and don’t particularly want.
“Is that what you said to Kirk? That I had a beautiful heart and it shouldn’t be hidden? Because if you did, he must have burst out laughing.”
“Actually, when I returned his call this morning I was much more erudite.”
Putting his hands on my shoulders and looking deep into my eyes, he says slowly, “I told him it was no business of his what my personal relationships were and that he could take his obnoxious question and shove it up his own ass.”
Oh, God. I feel sick. “That’s erudite, all right.”
"Yes,” he says, standing by and finally letting me go. “I thought so, too.”
Chapter Eight
Rumor is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures, . . .
—HENRY IV, PART TWO, INDUCTION
Perhaps Kirk didn’t take offense. Maybe this is the way men banter with one another, lots of swearing and ass jamming. In fact, out of all the answers Michael could have given, this wasn’t so bad, I decide. It didn’t conflict with my statement that Michael and I had had only a platonic relationship and Michael didn’t have to lie.
In retrospect, what he said was pretty darn brilliant.
And then I sit down at my computer, log in, and find this cryptic note highlighted in my inbox.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
RE: Michael Slayton
Julie----
Busy in meetings all morning and didn’t get a chance to talk to you
before I left to catch my flight back to D.C. Touched base with
Michael Slayton an hour ago. Some disturbing issues we need to
discuss in person.
Will try to call you tomorrow when I get back. Or sometime this
week.
Kirk
Disturbing issues? Why would he have disturbing issues? All Michael did was tell him to take his question and shove it up his own ass. How disturbing is that? Answer: very disturbing.
Okay, calm down, Julie. The way to get a handle on anxiety is to focus only on that which you can control. In this case, nothing.
Michael has—upon deep reconsideration— rudely and crudely told my future superior to do an unmentionable act. But what’s done is done and I can’t undo it until I talk to Kirk. Though I’m not sure what magic words I can summon to soften the blow.
Man, I wish I hadn’t drunk all that coffee. I’m sweating like a pig and my heart is racing so fast, I might be one of those statistical flukes, a woman in her early forties who drops dead of a massive myocardial infarction at her desk.
Where’s Valerie? If I ask whether Kirk interviewed her for the national election team this morning, she won’t hesitate to brag. Then I’ll know for sure if I’m cooked.
Valerie is nowhere to be found. Raldo, who’s heading out to lunch, says she’s off with Jason for the noon news conference on Amy Michak and then she’s going to stake out Rhonda, which means she might not return until after the evening report.
No. This can’t happen. Just when I’m about to call him and ask if he has a minute to discuss this, up pops another email. Speak of the devil.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
RE: Campaign finance reports addendum
J--
My calendar says the deadline for filing addendums to the campaign
finance reports is today. I’m not expecting much, but we have
to check in with the secretary of state’s office just in case.
If you have any questions about this, see me. Otherwise stay far
away. Word in the newsroom is you’re in a mood.
A
Arnie ducks when I burst into his office a minute later.
“A mood? That better not be a PMS crack. I don’t know if you’ve noticed that men have moods, too. And not every twenty-eight days, either,” I tell him. “Twenty-four seven.”
He winces. “Did you have to come in here? I nicely asked you not to.”
“With an email like that, yeah, I’m coming in.”
“But I wanna eat my lunch.” He points to a hot dog with sauerkraut and chili sauce sitting on the foil wrapper. “And you might make me sick.”
“Well, if I don’t,
“Is that what you said to Kirk? That I had a beautiful heart and it shouldn’t be hidden? Because if you did, he must have burst out laughing.”
“Actually, when I returned his call this morning I was much more erudite.”
Putting his hands on my shoulders and looking deep into my eyes, he says slowly, “I told him it was no business of his what my personal relationships were and that he could take his obnoxious question and shove it up his own ass.”
Oh, God. I feel sick. “That’s erudite, all right.”
"Yes,” he says, standing by and finally letting me go. “I thought so, too.”
Chapter Eight
Rumor is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures, . . .
—HENRY IV, PART TWO, INDUCTION
Perhaps Kirk didn’t take offense. Maybe this is the way men banter with one another, lots of swearing and ass jamming. In fact, out of all the answers Michael could have given, this wasn’t so bad, I decide. It didn’t conflict with my statement that Michael and I had had only a platonic relationship and Michael didn’t have to lie.
In retrospect, what he said was pretty darn brilliant.
And then I sit down at my computer, log in, and find this cryptic note highlighted in my inbox.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
RE: Michael Slayton
Julie----
Busy in meetings all morning and didn’t get a chance to talk to you
before I left to catch my flight back to D.C. Touched base with
Michael Slayton an hour ago. Some disturbing issues we need to
discuss in person.
Will try to call you tomorrow when I get back. Or sometime this
week.
Kirk
Disturbing issues? Why would he have disturbing issues? All Michael did was tell him to take his question and shove it up his own ass. How disturbing is that? Answer: very disturbing.
Okay, calm down, Julie. The way to get a handle on anxiety is to focus only on that which you can control. In this case, nothing.
Michael has—upon deep reconsideration— rudely and crudely told my future superior to do an unmentionable act. But what’s done is done and I can’t undo it until I talk to Kirk. Though I’m not sure what magic words I can summon to soften the blow.
Man, I wish I hadn’t drunk all that coffee. I’m sweating like a pig and my heart is racing so fast, I might be one of those statistical flukes, a woman in her early forties who drops dead of a massive myocardial infarction at her desk.
Where’s Valerie? If I ask whether Kirk interviewed her for the national election team this morning, she won’t hesitate to brag. Then I’ll know for sure if I’m cooked.
Valerie is nowhere to be found. Raldo, who’s heading out to lunch, says she’s off with Jason for the noon news conference on Amy Michak and then she’s going to stake out Rhonda, which means she might not return until after the evening report.
No. This can’t happen. Just when I’m about to call him and ask if he has a minute to discuss this, up pops another email. Speak of the devil.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
RE: Campaign finance reports addendum
J--
My calendar says the deadline for filing addendums to the campaign
finance reports is today. I’m not expecting much, but we have
to check in with the secretary of state’s office just in case.
If you have any questions about this, see me. Otherwise stay far
away. Word in the newsroom is you’re in a mood.
A
Arnie ducks when I burst into his office a minute later.
“A mood? That better not be a PMS crack. I don’t know if you’ve noticed that men have moods, too. And not every twenty-eight days, either,” I tell him. “Twenty-four seven.”
He winces. “Did you have to come in here? I nicely asked you not to.”
“With an email like that, yeah, I’m coming in.”
“But I wanna eat my lunch.” He points to a hot dog with sauerkraut and chili sauce sitting on the foil wrapper. “And you might make me sick.”
“Well, if I don’t,
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