Private affairs : a novel by Judith Michael Page B

leaving Artner alone. The pressman, Axel Chase, walked in, followed by the advertising manager, the production manager, and the two photographers. No one went near Artner, who stood at his desk, rolling a pencil between his palms.
    Matt went to the door. "Come on in, Cal," he said, his voice carrying through the newsroom. But they all came in and stood in what looked like a protective semicircle behind Artner.
    Matt's shoulders stiffened. As he stood, with Elizabeth beside him, the room was divided into two groups facing each other across his desk. Matt gazed at the uninvited staff, thinking of asking them to leave. Then, mentally, he shrugged. What the hell; it was a small paper; they were all involved. "Since this has become a staff meeting," he said evenly, "we'll discuss the first item now, then continue with the regular Friday meeting in the newsroom, where there are chairs for everyone."

No one spoke. "Cal, I assume you know you're fired. I'm damned if I can figure out why you pulled that half-assed trick after I'd expressly forbidden it, and I'm sorry, because you're a good reporter, but you can't work for me—for us—and do your own thing as if we don't exist. This staff takes orders or it doesn't work here. Clean out your desk; I want you gone by ten."
    "Matt." Barney Kell looked like a worried father. "Would you take a few minutes to think this over? We don't want—"
    "I've thought it over," Matt said curtly. "Elizabeth and I have talked about nothing else since we saw yesterday's paper."

    "God damn it," Herb Kirkpatrick sputtered, "can't you see that we're standing with Cal? We won't allow an arbitrary firing—"
    "Not that way," Barney warned Kirkpatrick. "Matt, of course Cal shouldn't have done it; he knows it and he's ready to apologize and promise it won't happen again. But we don't want anyone fired."
    "It worries us," added Bill Dunphy earnestly. "If you fire one of us, who's safe? We work better, you know, when we feel secure."
    Axel Chase chimed in, "Everybody should get a second chance, right? Shouldn't penalize somebody for one slip—"
    "It was more than a slip," Barney objected.
    "Whatever," Kirkpatrick said. He challenged Matt. "We all go if Cal goes."
    "I don't . . ." Barney began, but then he stopped, uncomfortable, but standing with the others. Artner gave Matt a triumphant look and Elizabeth saw Matt's rigid back begin to give way: not a slump, but close. She put her hand on his arm, noticing that her fingers were trembling— Well why not? We could lose everything —and said to him, as if they were alone, "We're going to be busy, putting out the Chieftain by ourselves until we hire a new staff."
    Artner's eyes slid from Matt's face to hers. She looked at him contemptuously. "You disobey an order, you violate a sacred ceremony, and then you encourage others to destroy a newspaper. You get a tin star, Cal. I hope it makes you feel proud and grown up."
    "Good job," said Wally McLain under his breath.
    "Bullshit," Artner spat. "You couldn't turn out a one-page flyer without us. Who's kept this rag going all these weeks while you two've been playing editor?"
    "Cal, stop it," Barney ordered.
    "Good advice," said Elizabeth. "Don't you talk to us like—"
    "Fuck it, lady, you fired me, right? I'll talk any way I goddam please. You two babes in the woods had a chance to make this the best paper in New Mexico and you blew it. If you'd made me managing editor when Engle left, this place would be running like a fucking steam engine. That was my job! I waited five years for it and then those bastards sold out to a couple of spoiled, rich ignoramuses—married, for Christ's sake! Lovey-dovey, necking in the office, taking the whole show for themselves—and when they get bored, bring in somebody from the outside. Right? Not somebody who's waited five fucking years—"
    "Shut up, Cal." Kirkpatrick looked at Elizabeth. "He's saying we don't like the idea of outsiders taking jobs we've worked up to."
    "I