“Wow, you blew everyone away at the table,” Travis said, puzzled by her silence. “Thought you’d be on Cloud Nine.”
She turned and looked him over slowly, as if she were trying to make up her mind about something. He feared that she was about to call it quits, that she realized she could do better than a short, financially-strapped journalist who wasn’t all that good at poker. He dreaded her next words and hoped that if it were a kiss-off, she’d make it mercifully quick. Instead she appeared to want to drag it out.
“Travy, let’s sit down for a moment and talk,” she said in her usual pleasant drawl. He tensed up, but sat down on one of his two folding chairs.
“Sweetie Pie, I’m pregnant. I know that’s the last thing you expected to hear from this old babe, but there it is.”
“Well, damn, Lila Jo.” He was shocked. “I thought you said you and Beebe couldn’t have children.”
“I guess Beebe couldn’t, but you, on the other hand, apparently are prime daddy material,” she smiled. “To tell the truth, I thought I was past all that, since I just turned 45. In fact, I went to the doc thinking he’d tell me I’d gone into menopause.”
He didn’t know what to say, but he felt a surprised tingle of excitement.
“When did you go to the doctor?”
“Yesterday. He did a test, felt around in there and said I was nearly three months gone.”
“How do you feel about it?” He asked, putting a hand on her stomach. It felt warm under her black top and by no means flat. But then it’d always looked slightly poochy, which he’d never minded.
“Baby, I’m thrilled,” she said. “I always wanted a child, or two, or six. I just didn’t think it would ever happen. My luck’s usually like the girl’s who fell into a barrel of peckers and came up sucking her own thumb.”
He guffawed, sensing that she was trying to deflect tension from her announcement.
“Where’d you get that one?”
“My cousin Ida Mae from Vidor. She always had the dirtiest mouth in the family. Think she ended up peddling her ass at a truck stop.”
She settled back on the sofa, looking happier than he’d ever seen her.
“Beebe and I tried for fifteen years, working with the best doctors he could buy at the Medical Center. We knew we had some issues, but no matter whatever crazy procedure we tried, it didn’t work. It was one reason why we split up – it brought out the worst in our relationship.”
“So you want to have it, or I guess I should say her, or him?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “But you don’t have to be a part of it. I know that this wasn’t part of our deal.”
“But I think I’d like to be part of it,” he said. “It’s my kid, too.”
“I’m seventeen years older than you, honey,” she said. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into. What would your mama and daddy think? They don’t even know about us.”
“I don’t care what anyone thinks,” he said. “I love you. I know that we started out as poker buddies, but don’t you think we’ve grown into a lot more than that?”
“Sweetie, I love you, too, but you’re a highfalutin’ journalist,” she said. “I’m just a country girl from Tyler. I don’t even have a college degree, just a silly real estate license.”
“You’re as smart as any woman I’ve ever met,” he said, putting an arm around her waist. “Would Beebe give you a divorce?”
“I think so,” she said. “There hasn’t been much going on between us in the last couple of years. I could probably sell the house in Katy pretty fast and offer to split the profits and go away.”
“Would you marry me?”
“Whoa, guy,” she smiled. “Lemme get the divorce first.”
“We’ll have to give up our poker games,” Travis said. “I can’t keep losing money. In fact, I probably need a better job.”
His mind flew ahead six months, thinking about everything he needed to do before he became a father.
“One thing at a time,” she said, her smile fading. “I’m like that leopard, can’t change my spots overnight. Neither can you. Besides, you know I make money setting up the games.”
“Maybe I can get a promotion,” Travis said. “I’ll talk to Annie about it tomorrow.”
“Sweetie, can we go to bed now? We don’t need to figure out everything tonight. I’m craving the chance to stretch out on your nice air mattress.”
“Sure, Lila Jo.” His head was swirling with ideas. He was surprised at how happy he felt. He’d never thought of Lila Jo as a potential wife, but he realized that she just might be everything he wanted.
CHAPTER 39
Annie looked up in surprise at the front of her glassed-in office. It was only 9:30 and reporters usually ambled into the newsroom after 10 a.m. But there was Travis, knocking on her door, looking showered, combed and happier than he reasonably should be at such an early hour. She motioned him in.
“Hey, Trav,” she smiled. “What can I do for you?”
“Got a minute? I know it’s early, but I wanted to talk to you about my future. I think I got engaged last night.”
“You think? Don’t you know?”
“Lila Jo is pregnant. And I want to marry her.”
Annie stood up, walked around to where he was standing and hugged him. She was surprised, but not exactly shocked, because Travis could be unpredictable, particularly in his personal life. But he looked undeniably jubilant. She’d only met Lila Jo a few times and liked her, but hadn’t exactly thought of her as a marriage partner for Travis.
“Congratulations, guy,” she said. “Sit down and tell me more. I’ve got a few minutes before the morning news meeting starts.”
“She just told me last night,” Travis said. “We want the baby, but Lila Jo has to get divorced before we can get married.”
“Yeah, that’s the way it usually works,” Annie said. “So what are you thinking about your future?”
“Mostly I’m thinking about how poor I am,” he grinned. “Wondered if that assistant editor’s position is still open in Business?”
“Well, I’m hearing that the Business section has withdrawn the posting. I didn’t know you were interested in business reporting. You didn’t do it in your previous job, did you?”
“No,” Travis said. “To tell the truth, I’m interested in making more money. Moving into editing seems like the quickest way.”
“Don’t go into editing for the money,” she said. “It doesn’t pay that much more than reporting and it’s got a lot of hassles. I thought you loved the work of a reporter.”
“I do,” he said. “But I’ll have a family to support soon. What’s happening with the editing job? Does Business have an internal candidate?”
“No,” said Annie. She hated the thought of him moving from Metro, the local news desk, to the newsroom’s Business desk. She’d miss him, but it wasn’t just that. She hesitated a moment, wondering how much she could say without betraying the managing editor’s confidence.
“To be honest, I think they decided not to fill the position because there’s going to be a big announcement soon about changes in the newsroom.”
“Again? Another round of layoffs?”
“Could be, but it sounds much more extensive than that. Rumors are flying, but the announcement won’t be until the end of the week. I’m guessing it might be another change in ownership.”
“Whoa,” Travis said. “Doesn’t sound good.”
“Tell you what. What if I let Greg know you might have interest in the assistant business editor’s position if it opens back up? Or would you rather talk to
him yourself?”
“What day is the announcement?”
“I think the corporate suits will be here Friday morning.”
“I can wait a few days,” he said. “Thanks for talking to me, Annie. Can you keep what I said about Lila Jo under wraps for now?”
“Of course, Trav. Mum’s the word. Literally, perhaps.”
He smiled at her feeble attempt at humor and left, headed in the direction of the coffee room. He must feel pretty good to come by before he got his first cup of coffee. She was happy for Travis, especially considering he was still mourning the loss of Nate. She made a mental note to talk to Brandon about the progress of Nate’s murder investigation. The police still seemed stumped and she felt more than frustrated about it. Then there was Friday’s announcement from the bigwigs. She’d tried to be nonchalant about it with Travis, but her synapses all ticked with worry. What would happen next – to her, to Travis and to all the other staffers in the money-starved newsroom? What was left to cut in what was already a bare-bones operation? She looked in her side drawer for her bottle of antacid.
CHAPTER 40
The Houston Times newsroom seemed to stop in its tracks when the delegation of California executives got off the fifth-floor elevator. Barry McKnight, the CEO of the Times’ parent company, McKnight Newspapers, led the delegation that included two other men Annie thought looked like bankers. McKnight, a blond surfer wunderkind who’d metamorphosed into a balding, self-important executive, wore a sober-looking gray suit and blue tie. Annie had seen him a few times previously in more relaxed outfits with a gold chain or two. She thought today’s sartorial formality must be a bad sign.
She didn’t like McKnight, and it wasn’t just for his knack of combining glib California-speak, faux-good messages undergirded with bad news for the Times and the other papers his company owned. She didn’t think he really understood or cared much about the news business or the communities the company’s papers served. She didn’t doubt, as he had often reminded them, that the papers’ ad revenues and circulation had plummeted for nearly a decade. But he seemed to embrace every crackpot solution that came along, rather than having a sensible, long-term plan. Who knows what he’d say today?
The computer message flashed on her screen that the stand-up meeting was about to begin. She gathered with other editors, reporters, copy editors, and photographers in the center of the newsroom where big announcements and going-away parties took place. Amanda Weeks chatted with McKnight, trying to conceal the strain on her face. Weeks, an attractive woman with short black hair and tall black boots that accentuated her tiny body, was a strong editor-in-chief with an even stronger personality. Annie admired and believed in her proven leadership while steering clear of her changing moods. But she always studied Amanda’s moves closely, thinking her somewhat of a role model. Since more than a hundred staffers had gathered, the editor tapped a microphone for quiet.
“Let’s all welcome Barry McKnight, our CEO, from California,” Amanda said in her clear voice. “He’s got some important things to tell us.”
“Hey, guys,” McKnight said, stepping up to the microphone, his stomach leading the way. “First, I’d like to introduce you to new partners in our newspaper enterprises, Russ Williamson and Cal Parnell of Agamemnon Partners. I’m sure some of you have heard of Agamemnon, the incredibly successful hedge fund started by Russ and Cal ten years ago.
“As you know, we’ve had some challenging economic times during the four years since McKnight bought the Houston Times. We thought the newspaper industry would stabilize, but profits have continued to fall. No one knows when it will bottom out. Things are especially bad in Houston since the collapse of oil prices. Despite city boosters’ claims of a more diversified economy than when the big recession ruined the 1980s, Houston’s heart still beats on oil. The Times’ advertising and circulation have suffered tremendously.”
“So in the last six months, we’ve been talking to experts about what to do with our newspapers, especially the Times. As a result, Agamemnon Partners has decided to buy the Times and make some radical changes. We hope Houston will become a national model for the industry. Now I’ll turn the meeting over to Russ.”
Annie stood beside Travis and her boss, Managing Editor Greg Barnett, during McKnight’s comments. She looked at them without masking the worry she could see they shared. How could this be happening? The Times had changed hands less than five years ago. They’d barely had time to get used to McKnight’s ownership and the company was dumping them already? They’d seen and reported on what happened to companies acquired by greedy, bottom-fishing hedge funds. The funds seemed interested only in stripping newspapers of their assets, including the most experienced, best-paid staffers, and eventually offloading them.
“Did you know about this?” she whispered to Greg.
“No, I could tell that something was going on, but they’ve managed to keep it secret,” he said with a warning finger to his lips. “Better be quiet and listen.”
Russ Williamson, a lean man with a prominent widow’s peak in his graying half-pompadour, took the microphone and tried to lighten the leaden atmosphere by beaming at the assemblage. No one smiled back.
“Well, to put it in a nutshell, we’re going to attempt something the industry has talked about for several years,” he said. “We’re going to shut down the daily paper and put our whole focus on the website.”
Annie sucked in her breath and looked at Greg and Travis, who appeared as shell-shocked as the rest of the room. There were scattered murmurs, but mostly people waited.
“This is a bold move and it won’t be without some pain,” he said. “But we’ll offer good severance packages, including a week of pay for each year the person has worked at the Times.”
“Cheapskates,” Annie whispered to Greg. “They know that the industry standard is at least two weeks.”
Greg raised his hand a few notches and said, “When will the daily paper be shut down?”
“We’ll phase in all these changes in the next three months,” Williamson smiled.
Why does he keep smiling, Annie wondered. He’s either very nervous or an idiot. Can’t he see that people’s hearts are breaking?
“How many people will be laid off?” she asked.
“You have 223 in the newsroom,” Williamson said. “We expect that about eighty will be offered jobs on the website. As you know, previous layoffs have done away with the copy desk and most of the photography staff. But we believe that we can achieve many more economies. Reporters who stay will also take photos and video to stream with their stories.
“We have studied this carefully and believe that print has no future,” he said. “People read the newspaper, if at all, mostly on their mobile devices. We will give them what they want – shorter stories, more celebrity news and a very scan-worthy product that won’t take up too much of their valuable time.”
He still looked pleased with himself, but at least didn’t flash another inappropriate smile, Annie thought.
“Of course, we’ll have a lot more details over the next couple of months,” he added. “We’ll post a slate of all new jobs for the website and everyone will need to reapply to be considered. If you’re rehired, you’ll be part of a ground-breaking experiment in American journalism.”
He stepped back and Amanda moved to the microphone.
“I know this is difficult to digest for those of us who’ve spent our careers at traditional newspapers,” she said. Her eyes looked wet, but her voice was steady. “But let’s not rush to judgment yet. We still have our jobs for a few months. And those who stay will be part of a national model.”
Most staffers drifted away, some stopping to grab a free can of soda or a few cookies from the refreshment table. Some s
taffers broke into dejected-looking clumps, talking among themselves in low voices.
Annie noticed that Abigail McEwan, a bright, young business reporter, had waited to interview Williamson and McKnight after the meeting. Abigail was taking notes in longhand, her long brown curls bobbing as she asked questions and listened closely. Annie could see that she was hurrying to file a website story about the paper’s sale and changes. She wondered what would happen to Abigail. The youngest, lowest-paid journalists were the ones they’d keep in a slimmed-down operation. The young woman likely would land on her feet, but lots of older reporters would be gone.
Greg beckoned Annie and Travis toward his glass office. She went in with Travis and they sat in straight-backed chairs opposite his desk, looking at each other glumly.
“I just wanted to reassure both of you that I’ll do what I can to keep you,” Greg said. “You’re valued members of our staff. But there’s no guarantee that I’ll be around either.”
“I can’t believe Houston will lose its only daily newspaper,” Travis said. “First the Post, then the Chronicle disappeared, and now the Times. More than our careers are at stake.”
“It’s terrible for the city,” Annie said. “It’s incredibly bad for Houston’s politics, government and cultural life. Of course, that’s not something hedge fund managers would consider.”
She thought about other cities where newspapers had moved from daily publication to several times a week – New Orleans, Cleveland and Ann Arbor, Mich. None had lost the whole print product. She felt a lump in her throat. What would happen to journalists like her and Greg who’d grown up with print? Would Travis, the expectant father, survive in the new environment?
CHAPTER 41
Dan Riggins smoked his last cigarette outside the front entrance of the hospital in Ojinaga, Mexico. He hadn’t indulged in months, trying to give up the noxious habit for good. But he’d taken a pass today after three days at the bedside of his dying Alicia. The gut-wrenching vigil was almost over. Alicia probably had only a few hours left before she succumbed to the brain tumor.
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