What Goes Up

by Allen Weiner

  Max was speechless. In a way, he secretly hoped Tom would come up empty, putting an end to the hidden FM transmitter scheme. With a big win under his belt, Max wondered what secret he would uncover next. And how long would this scam go on before it either put him back in the Chronicle’s good graces or found him out of a job? Or worse.

  Chapter Four

  Max met with Tom the following Monday, and the more senior reporter agreed to take the lead on the story, giving the more junior of the pair a “. . . contributed to the reporting” byline. That was satisfactory to Max as it led to Ray’s praise, as well as from others in the office, including Ervin, who was far from his biggest fan. Once the story ran, there was a shakeup at the county executive board, and while no criminal charges were filed, the governing body lost two key members.

  As the case may be, the high Max felt from his victory—or co-victory—was short-lived. It was Max’s custom to worry more about what was next than his recent accomplishment. He knew he was still on probation with the Chronicle, dwelling that his story on county corruption came by employing illegal surveillance. Max thought of this tactic that he cooked up with Barrett would be like training wheels; once he got back in his boss’s good graces and the brass in Allentown, he would remove the transmitter and rely solely on his skills.

  Max was not good at compartmentalizing with so much going on, allowing his emotions from one part of his life to bleed onto another. In college, his first time living away from home, any distraction, whether it was family drama or social issues related to dating, clouded Max’s focus. Just as he had made a vow to become more extroverted for his job, Max knew he needed to be able to keep his eye on the ball even when he faced an occasional bump in the road. It was time to take some deep breaths and bravely move forward.

  A few days after he met with Tom, Max was back to his regular civic meetings and school board elections with a deadly car crash thrown in for good measure. Such was the life of the low man on the reporting totem pole. Looking ahead, Max set his sights on his next reporting opportunity at the Carbon County Courthouse. Friday, a trial was set to start for a Jim Thorpe man accused of arson. The word from the County District Attorney was that they had the guy, Chris Albrecht, dead to rights. Nonetheless, Max had a passion for trials and looked forward to the case. Somehow, he knew his hidden FM transmitter would play a role in the story even though he could not predict how or why.

  During Christmas Vacation, when Max was in his early teens, his father took him and his sister Nancy to City Hall in Philadelphia to watch actual trials. Yes, it was cheap entertainment, but from his first visit to the superior court in 1965, Max was hooked and wanted more than anything to become a lawyer. The courtroom looked nothing like it did on Perry Mason or The Defenders; there was an air of mystery and intrigue in those wood-paneled chambers that Max found intoxicating. His dream of becoming a lawyer did not come true, but Max relished any opportunity to watch the law in action.

  The day before the trial over in Jim Thorpe, the bureau in Nesquehoning had a new addition. Sue Reinhard, q news intern and recent graduate of Shippensburg State, was assigned to the team’s support role. Tall, with dirty blonde hair and somewhat thick glasses, Sue looked like a cross between an aging hippie and school librarian.

  Ray took Sue around to meet the reporters, stopping to talk at length with Tex, who, although happily married, was a serious flirt. It went with his personality, and everyone who knew him took it as part of his charm. After making the rounds, Ray plopped Sue down at an empty desk behind Max. It was a swing-spot of sorts, in that it was shared by the news staff and the circulation department. Often, the circulation folks were out in the field in the afternoon, talking to newsstand operators and delivery boys and girls. It was a tough job: dealing with kids who thought delivering newspapers would be easy money, but when their alarms went off at 5 a.m., they thought otherwise.

  Sue reached over and tapped Max on the arm. “I’m hoping we get a chance to talk,” she said with a warm smile. “You look like someone who knows his way around the office.”

  “I am only a few months more senior than you,” Max replied with a hint of nervousness. “I came here with very little reporting experience, so I am learning as I go.”

  “Well, maybe we can learn the ropes together,” Sue said with the slightest hint of flirtiness in her voice. “Can I go with you tonight on your assignment?”

  “If it’s okay with Ray, I guess it’s fine,” Max replied, nearly stumbling over his words.

  Max had little experience working with women and even less experience with women on a social level. In college, Max lacked the self-esteem to have a successful female relationship, always believing he was not good enough for whatever woman he was dating at the time. While classmates drank, smoked, and freely slept around, Max was on the outside looking in. His four years on a beautiful, idyllic campus would never be a fond memory for him.

  In a study of contrasts, Max exuded confidence in areas that relied solely on his inborn mental acumen. Three years before working at the Chronicle, while still a grad student, Max decided to go on a popular TV game show to pay some of his grad school tuition. His criteria for selecting the right game show were that it needed to be a show taped in New York and relied on intelligence rather than luck.

  It proved to be a success, with Max doing exceptionally well and walking away with $5,000. Later in life, Max would appear on another popular game show, this one in California, where he would win big and walk away with a VHS tape of his appearance to show off his celebrity. In reality, Max rarely spoke about his game show success, feeling it made him look like a braggart or egotistical super-nerd.

  Sue got the go-ahead from Ray to go with Max to the Coaldale borough council meeting. It was sure to be a dull evening with the usual citizen complaints, but Max was determined to prove himself no matter how lame the assignment. On the ride over, Sue did her best to get Max to loosen up. Born in Easton, Sue told Max about her family and time at Shippensburg State. In her senior year, she became editor of the News-Chronicle, the school newspaper, earning her an internship at the Chronicle in 1977. A year later, after graduation, she was offered an entry-level position at the Allentown paper, and she hoped to attack the new job with great passion. According to Max’s quick math, Sue was twenty-three or twenty-four.

  The meeting of the Nesquehoning borough council was as big a goose egg as Max expected. There were a few nuggets that, with a generous helping of light analysis and some extra adjectives, could yield a five-hundred-word news story that would be buried on the back page of the local edition of the Chronicle.

  Sue sat quietly next to Max at the meeting, scribbling away in her reporter’s notebook. Max was concerned that she would want to take over the assignment. But, when they returned to the office, Sue politely asked if she could read his story before it went to the editor. Without outside help or criticism, Max knew it was in his best interest to welcome Sue and have her give his work the once-over.

  “This is good,” Sue said with the proper amount of enthusiasm. “I like how you made the borough’s decision to repaint all the crosswalks sound a lot more important than it was.”

  Max nodded and walked his two pages of copy up to Ervin, who looked up from editing a feature set to run over the weekend while simultaneously devouring an oversized ham and cheese sandwich. “So, how’s your new girlfriend?” Ervin smirked. “I see how she chose to go with you tonight even though you had the shittiest assignment on the board.”

  The remark caught Max by surprise. He became a shade of Alabama crimson, turned, and walked away. Back at his desk, he saw Sue writing in her notebook. Max wasn’t sure what she was working on but thought it would be wise not to ask too many questions.

  “Do you want to use my Selectric?” Max asked Sue. “I’m going over to the Elks with some of the other reporters for a beer.”

  “Can I join you?” Sue fired back almost before the words came out of Max’s mouth.

 
“Umm . . . Sure . . . I guess . . . It’s on the corner, three doors down from here.”

  Sue grabbed her coat and purse and was eager to go. Max didn’t know what to make of the bureau’s latest addition but figured the best course of action was not to interpret Sue’s behavior after knowing her for only seven hours.

  Not a big social drinker, Max left the lodge and headed home after his usual six-ounce glass of beer. Sue was busy talking to Tex and Al Hickey, a twenty-year veteran of the Chronicle who could drink his colleagues under the table—a talent Al exercised regularly. Tex waved good night, and Al, in customary fashion, slapped Max on the back and said, “See ya tomorrow, kid.”

  Max drove the four blocks to his apartment, thinking about the upcoming arson trial, hoping Sue would not ask to tag along. He also decided to give Barrett a call in the morning, before work, to update him on their scheme’s fruits—so far.

  Since joining the Chronicle, Max had trouble sleeping. Newspaper work was not the sort of job you could forget once the dinner bell rang, especially when that bell rang at 11 p.m. Max would relive every moment of his workday in slow motion like watching the rerun of an old TV show except in this drama, he was the star. That night, Max had a new character to add to his replay: Sue.

  After a fitful night, Max woke up later than usual and made a beeline for the cupboard to get going on a cup of instant coffee. Max ate out of necessity at this stage of his life, not for pleasure or health, so breakfast and lunch blended into one sloppy meal generally consumed standing up over the sink. Dinner was catch-as-catch-can, rotating between a greasy burger, a bowl of chili, or a can of Chef Boyardee spaghetti. His best meals came after family visits, where his mother, an exceptional self-taught cook, packaged up leftovers for Max to take back to Nesquehoning.

  Lukewarm coffee in hand, Max’s first order of business was to call Barrett with an update. Not what you would call gainfully employed, Barrett’s days included hustling self-absorbed tennis players for a few extra bucks or playing backgammon or chess at a park near his home in Philadelphia. Barrett was between girlfriends, his last one being his secretary at the District Attorney’s office. When Barrett walked away from his life as a crusader lawyer, so too did he leave Sheena, his assistant and occasional date. Women were not a priority in Barrett’s life. Like Max, Barrett lacked in self-confidence with the opposite sex. In most other matters, his ego could fill the Grand Canyon.

  Barrett picked up on the third ring. “Yo, Max, what’s up?” he answered. He liked to start his conversations with Max by saying “Yo” because it was an unflattering stereotype associated with Philadelphia people. The coarse greeting was especially in vogue due to Rocky, the film that had taken the country by storm three years earlier. Barrett, interested in trivia few others cared about, knew that Sylvester Stallone’s lone connection to Philadelphia was the few years the movie star went to Lincoln High School in the city’s Mayfair area.

  Max waited for a few beats and went into a recap of the past few days, relaying his success with their FM transmitter ploy and the secret conversation that led to a front-page story in the Chronicle.

  “Okay, so what’s next?” Barrett asked, barely waiting for Max to finish. “Oh, wait. I thought of something. Have you thought about sitting outside the courthouse on a regular day? I mean a day when there are no meetings scheduled?”

  “Hmm. That is interesting. The only issue is if I sit outside and hear something and can’t identify the voice, I’ll have to dash into the courthouse and see who it was talking to.”

  “I say try it once or twice,” Barrett said. “I’d try it on a Monday. That seems to be a day when there could be many people going to apply for permits and such or look up weird things like property records. Who knows what sort of chatter you’ll pick up?”

  At this point, Max could intuitively tell that Barrett was ready to get off the phone. Knowing someone for so many years allows a friend to pick up nonverbal cues or tells that keep a long-term relationship running smoothly.

  “Got it. Thanks for your advice,” Max said, ready to end the call. “Take it easy on those tennis pigeons at the playground. One of these days, you will meet your match.”

  After a quick shower and a leftover sandwich that passed for brunch, Max was out the door and on his way to the Carbon County Courthouse for his assignment to cover the local arson trial. As he searched for his keys, Max grabbed his briefcase, which held his transistor radio, two notepads, several pens and pencils, and a box of Mike and Ikes.

  Max planned to stop at the office for a few minutes before zooming off to the courthouse for what he hoped would be an exciting day. Taped to his Selectric was a note from Ray that told him the trial was postponed until the following Tuesday. The state’s key witness—the Carbon County Fire Marshall—had a conflict and could not make it for the opening arguments.

  Remembering his conversation with Barrett, Max thought it would be a good time to head over to the courthouse, sit on the bench outside, and listen in on Radio Free Carbon County. At best, he would uncover something worthwhile; at a minimum, it could be good for a laugh. The winding road that led from Nesquehoning to the center of Jim Thorpe never had much traffic, but on this Friday, cars were lined up from Nesquehoning to just outside Jim Thorpe’s city limits. Max saw flashing lights ahead with a county sheriff directing traffic. It was nothing too serious—a car drove off the road and into a barrier, and while the damage looked significant, those inside the gray Nissan seemed okay.

  Max breathed a sigh of relief. Had the accident been more serious, he would have felt obligated to get out, talk to the deputy in charge of the details, and snap a picture. For some ghoulish reason, locals loved reading about car accidents in the paper. It was not a reporter’s job to question what sold papers, only to feed those hungry for local news.

  A parking spot opened across the courthouse on Broadway, and Max’s trusty bench was unoccupied. The sky was dotted with ominous black clouds, so Max thought it would be smart to get his umbrella from the trunk.

  Instead of looking both ways when crossing Broadway, Max looked both ways before assuming the bench’s position. He took out his pad, pen, and then transistor radio and earphone. Tuning in to 93.4, all Max could get was static, but after jiggling his antenna around, he heard the voices of a man and woman.

  “I think my parents will be pissed,” a woman with a young, coarse voice said. “I promised them they would be at our wedding. I don’t want to be there when you tell them we eloped.”

  “We’re married, so they will just have to learn to live with it,” the man replied, not quite shouting but certainly amped up with anxiety. “And what about my parents? They hate you and made me promise I’d break up with you.”

  When the elevator reached the ground floor, the pair walked out of the front door. Maybe nineteen years old, the woman was wearing a long flowing dress while her newly minted husband wore a button-down flannel shirt and jeans. Max could not help but stare, connecting the elevator eavesdrop with this couple on their way to at least three weeks of marital bliss.

  And then someone tapped Max on the shoulder. He turned, and there stood Sue. She smiled, holding a bakery box in both hands. She eased her way onto the bench only a few inches away from Max.

  “I love the cupcakes from Blended Bakery,” Sue said, noting Max’s shocked look. “My favorite is their Twister Pretzel ones.”

  Max sat speechless, scanning his generally reliable smarts to come up with a plausible response.

  “Might I ask, what are you doing here, and what are you listening to on that radio?” Sue said, smiling.

  No logical answer popped into Max’s mind. At least one that would not require a fifteen-minute explanation. He put down his radio and simply said, “I’m not sure why I’m here. It’s nice to see you.”

  Chapter Five

  Realizing Max was tongue-tied or perhaps emitting garbled speech from a sudden stroke, Sue reached out and gently put her hand on his forearm. Her hand was
soft and warm, while Max’s entire body felt like one giant icicle. He truly was at a loss and close to a full-blown panic attack.

  “I have these cupcakes, and there’s a coffee place down the street,” Sue said as she turned to the side to speak face-to-face. “Let’s go over, and we can get to know each other better.”

  Max appreciated the gesture, and without saying a word, he got up and followed Sue—who was a good head shorter than him—to Last Drop, a small coffee shop mostly frequented by tourists. Max started by walking alongside Sue, but the narrow sidewalk forced him to move a pace behind her. As they neared the coffee shop, Max took a couple of deep breaths to regain his composure. He didn’t want Sue to think he was a babbling idiot or social misfit, so Max quickly thought of a few conversation starters.

  “I notice you wear a Delta Zeta pin?” Max asked with as much charm as he could muster as the pair sat at a table midway toward the back of the coffee shop. “Did you belong to a sorority in college?”

  “No, actually, it’s my sister’s.” Sue smiled. “I am not the sorority type. She just got married, and her husband asked her to stop wearing it. He thinks it will give guys the wrong idea. I think it’s kinda cool.”

  A waitress, no doubt a local high school student, came and took their order. Sue surreptitiously took one of the pretzel-topped cupcakes from its box. She cut it in half and pushed a piece of the pastry Max’s way.

  “So, you’re wondering what I was doing sitting on a bench outside the courthouse, listening to my transistor radio,” said Max, diving right into the subject at hand. “It’s sort of weird, but I do my best thinking out of the office, and I like the hustle and bustle. It may not be the sort of people watching at Times Square or the Champs-Élysées, but it’s all we have. As far as the radio goes, I listen to WGPA, a local station that plays elevator music, so it’s like white noise to tune out all the background chatter,” Max said, suddenly realizing he was talking fast.