coming. “So in other words he’s waiting to see which way the wind is blowing?”
“More like how hard it’s blowing. But you get the idea.”
“I was hoping for something a little more definitive. You sure that’s the best you can do?”
“I got him midway through his second martini,” Hilfiker said. “You’re lucky I got anything at all.”
* * *
It took another half hour to finish the story, and Tina was doing what I call “the semihover” all the while. Basically, she didn’t want to make it seem like she was cruising over my shoulder. But she also seemed to be walking in my part of the newsroom more than she normally might.
I hit the Send button at 8:28, gave Tina a thumbs-up, then stretched my legs, doing a brief stroll just to get my circulation back. I was starving but stayed away from the break room. The thought of foraging dinner from the vending machines was too depressing. There had been too many vended meals in my past. Maybe I could convince Kira to grab a bite before we started sucking down absinthe. No reason she wouldn’t—the girl weighed ninety-eight pounds but ate like she had a tapeworm.
When I returned to my desk, I placed a call to Mimi Kipps, just to get the backstory on how Mr. Privacy, Pastor Al, talked her into a press conference. Her phone went straight to voice mail and I didn’t leave a message. My morning had given me enough quotes from Mimi and besides, if Brodie was as amorous toward this story as Tina suggested, there would be more time to talk to Mrs. Kipps in the coming days. Sometimes you have to avoid wearing out a source.
Mostly because I had time to kill, I started halfheartedly working some digital databases for more background on Darius Kipps—as if finding out he was a registered Democrat was going to make a large difference in my understanding of the man. I still had my head buried in my laptop screen twenty minutes later when Tina approached.
“Hey, nice job,” she said. “Brodie glanced at it on his way out and said it was fine. But you mind sticking around in case the desk has any issues?”
“Yeah, actually I do mind. Can’t they just call me?”
“What, you have a hot date or something?”
I shrugged. This is where my relationship with Tina was altogether too complicated—moral of story: never get involved with a woman who might end up being your boss—and I thought about keeping my mouth shut. Then again, having started work at the ungodly hour of 8:38, I felt the Eagle-Examiner had gotten enough of my time for one day.
“Yeah, maybe I do,” I said.
“Oh, what, with that mousy little thing in the library? What’s her name, anyway? Minnie? Maisy?”
Tina knew Kira’s name, of course. She was obviously trying to get a rise out of me, and I wasn’t going to take the bait. Don’t engage, don’t engage, don’t engage …
“You get her to go out with you by offering a wedge of cheese or something?” Tina asked. “You know, peanut butter works better. Or, wait, you’re using those little glue traps, aren’t you? Very humane of you.”
I kept my jaw clenched. She kept prodding: “Just to warn you, some Irish women don’t age well. I’m sure she looks fine now, but by the time she’s forty, she’ll have more wrinkles than a linen suit.”
Don’t engage, don’t engage, don’t engage …
“What do you see in her, anyway?” Tina asked.
Unable to hold myself in check any longer, I fired back, “I see someone who doesn’t try to screw with my head all the time and is actually interested in a normal, steady relationship. I see someone who doesn’t have a million ridiculous issues about commitment. I see someone who isn’t afraid to fall in love just because she may have failed at it in the past.”
Tina had been smiling—albeit maliciously—when she was making her mouse jokes. But now the smile had been replaced by this hard mask.
“Great,” she snarled. “Normal. Committed. Have fun with that, big
“More like how hard it’s blowing. But you get the idea.”
“I was hoping for something a little more definitive. You sure that’s the best you can do?”
“I got him midway through his second martini,” Hilfiker said. “You’re lucky I got anything at all.”
* * *
It took another half hour to finish the story, and Tina was doing what I call “the semihover” all the while. Basically, she didn’t want to make it seem like she was cruising over my shoulder. But she also seemed to be walking in my part of the newsroom more than she normally might.
I hit the Send button at 8:28, gave Tina a thumbs-up, then stretched my legs, doing a brief stroll just to get my circulation back. I was starving but stayed away from the break room. The thought of foraging dinner from the vending machines was too depressing. There had been too many vended meals in my past. Maybe I could convince Kira to grab a bite before we started sucking down absinthe. No reason she wouldn’t—the girl weighed ninety-eight pounds but ate like she had a tapeworm.
When I returned to my desk, I placed a call to Mimi Kipps, just to get the backstory on how Mr. Privacy, Pastor Al, talked her into a press conference. Her phone went straight to voice mail and I didn’t leave a message. My morning had given me enough quotes from Mimi and besides, if Brodie was as amorous toward this story as Tina suggested, there would be more time to talk to Mrs. Kipps in the coming days. Sometimes you have to avoid wearing out a source.
Mostly because I had time to kill, I started halfheartedly working some digital databases for more background on Darius Kipps—as if finding out he was a registered Democrat was going to make a large difference in my understanding of the man. I still had my head buried in my laptop screen twenty minutes later when Tina approached.
“Hey, nice job,” she said. “Brodie glanced at it on his way out and said it was fine. But you mind sticking around in case the desk has any issues?”
“Yeah, actually I do mind. Can’t they just call me?”
“What, you have a hot date or something?”
I shrugged. This is where my relationship with Tina was altogether too complicated—moral of story: never get involved with a woman who might end up being your boss—and I thought about keeping my mouth shut. Then again, having started work at the ungodly hour of 8:38, I felt the Eagle-Examiner had gotten enough of my time for one day.
“Yeah, maybe I do,” I said.
“Oh, what, with that mousy little thing in the library? What’s her name, anyway? Minnie? Maisy?”
Tina knew Kira’s name, of course. She was obviously trying to get a rise out of me, and I wasn’t going to take the bait. Don’t engage, don’t engage, don’t engage …
“You get her to go out with you by offering a wedge of cheese or something?” Tina asked. “You know, peanut butter works better. Or, wait, you’re using those little glue traps, aren’t you? Very humane of you.”
I kept my jaw clenched. She kept prodding: “Just to warn you, some Irish women don’t age well. I’m sure she looks fine now, but by the time she’s forty, she’ll have more wrinkles than a linen suit.”
Don’t engage, don’t engage, don’t engage …
“What do you see in her, anyway?” Tina asked.
Unable to hold myself in check any longer, I fired back, “I see someone who doesn’t try to screw with my head all the time and is actually interested in a normal, steady relationship. I see someone who doesn’t have a million ridiculous issues about commitment. I see someone who isn’t afraid to fall in love just because she may have failed at it in the past.”
Tina had been smiling—albeit maliciously—when she was making her mouse jokes. But now the smile had been replaced by this hard mask.
“Great,” she snarled. “Normal. Committed. Have fun with that, big
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