by Andrea Cale
With most other residents within her building at work, Maxine’s apartment felt peaceful. There was a growing hum from a red Le Creuset teakettle in a kitchenette that saw little cooking.
From the comfort of her window bench, she was captivated by Sebastian Junger’s The Perfect Storm and wishing the six fishermen of the Andrea Gale would miraculously make it out of a convergence of two storms and a hurricane despite having already read the ending exactly six times before.
The title of the famous book was also an expression often used in Maxine’s newsroom to describe a far less traumatic—but still stressful—phenomenon as big news broke at once. In the newsroom, it was common for a calm afternoon to turn into one filled with chaos as notifications flowed in about five-alarm fires, city layoffs, police chases or many times all of the above, all at once. It didn’t matter in the newsroom if it was a staffer’s day off, someone’s kid’s first violin recital, or even Christmas morning. The news didn’t wait.
Maxine’s teakettle whistled like a siren of a fishing boat in trouble. Her heart beat more quickly until she placed herself at home on her day off. As she poured the steamy water into her favorite Syracuse College football mug, her cell phone came to life and her heart quickened its pace again. She cringed at the site of an incoming number revealing the caller as someone from her office at Syracuse’s International Presswire Bureau.
“Hello, this is Maxine,” she answered calmly, despite feeling as though she awoke to the realization that her alarm clock failed.
“Max, where are you? Why aren’t you in the office?”
Maxine’s heart thumped harder still within her chest as she recognized the panicked tone of her photo editor, a mother of three and a successful work-around-the-clock manager who was constantly busy and tardy.
“Oh, you told me to take a day off because there’s a big weekend of coverage coming up. But that doesn’t matter, what’s happening?”
“You’re going to need to come in straightaway.”
Maxine already had her most comfortable pair of yoga pants stripped off. She searched for a pair of work pants and shoes in her closet as she worked at keeping her tone steady.
“What’s up?”
“With SC football finally out of the toilet and in the running for a real bowl game, guess who they just lost on the roster?”
“No way, their running back,” Maxine guessed correctly.
She was fully dressed now, smoothing her hair and making her way to the bathroom mirror. Maxine knew Syracuse’s star running back was the only team member who would cause a fire drill in the newsroom. He was the star of the offense. Without him, Maxine believed the Orange and Navy were in trouble.
“His shoulders are gone, so he’s out,” the photo editor explained quickly. “Simultaneously, they lost their backup to drama. The sports writers are going nuts trying to make late deadlines for the dailies with multiple stories.”
“Do we know who’s going to start?” Maxine asked. She hoped that the replacement was someone who was represented well in her stock of photos. Maxine’s mind still operated a few steps ahead of her colleagues, just as it had at her former newspaper an hour north.
“So that’s the biggest angle we’re working on right now,” the photo editor said. “The starter is going to be some no-name little guy named JP. There’s big buzz in the newsroom about it. What’ve you got on file for him?”
Maxine’s heart pounded even quicker as she explained to her editor that the young man hadn’t seen any game time.
“And practices have been closed, so unfortunately I have nothing,” she added. “I’m going to try and reach him now and set something up immediately.”
“Well, exactly, but before you get started, we’ve got to dial in with headquarters in New York City. They’re all over this too. They predict our wire coverage has great potential to be picked up in key markets with universities across the country. They want to make sure it’s handled just right.”
Maxine rolled her eyes, a move she would’ve contained if she weren’t blocks away from the office. She hated conference calls. She hated wasting time talking in circles as colleagues tried to one-up each other. She especially disliked them when time was so sparse.
“I can be there in fifteen minutes if I book it over. Would you like me to dial in?” Maxine offered, despite hoping she’d be able to skip the talk and get straight to work.
“Yes, I need you to, Max. I’m running five minutes or so late. I’ve already let New York know you’ll cover me for the first few minutes. Dial in from my office so it’s ready when I walk in. You’ll need to get here quickly. The call’s going to start in ten minutes. Just make sure to tell them your plan for getting photos.”
Maxine’s directors never worried about her accomplishing the impossible because she always managed to surpass their expectations. As she locked her apartment door, she left her hot tea untouched on the countertop, yoga pants in a warm heap on the floor, and thoughts of a relaxing day away from the newsroom far gone.
She ran. She didn’t care about the strange looks she got from people spilling onto the sidewalks as she raced in her kitten-heeled work shoes. It was 5:15 p.m. and workers were filling the streets of Armory Square, which on Wednesdays attracted young work groups of singles with office crushes on each other. With her camera bag slung around her back, Maxine reached for her cell to dial 411 so she wouldn’t have to break pace. A monotone recording that rarely worked for Maxine greeted her.
“What. City. And. State. Please.”
“Syracuse, New York.”
“Please. Say. The. Name. Of. The. Business. Or. Say. Residence.”
“Residence.”
“Please. Say. The. Name. Of. The. Listing. Again.”
“Residence!”
“Transferring. To. An. Operator.”
“City and State, please?”
“Syracuse, New York.”
“Is this a business or residence?”
“Residence.”
“What’s the listing?”
“The last name is Hemmings. The first name is JP, so it may be under JP Hemmings. It may also be under a name whose initials are JP—like John Pete. Please give any ‘J’ name with Hemmings.”
“Thank you. One moment, please.”
Maxine glanced at her watch and hoped she’d catch a break.
“I’m not showing a listing in Syracuse with the last name Hemmings. I do see a Mr. and Mrs. Harvey and Regina Hemmings in Jamesville.”
Maxine recalled an assignment before the first game of the season, when she had waited for the team’s best defensive player, Whistler, to emerge from practice. She had been determined to get some shots of him to complement the wire’s pre-game coverage of the team. She was beginning to realize just how closely the new coach was protecting his players from all distractions, especially the media. She respected Flash for it, even though it made her job that much more challenging. On that autumn morning, she had stood for fifty minutes in the sun over steaming pavement at the practice facility until finally, she saw exhausted players emerge from the building.
Whistler had been among the first to appear, but a woman in her fifties had stopped him quickly. She unfashionably stood out with skin that had appeared to see no sun over the summer and glasses that covered half of her face. The woman looked kind.
“Whistler,” the woman had called.
“Lovely afternoon, professor.”
“It depends,” the professor had announced with a smile finally beginning to break its way through locked lips. “It depends on how well you’re treating my boy these days. Hopefully better than his first introduction with you?” She warmly held out her arms for a hug, and Whistler quickly and awkwardly accepted it.
“I’m lucky to have him as my roomie, professor. You raised one hell—heck—of a boy. I’ve never met anyone like him. He’s cool shi-.”
“Cool stuff,” the professor had interrupted. “Very well, then. You’d better go home to your
studies. You didn’t hear it from me, but we’re having a pop quiz tomorrow on this week’s notes.”
“Seriously?”
“Do I look serious?” she had asked, with her face back to its coldest form.
With a camera around her neck, Maxine had listened patiently to every word of their conversation. When she had seen her opportunity to finally move in, she reminded herself that her most successful attempts at earning the trust of players and coaches were when she avoided coddling them like everyone else on campus seemed to do.
“Do you bring your mother to all your practices, Whistler?” Maxine had asked with a warm grin.
“Who, Professor Regina Hemmings? Believe it or not, she’s that little guy’s mom,” he had said.
Whistler had pointed to the small but handsome boy with skin the color of Maxine’s favorite tea. He looked like he could be in high school instead of college.
At the other end of the season, on the streets of Armory Square, Maxine pieced it all together as she raced toward the office with the operator still on the line.
“Yes, please, I’ll take that number.”
Within seconds, Maxine found herself on the phone with Professor Regina Hemmings. She knew she’d have to get to the point quickly and string her sentences together before the woman had opportunity to cut her off in protection of her son.
“Good evening, professor. I’m so sorry if I’m interrupting you. My name is Maxine and I work for the International Presswire. First, let me congratulate you on JP’s wonderful news. I can only imagine the calls that have been flooding into the household. I take the SC football sports shots for the wire. I know this is short notice, but I would like to come take some shots of JP, with his permission. Do you know how I might reach him?”
“Well, he’s here, but I don’t know that this is a good idea. It’s been a long day.”
Maxine took in a hopeful breath.
“I know. I can share with you that from my experience, it’s usually more helpful to stay ahead of the story than chase behind and react to the coverage. I can also predict that you will have a flood of reporters and photographers wanting the same things I’m calling about. If you let me take some pictures, you can refer other outlets to my shots for the wire. They all subscribe to our service. I don’t mean to pressure you on a stressful day, but in the nature of the news, time is of the essence to get images for tomorrow’s papers. It’s up to you guys really, but it’s my job to at least ask.”
“I appreciate your candor. You’ve certainly given me something to think about, and I will certainly pass it along to JP.” The professor went on to explain that her son was eating dinner and that she would give him Maxine’s number to call him back. “Either way he decided to go,” she added.
“Thank you so much, professor. Congratulations again to your family, and I’m sorry to have interrupted your dinner.”
Maxine gave the woman her contact information as she swiped her key card inside her office building and ran to her editor’s office. She had exactly four minutes to start the call with New York City headquarters. As though it were an everyday routine, she placed her editor’s phone on speaker, punched in the numbers, put the phone on mute, and made her way to the other side of the desk in anticipation of her editor’s arrival. The call wouldn’t start for another three minutes. She hoped she had at least one to catch her breath. Over the speaker, she heard three distinct beeps.
“Dang it,” Maxine mouthed silently to herself. Three beeps signaling three people, including her, already on. I never know when to speak up on these things, she thought.
“Hello! Who’s on, please?”
“Shoot,” Maxine mouthed again as she reached over her boss’s desk to punch off the mute button and announce her attendance. The voice bellowing through the speaker belonged to the sports editor at the International Presswire’s headquarters in New York. Maxine rarely had opportunities to speak with him because she usually worked through his assistant, Rhoda.
“Sports writers are all on in Syracuse, sir.”
Before Maxine had a chance to tell the sports editor she was on to represent the photography department, he shouted his reply.
“Good! Rhoda, are we having anyone else on?”
Maxine could hear Rhoda speaking more quietly to him within their room. Her tone sounded much sweeter than the one the woman used whenever Maxine called.
“Syracuse photo is also coming on, sir.”
Rhoda went on to explain how their photo editor was on another commitment and dialing in a few minutes late. “So sports photographer Maxine is going to cover for her in the meantime.”
“Just as well,” he bellowed through the speaker. “Maxine will do a great job and relay whatever I need. Folks, I’m going to step away from my desk for just a second, and then we’ll start the call. Hold tight.”
Maxine sat a little straighter and felt as prepared as she could.
“OK, everyone,” Rhoda said. “He’s coming ’round the corner. Maxine, are you finally on?”
“I’m here, Rhoda,” Maxine said, rolling her eyes rebelliously in her boss’s office.
“OK, sir, all are here!”
“Fine. So I guess I don’t have to stress how sexy this Cinderella story is to you folks. But I do want you to keep in mind as you write, that this story and its sidebars aren’t limited to Syracuse. We have other markets—the big college football cities—that will be interested too. Play up this boy’s small size, his lack of experience, and his drive that got him to where he is. Play up the unlikely turn of events that gave him the opportunity. Play up the fact that Syracuse was finally turning things around for a shot at a major bowl game, and then this. This poor young man is carrying the weight of a university, a city, and a region on his little shoulders. Have we gotten in touch with him, by the way?”
Maxine’s colleagues from the reporting side of the office next door jumped in immediately.
“No, sir, but we’re trying. Coach Flash’s staff is really doing their best to keep him away from us. We have people contacting their sources on the team to find out where he lives on campus so we can send someone over and wait there until we have success.”
“Jeesh,” Maxine mouthed again. Making her colleagues look bad was the last thing she wanted. Fortunately for the photographer, they knew that about her.
“I trust you guys are interviewing experts to help put this in perspective in the meantime?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, well, I don’t have to tell you that we need to work harder at getting in touch with JP himself.”
“OK, Maxine! Where are we with photos? Do we have stuff on file for this kid?”
“Sir, practices have been closed, and he hasn’t played one second of a game. I just spoke with JP’s mother, though. It turns out she’s a professor at the school. He’s having dinner right now at his family’s home in Jamesville. She promised to have him call me once he’s finished. I don’t know yet if he’s going to meet with me. His mother said it’s been a long day. I did give her our line about the benefit of working with the wire versus a million newspaper, TV, and radio reporters.” Maxine cringed and wondered if her colleagues in the next room had hit the mute button and begun cursing her name.
“Nice work, Maxine. But why in the heck aren’t we coordinating with each other over there?”
“Sir, I hung up with his mother only seconds before I dialed in to our call. I have every intention of trying to hook him up with one of our reporters when he phones me back.”
“Fine. Maxine, if you get a shot—and I know you will find a way to get a shot—I want you to get a still shot versus an action shot. I want to see this guy’s face. I want to see the pressure. Better yet, why don’t you take a few shots with the parents too? Readers are really going to be rooting for this guy. You need to pass this along to your boss. Is she on yet?”
“No, sir, but I expect her any second.”
“Fine. I’m putting my faith in you, Maxine. L
et’s talk for a moment to the writers about the story angles we’re working on.”
Maxine pressed the mute button and let out a long breath of air. Her boss opened the door, as panicked as usual, with her boys in tow from daycare.
“Only a fee of fifteen extra dollars today for picking them up fifteen minutes late. Are we on mute?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yes.”
“What’d I miss?”
“He’s talking to the writers. He wanted me to pass along to you that he wants a still shot versus an action shot. I got in touch with JP’s mother, and she’s going to have him call me after their dinner.”
“Boys,” Maxine’s director managed to shout in a whisper to her sons. “Not one word.”
She pushed the mute button off.
“I’m on, sir,” Maxine’s photo director said. “Maxine got me up to speed.”
“Fine. Then she told you what I want for a photo?”
“Yes, you want an action, not a still.”
Maxine frantically tried motioning to her boss with both hands that it was the other way around.
“No,” the voice bellowed. “Maxine must have misunderstood. I want a still, not an action. You all need to get to work. It sounds like you have a lot to accomplish in very little time. Time is ticking. Tick, tick, tick.”
Maxine let her lower back, sore from her camera bag smacking her during the run from her apartment, slump in her chair.
Maxine hustled home through Armory Square nearly as quickly as she had on her way in. She forgot to bring a coat in her rush, and the lake-effect snow that began floating down was yet another kick in her pants during an exhausting, unpredictable, and stressful day. Buzzed officemates stumbled from bars and restaurants along the streets and reluctantly made their ways home to prepare for a new day. Maxine noted how most of them looked more sullen than they had a few hours earlier when they were just leaving their offices, but a few along her travels appeared to have found love—or at least lust—that night.