don’t know how you do it day in and day out.”
“It never gets old. Keeps the adrenaline pumping anyway.” Davidson sounded cheerful. “Listen, I’ve got a meeting with my editorial board in a few minutes. What can I do for you today?”
“I won’t keep you long. I’m calling in reference to Haven. One of your reporters, a young woman by the name of Ana Burns, is proposing to write a piece on the recreation center’s lead paint problem. It’s a serious issue, certainly, and I can understand why the newspaper considers it worthy of coverage.”
“You’ve got that right. Lead levels in St. Louis’s children are at an all-time high. We published some big stories on the defunct lead plant in Herculaneum—the contaminated dust that kids were breathing. Now we’re learning the lead abatement crews here in the city aren’t making more than a dent in ridding houses and apartments of the old paint. And that’s not to mention the public buildings that are still contaminated.”
“I guess that’s where Haven comes in. Obviously we’re all doing our best to deal with the problem. But this reporter of yours isn’t going to make things easier. If the paper publicizes the center’s troubles, fund-raising is only going to get harder.” He fell silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. “Why don’t you call her off, Rod? Tell her to focus on the situation in a more generalized way. You don’t need to go throwing names around.”
The publisher considered the request. “I hear you, of course. But the public has the right to know what’s happening in the city. I don’t like to weigh in against an issue that one of my editors feels is important enough to investigate.”
“But think of Haven. Think of the future of all those children if this story turns away potential donors. If you let this Burns woman print the problems, it could shut the center’s doors forever.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want that to happen. I’m sure you know that. Tell you what. I’ll talk to Carl Webster about the situation. He’s the editor in charge here.”
“Thanks, Rod. I admire your courage. I know you’ll do the right thing.”
As he said goodbye and pressed the button to shut down his phone, a breeze ruffled the curtain near his chair. Despite everything he had done to calm himself, the motion of the fabric startled him. He knew it was only wind, but he leaped to his feet and checked behind the drape anyway. Satisfying himself of his safety, he let out a breath as he pulled the window shut and locked it.
This couldn’t go on much longer. Stu had failed to call back and was not returning his voice mails. No doubt the weasel had scampered off with his tail between his legs. Expected, of course.
As usual, he would face things on his own. He doubted Rod Davidson would help out, either. The publisher’s own agenda came first. Printing scandals, selling papers, making money—never mind how it might harm others.
And that nosy Ana Burns. He couldn’t believe how easily she had manipulated everything. If Davidson didn’t put a stop to her, there would be no choice but to step in and take care of her himself. Fortunately, he had connections. Not friends, of course, but people—acquaintances—who could make things happen to a single young woman, working downtown, walking the city’s streets.
From his earliest memories, he had known he was alone. The things he had suffered. The thoughts that plagued him. No one cared. Once he had told his best friend, Stevie, how he was feeling—shared his deepest emotions, his most troubling experiences, his inmost fantasies and fears. And from that moment on, Stevie had ignored him. Turned away. Abandoned him. Worse than putting him down or making fun of him, Stevie had simply pretended that his once-dearest friend no longer existed.
Though unbearably painful, the experience had been useful. Now he knew that no one could really understand him. They thought he was a deviant, a
“It never gets old. Keeps the adrenaline pumping anyway.” Davidson sounded cheerful. “Listen, I’ve got a meeting with my editorial board in a few minutes. What can I do for you today?”
“I won’t keep you long. I’m calling in reference to Haven. One of your reporters, a young woman by the name of Ana Burns, is proposing to write a piece on the recreation center’s lead paint problem. It’s a serious issue, certainly, and I can understand why the newspaper considers it worthy of coverage.”
“You’ve got that right. Lead levels in St. Louis’s children are at an all-time high. We published some big stories on the defunct lead plant in Herculaneum—the contaminated dust that kids were breathing. Now we’re learning the lead abatement crews here in the city aren’t making more than a dent in ridding houses and apartments of the old paint. And that’s not to mention the public buildings that are still contaminated.”
“I guess that’s where Haven comes in. Obviously we’re all doing our best to deal with the problem. But this reporter of yours isn’t going to make things easier. If the paper publicizes the center’s troubles, fund-raising is only going to get harder.” He fell silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. “Why don’t you call her off, Rod? Tell her to focus on the situation in a more generalized way. You don’t need to go throwing names around.”
The publisher considered the request. “I hear you, of course. But the public has the right to know what’s happening in the city. I don’t like to weigh in against an issue that one of my editors feels is important enough to investigate.”
“But think of Haven. Think of the future of all those children if this story turns away potential donors. If you let this Burns woman print the problems, it could shut the center’s doors forever.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want that to happen. I’m sure you know that. Tell you what. I’ll talk to Carl Webster about the situation. He’s the editor in charge here.”
“Thanks, Rod. I admire your courage. I know you’ll do the right thing.”
As he said goodbye and pressed the button to shut down his phone, a breeze ruffled the curtain near his chair. Despite everything he had done to calm himself, the motion of the fabric startled him. He knew it was only wind, but he leaped to his feet and checked behind the drape anyway. Satisfying himself of his safety, he let out a breath as he pulled the window shut and locked it.
This couldn’t go on much longer. Stu had failed to call back and was not returning his voice mails. No doubt the weasel had scampered off with his tail between his legs. Expected, of course.
As usual, he would face things on his own. He doubted Rod Davidson would help out, either. The publisher’s own agenda came first. Printing scandals, selling papers, making money—never mind how it might harm others.
And that nosy Ana Burns. He couldn’t believe how easily she had manipulated everything. If Davidson didn’t put a stop to her, there would be no choice but to step in and take care of her himself. Fortunately, he had connections. Not friends, of course, but people—acquaintances—who could make things happen to a single young woman, working downtown, walking the city’s streets.
From his earliest memories, he had known he was alone. The things he had suffered. The thoughts that plagued him. No one cared. Once he had told his best friend, Stevie, how he was feeling—shared his deepest emotions, his most troubling experiences, his inmost fantasies and fears. And from that moment on, Stevie had ignored him. Turned away. Abandoned him. Worse than putting him down or making fun of him, Stevie had simply pretended that his once-dearest friend no longer existed.
Though unbearably painful, the experience had been useful. Now he knew that no one could really understand him. They thought he was a deviant, a
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