You're taking things too seriously, my love."
44 Am I? How would you describe a man who talks as if he might fire his wife who is also his partner?"
Matt cleared his throat. "I'd say he's lost his mind. In the first place, I couldn't fire you; you own half the joint. In the second place—my God, Elizabeth, I couldn't run this place without you. I need your steady hand ... a partner to talk to. . . ."He frowned. "Which brings me back to the angry Nambes. What the hell are we going to do about them?"
"Apologize in print."
"They want more."
"Then we'll have to give it to them. We can't win this one, Matt; we're so clearly in the wrong."
"It's too bad you aren't writing your column yet: you could do a spectacular profile of one of their top people and that plus a front-page apology might make them feel so kindly they'd call off their lawyer. We can't afford a court case: we don't have the money and we need good publicity, not bad."
Elizabeth ran her finger around the edge of her coffee cup. "Who says I'm not writing my column?"
"You did. You said you were waiting to talk about it."
"But I could be writing it now. That's why I brought it up the other day. When we vetoed Cal's helicopter idea, I thought the next best thing would be a portrait of a Nambe leader."
"That's what you wanted to talk about? I thought you were just impatient even though you'd agreed to wait two months—"
"We weren't communicating very well," Elizabeth said quietly.
"No."
Matt nodded, his mood swinging from rage to suspicion. "No question about it; Cal goes. But who else goes too? Someone did a new paste-up after you'd approved the front page, and sent it to the pressroom, and Axel Chase made a new plate from it ... Of course if you'd followed through—"
"What was that?" Elizabeth sat straight in her chair. "Am I one of those you're going to fire?"
"I said you didn't follow through. Did you?"
"I checked and initialed each page and when the plates were made I checked and initialed them. When the paper went to press, I assumed—"
"Incorrectly."
She took a long breath. "What about Matthew Lovell, editor-in-chief? Why didn't he follow through and check each page of the paper as it came out of the pressroom?"
"That's the managing editor's job."
"Which we supposedly share. I did my half. Are you saying I should do it all so you have someone to blame if we're sued?"
"It's not a question of blame; it's whether we're behaving like professionals or amateurs."
"We're learning to be professionals. And we made a mistake. We knew Cal was going to be trouble. I suppose when he didn't show up yesterday we should have paid more attention—"
"He works for you. Did you try to find him?"
"He works for us. And, no, I didn't. I was very busy yesterday, putting a newspaper together, and I had to spend time on an idiotic argument with Herb Kirkpatrick over whether a woman has the right to assign him to a story he doesn't want to do."
"I backed you up on that."
"Did you? Did you tell him I was the features editor and he was to follow my orders?"
"Yes."
"Or did you—" Elizabeth stopped short. "You did?"
"In almost those words."
She frowned. "That isn't what he said."
"What did he say?"
"That you told him no one else could take on an assignment at the last minute, and you promised him twice the space next week for his sheriff story."
Matt began to laugh. "The self-serving son of a bitch! I told him one thing: that he was a reporter and he'd been assigned a story and he'd damn well better write it."
After a moment, Elizabeth sat back in her chair. "I wish you'd told me yesterday."
"I had other things on my mind. You're taking things too seriously, my love."
44 Am I? How would you describe a man who talks as if he might fire his wife who is also his partner?"
Matt cleared his throat. "I'd say he's lost his mind. In the first place, I couldn't fire you; you own half the joint. In the second place—my God, Elizabeth, I couldn't run this place without you. I need your steady hand ... a partner to talk to. . . ."He frowned. "Which brings me back to the angry Nambes. What the hell are we going to do about them?"
"Apologize in print."
"They want more."
"Then we'll have to give it to them. We can't win this one, Matt; we're so clearly in the wrong."
"It's too bad you aren't writing your column yet: you could do a spectacular profile of one of their top people and that plus a front-page apology might make them feel so kindly they'd call off their lawyer. We can't afford a court case: we don't have the money and we need good publicity, not bad."
Elizabeth ran her finger around the edge of her coffee cup. "Who says I'm not writing my column?"
"You did. You said you were waiting to talk about it."
"But I could be writing it now. That's why I brought it up the other day. When we vetoed Cal's helicopter idea, I thought the next best thing would be a portrait of a Nambe leader."
"That's what you wanted to talk about? I thought you were just impatient even though you'd agreed to wait two months—"
"We weren't communicating very well," Elizabeth said quietly.
"No."
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