Jack stretched out his legs, sitting sideways on one of the living room davenports, and bit into his sandwich. Taking a swallow of ginger ale, a memory of an excited Meg Alden bursting into Oscar’s office popped unbidden into his thoughts. It quickly became apparent that she had no idea he was to start the job that day. Not the way he would have handled things.
When Meg wasn’t working, how did she spend her evenings? Did she enjoy reading? Taking a walk? Listening to the radio? He wouldn’t mind finding out while looking into those eyes over a good meal. He gave himself a mental shake. Thoughts on work, Wallace.
He turned back around and set his plate on the coffee table then sauntered into the hall. Knowing Dad, he’d still be at his massive desk, studying the latest distribution statistics. Jack settled onto the telephone stand’s navy-and-red-striped upholstered seat and picked up the receiver.
“What number, please?” A familiar voice came through the wire.
“Peggy? Jack Wallace. You still working those cords?”
The operator giggled. “I’ll never leave, Mr. Wallace. How may I help you?”
A few moments later, John Wallace answered.
“Dad, it’s Jack.”
“Hey, I was about to call. How was your first day?”
“Good. I’m assigned a story on the new recreational building next to the beach and got my hands dirty in the Composing room. Even used the Linotype.”
“Good, good. It’s been awhile since I’ve used a Linotype, but I never forget that setting up the story is as important as writing it. If it’s not laid out correctly, it’s not going to have the same impact.”
Jack frowned. “I didn’t realize you ran a Linotype.”
Dad coughed. “When I worked at the Terre Haute paper before you were born, I did a lot of assisting in the Composing room.”
A new respect for his father came over Jack. What else didn’t he know about him? Plenty, but he couldn’t let it distract him from the reason for his call. “Dad, I think I may be standing in the way of a long-time employee getting the position. Maybe it would be better—”
“What makes you think so? Excuse me…” Several sharp coughs exploded into Jack’s ear. “Something got in my throat. Now, what were we saying?”
“Sounded more like something got into your toes. Those were deep coughs. You okay?”
“Yes, yes. I’m getting over a cold. Why do you think you’re in someone’s way?”
“I only became aware of the situation this morning, and it’s rubbed against my conscience ever since.”
“Oscar only has two full-time reporters, and one is his son. Do you mean the sports man he told us about who also sells ads?”
“It’s…one of the society writers.…”
“Jack, I know you’re all for women moving up in the paper business, thanks to Kate. But after what happened with that girl at the university paper…what was her name?”
Jack winced. “Virginia. But Meg is…”
“She attractive?”
“Sure, but this isn’t about her looks. She has a swell idea for an article about the building. I’d like to see her be able to write it.”
“You know as well as I do you’re not blocking her way. I don’t allow women reporters here, and I’m certain Oscar doesn’t allow them there. If you’re going to get ahead in newspaper management, your view will have to change.”
Jack rubbed his stubbled cheek. Dad’s disappointment that Jack didn’t come to the Beacon after graduation still showed. “But I don’t—”
“I’ll give your mother your love. I need to go.”
They said their good-byes, and the line went dead. Jack shook his head. His father hated conflict and avoided it by not talking. But was Dad right about his motives? Meg’s pretty face popped into his thoughts, and a warm feeling came over him. He just wanted to help her get her dream.
Meg skulked into the office on Thursday morning later than she’d intended. Despite numerous spritzes of Mom’s rose-scented perfume, she still smelled like chemicals. She removed her hat and scrunched up her nose at the aroma.
Taking the long way to her desk to avoid stares, she dropped into her seat and smiled at the sight of Mr. Wallace’s empty chair. Lester whished past her without a glance. Hopefully the others would react the same. She picked up a note from Mr. Zimmer.
“Meg! Your hair. I adore it.”
At Emily’s squeal, Meg slunk deeper into her chair. She should have kept her hat on.
“Marcel waves are so fashionable now. I’ve been wanting them ever since I saw a picture in McCall’s Magazine.” Emily now stood inches away.
Meg rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a bit much?”
Emily patted her topknot. “If I didn’t have to live with my father, this would be gone in a day. I’m still working on getting a bob, and now that’s passé.” She frowned. “Guess till I’m married I’ll always be behind the times.”
“Fathers can be difficult, can’t they?”
Emily’s gaze went over Meg’s head, and her face lit up like a spotlight. “Good morning, Mr. Wallace.” She dragged out his name as if it were a chocolate bar melting on her tongue.
Meg eyed the inviting space under her desk. Could she take her typewriter and phone down there with her?
“Morning, ladies.”
She held her breath. If Emily said one word about her hair…
“What do you think about Meg’s new hairdo?”
Her cheeks warmed. The next time she and Emily were alone, the girl would get an earful. Meg glanced toward the front door. “Seems the board is lit up like a theater marquee on opening night.”
“Oh! I forgot all about it.” Emily scurried to her post.
Feeling Mr. Wallace’s penetrating stare, Meg froze. If she had his job, she’d be pounding on the typewriter or, better yet, visiting the construction site. Not standing there, mocking someone’s hair.
“I like the curls, Miss Alden. Very nice.”
Was he just saying that to be polite? She faced him, and her eyes unintentionally zeroed in on his full lips and clean-shaven jaw. She raised her gaze to eyes as blue as the sky outside, and he grinned. How did he always manage to make her feel as if she were the only person in the room? Heat filled her cheeks. “Thank you.”
She pulled her eyes away. The heel didn’t deserve such politeness. Her chest tightened. It wasn’t like the position was really hers to take, though. And what if her thoughts about his being out of work were true? He might have needed the job more than she.
She stared at Mr. Zimmer’s note and attempted to read the scrawl.
“So much has changed since I last spent summers in Lake Geneva. I’d love a tour of the town. Maybe someday soon we could arrange one.”
She jerked her gaze away from the note. “Summers?”
“Yes. I’ve been coming up here since first grade. The lake house was my second home until I headed to college.”
She glared at him. Summers and a house on Geneva Lake meant something else. Did the man’s chauffeur drop him off each morning? Did the cook have his dinner prepared each evening? What was Mr. Zimmer thinking, hiring a rich guy? Hadn’t he heard? They were in the middle of a depression.
She straightened and patted her new waves. “Sorry. I’m going to be busy for the next few days. I’m sure Emily would love to show you around.”
He shrugged. “But I’d rather see the town through your eyes…hear about it from a fellow writer’s perspective.” He edged toward his desk.
Meg studied Mr. Zimmer’s note.
Miss Alden,
For next week’s “Town Talk,” find out what people have planned for this weekend. We’ve got some space to fill. I don’t care if someone is just thinking about having visitors—print it.
OZ
Why not something with meat? From her desk drawer, Meg pulled the article she’d rescued from her wastebasket yesterday afternoon and smoothed its crumpled edges. She’d have an even better story for next
week.
Chapter Three
That evening, Meg settled into her dad’s Chevrolet sedan, and he put the car in gear and backed onto Geneva Street.
He shifted gears. “I suppose you’ve heard the rumors flying around town.”
She shrugged. “Only about a new contest to name the building.” Unless she counted what she’d overheard him telling Mom last night.
He turned the vehicle toward the high school, where the evening’s town meeting was to be held.
“What rumors are you talking about?” she asked.
“Never mind. It’s likely much ado about nothing.”
Meg peered out her window. “I don’t know why anyone would cause problems. The building is beautiful, and I’ve heard they’ve booked some wonderful bands for the summer.”
“Do you think we should keep the name as is?”
She shrugged. “It’s okay. But since we called the rickety building it’s replacing the Northport, a new name would be nice.” And a different name would remove any reminders of the worst night of her life.
Dad turned onto Madison Street and pulled into a parking place alongside the school.
Inside the filling auditorium, a sizable group sat in the two front-center rows. It included Fred Newman, the man who’d almost run over Meg the day before. Considering their frowns and choppy hand gestures, they didn’t appear to be pleased. Her father said he’d see her later and strode toward the stage, his form as straight as a pole. He stopped halfway down the aisle to greet the Arnolds, proprietors of one of the drugstores. As he spoke to the couple, he glanced several times toward the front rows.
Meg slid into an aisle seat at the back then pulled her notebook from her handbag, training her eyes on the crowd at the front. She jotted down their names. Interesting… They all farmed in Linn Township on the lake’s south shore.
On the stage, her dad shared a joke with the committee chairman as if he hadn’t a concern in the world—except, of course, the naming of the new building, which had been his responsibility since last fall.
Raised voices came from the center section, and Meg looked over as Fred pointed toward the door. She followed his gaze to a young couple in the second row. Fred and another man crowded in to speak to them. The woman, Violette Fenner, had sort of won last summer’s Name the New Building Contest. The committee didn’t like any of the names submitted to the contest, however, and decided to keep Northport for the time being. They awarded the prize money to the best one of the lot, Miss Fenner’s entry. The whole thing seemed odd to Meg, but she’d known better than to question Dad.
Almost bouncing on her seat, Meg scribbled on the notepad. She’d figured out the rumor, and Jack Wallace had just missed out on his big story. So what if she’d told Lester she was through ghosting for him. Just seeing her story printed next to whatever drivel Mr. Wallace hammered out was enough gratification to make the risk worthwhile.
Jack parked the Ford V-8 and leaped out. Every curb closer to the school had been filled with cars. In Chicago or DC, he expected parking problems, but not in Lake Geneva. The two-block walk was going to make him late.
Jack took off in a sprint, and his left heel connected with ice. His feet went up and his posterior hit the hard cement. His entire body shuddered as though he’d been walloped with a billy club.
He scrambled to his feet and rubbed his backside. He scanned the ground for his notebook. Up ahead a car turned the corner, and its headlights landed on the tablet in the middle of the street. A second later, its left front tire ground the pad into the road. Jack stepped into the street, picked up the tablet, and shook dirt and sand from the torn pages. Swell. His first assignment, and he arrives late and has the tools of his trade run over.
Stepping into the lobby, Jack brushed dirt from his coat then opened the doors to the auditorium and slipped inside. A gray-haired man stood at the podium spouting statistics. He surveyed the crowded room. Something must be afoot. A few rows down, his eyes landed on a familiar head of wavy brown curls. And the seat next to her was empty. Maybe this was his lucky day after all. Grinning, he made a beeline to Meg’s side and whispered, “Is that seat taken?”
Meg jumped and turned. As much as she wanted to say there were at least a half dozen other seats he could choose, she knew there weren’t. She shifted her body so he could slide by.
“Parking was terrible. You’d think I was back in Chicago. Did I miss anything?” With his sheepish grin, he looked like a boy late for school.
She shook her head and glanced away before his grin caused tingles in her stomach once more. “They just started. He’s reviewing what the committee discussed last time.”
He bundled his overcoat and stuffed it under his seat then held up his notepad. “I don’t suppose I could borrow a few sheets from you?”
Was that a tire mark on the cover? Meg hid a smirk and pulled a couple of blank pages from her notebook.
On the stage, the committee chairman shuffled papers in his hands and cleared his throat. “And the widening of the beach should be completed by the grand opening. A new contest to name the lakefront building begins tomorrow. Mr. Louis Alden, the contest chairman, will speak about that now.”
A few men in the front row whispered among themselves, and then a hand shot up. “We have a question.”
The committee chairman sent a pointed stare to the questioner. “Can it wait until the end of the meeting?”
“I think it should be addressed now.”
Dad stood from his seat at the table. A twitch in his upper lip caused his mustache to bounce—an affliction that occurred whenever something annoyed him. “We will entertain all questions at the end. This is an informational meeting only.”
“And that’s exactly why we’re here.” Fred Newman stood. “Last summer, Miss Fenner already won a contest to name the building. But you people decided to keep Northport. Now you want another contest. Miss Fenner’s choice of Harborlight should be the official name.”
Everyone in the first two rows clapped. The young brown-haired man with Miss Fenner patted her hand, and she turned to him, her cheeks tinged red. Her engagement had been announced last Christmas. He had to be her intended. Meg frowned and jotted a note.
Dad grabbed the chairman’s gavel and pounded the table. “Order, order.”
“He sounds like a judge.” Mr. Wallace’s whisper was more of a shout, with the noise in the room.
Meg nodded. “He is a judge in the municipal court. My father is an attorney.”
His brows shot up. “He’s your dad?” He looked to the stage with new respect written on his face.
“This new contest is illegal,” Fred shouted over raised voices, some telling him to sit while others urged him on.
“Sir, the rules of the first contest stated the winning name would be the one judged most appropriate, not necessarily the actual name.” Dad faced the audience, his dark eyes finding Meg. “The committee didn’t feel that any of the suggestions made earlier contained a name with enduring quality. To that end, we are announcing a new contest. The prize for the best name will be twenty-five dollars. We encourage all of you to come up with a name worthy of this beautiful new facility.”
Mr. Wallace nudged Meg with his elbow. “You still don’t want to work with me on this?” He held up his notes.
Only three or four written lines took up a third of his sheet, while she’d filled several pages. Would it hurt? He wasn’t Lester. With him as a buffer, maybe it would work. She shook her head slowly. “Mr. Zimmer would have a conniption.”
“But, Miss Alden, you know these people, why they’re upset. You’d bring life to a pretty dull story. How could Zimmer say no? What do you say?”
“And what makes you think it’s more than what you just heard?”
“There’s usually something going on beyond what’s said in public.”
“This is small-town Wisconsin politics. You’re too used to playing with the big boys.”
“The way I figure it, peo
ple are the same. It’s just the size of their area of influence that’s different.”
She fingered a corner of her tablet. He had implied that he would credit her on the piece. But the paper’s stories didn’t use bylines. He’d likely use her information and take all the glory. She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m sure you’ll do fine. You heard the same words I did.”
Meg continued to take notes, through a report that Wayne King and his Orchestra were booked for the grand opening; they were hoping to contract with Tommy Dorsey over the summer. A wave of excitement bubbled beneath her breastbone as she wrote.
Mr. Wallace nudged her during a lull. “I didn’t realize they were looking to get such big names. Wayne King, Tommy Dorsey…” He paused. “You like to dance?”
His question, asked so softly that it seemed he was asking her for a date, pushed against the fortress around her heart. She turned, and their gazes connected. The platform speaker’s voice faded as a zillion butterflies took flight in her stomach. If she’d met him anywhere but at work, she wouldn’t have minded going out with him.
“Yes. I dance.”
He responded with a crooked smile. “Good.”
His voice, so low she barely heard it, threatened to disarm her. She had to keep her head. Meg turned her attention back to the speaker. No man was going to distract her.
“Whatever’s behind your smile is what I want to convey in this article, not humdrum contractor numbers and an anticipated finish date. You show me what almost every person here must be feeling—pride, joy, anticipation.… I’m catching the fever, but it’s not the same as feeling it like you are.”
She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. He made a good argument, but how could she trust her wounded heart to resist working with such an attractive man? She’d seen how he was with women. Even Thelma. No one got that lady to smile, but Jack had when he complimented her on her “Town Talk” article. He’d probably left a trail of broken hearts from DC to Chicago. She shook her head. “Sorry. I can’t.”
Love Finds You in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin Page 3