When I was through, I looked up to see if Kate was still in her office. From my vantage point, I could see Bob Meredith’s shoulder in the doorway and I could hear the low rumble of his voice. Every few seconds Kate’s grating laugh punctuated their conversation.
At least one member of the newspaper knows how to get along with her.
Frankly, I didn’t know how Bob did it. I found Kate to be one of the most loathsome people I’d ever been unfortunate enough to meet. With a resigned sigh, I sent the story to Kate, sat back in my chair and waited for her verdict. It was closing in on three o’clock and I still had no idea of what I was going to fix Steve and Tyler for dinner.
“DeeDee!” Kate’s voice filled the office.
Reluctantly, I got to my feet and walked slowly to her door. “Yes?” I asked when I reached her desk.
“Your second draft is better,” she told me. “Not perfect but I’ll be able to fix it up and polish it. By the way, you went over the word count by thirty-three words. Watch that next time.”
“I will,” I promised her.
“I’ve got another assignment for you. There’s a new bakery in town and they’re introducing a new type of cupcake. That sounds like something you can handle. Go there as soon as they open tomorrow and talk to the owner. And don’t take forever. I want that story by eleven o’clock.”
My spirits lifted slightly. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Kate looked at the clock on the wall. “Must be nice to work part-time,” she commented.
I couldn’t help myself. “And it must be nice to work full-time with benefits and a living wage for a salary.” Caroline would be proud of me.
Kate looked surprised. “I wouldn’t work for anything less,” she assured me. “I’m no idiot.”
Feeling more than a little idiotic myself, I got my purse and left the building, thrilled to hear the door slam shut behind me as I headed for the parking lot.
“So how’d it go today?” Steve had such a big smile on his face and looked so eager to hear about my day that I almost didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble. Almost.
“It was a good news/bad news kind of day,” I told him. We were in the kitchen eating leftover spaghetti and stale garlic bread, both of which tasted wonderful. I am a nervous eater and from the moment I’d gotten home from the newspaper, I’d downed approximately 7,000 calories, mainly in junk food.
Steve is an eternal optimist. “What was the good news?”
“I got my first assignment.”
“You did? DeeDee, that’s great! What was it?”
“I interviewed a woman from the community theater group about her part in the group’s next production.”
“Well, tell me about it,” Steve insisted. “How’d it go?”
I toyed with a strand of spaghetti, my nervous appetite finally leaving me. Now I just felt sort of…blah. Let down. Marginally depressed and wishing with all my might that I could just cut to the chase, win the lottery and retire three days into my new career. “Not too well.”
Steve’s face fell. “Oh, honey, why not? What happened?”
“It was my first interview and I let it go on for too long. Sam—the photographer—told me to cut it off but I couldn’t figure out how to do that. Meryl—she’s the actress I interviewed—was talking and talking and talking, and it seemed rude to interrupt her. I had the feeling that she didn’t have too many people who would listen to her so I did. That was a mistake.”
“I don’t think it was a mistake. You were being kind.”
“Kate didn’t think so.”
“She’s the editor, right?”
I nodded. “And resident witch. She chewed me out for taking too long and then when I wrote the story, she made me rewrite it. I was at the paper all day long—not that I mind that but it was incredibly frustrating. I felt like I was back in high school with a sadistic English teacher standing over me.”
“Did you finish the story?”
“Finally. My second draft still had mistakes in it but Kate said that she would edit it and that it would do. It’s going to be in tomorrow’s paper.”
Steve got up, came over and gave me a kiss. “That’s wonderful news, DeeDee. You should really be proud of yourself. You’re an honest-to-God newspaper reporter on a real newspaper and you did this all on your own. I’m proud of you.”
“It’s awfully hard,” I told him. “Much harder than I expected it to be. I don’t know if I want to be a reporter.”
Steve sat back down. “Give yourself a little time. You’re brand new at the game and it sounds like the newspaper is a pretty tough nut to crack. Do you have another assignment?”
I nodded. “Yes. I’m going to the new bakery downtown tomorrow to interview the owner about the new cupcake they’re introducing. I gave him a call when I got home to make sure he’d be there in the morning.” At least I’d learned that much as a result of my fiasco with Meryl. “Apparently they’ve designed a cupcake to celebrate the upcoming 50th anniversary of the local strip club. Those should be interesting.”
“See what I mean? You’re getting there, DeeDee. You’ll do fine. Just take it one story at a time.”
Not quite believing him, I returned to my now cold plate of pasta. Steve has always had faith in me. Always. When I decided to be a Girl Scout leader for our daughter Jane’s troop and had go on my first camping trip ever, Steve told me what to do and assured me that I could do it. Then he helped me plan the entire weekend and shadowed us from a campsite he set up two hundred yards away. When I started my own catering business, Steve drummed up clients for me from his co-workers at the college and even though my venture as a business owner had ended fairly quickly, he’d been there for me throughout it all. I didn’t want to disappoint him if my job at the newspaper turned out to be a flop but if I kept on messing up the way I did today, I didn’t see how Kate could not fire me. She didn’t seem to be too long on tolerance or even basic civility for that matter.
You’ve worked at the paper for all of three days. Give yourself a break! Listen to your husband. It will get better once you know what you’re doing.
It was good advice and I decided to take it. All it took was practice. Feeling better, I asked Steve, “How about some dessert?”
“Sure. What have we got?”
“Let’s see…ice cream or ice cream.”
“I’ll take ice cream.”
Steve carried his plate to the dishwasher and put it in. “Say, did Jane get in touch with you?”
I cleared the rest of the table and got a tub of ice cream out of the freezer. “Not today. Why?”
“We had lunch together and we talked about that weight loss product her company has come up with. I worked on her a bit—told her how you’d keep your source confidential and how much it would mean to you.”
“Oh, Steve, you’re wonderful!” Putting down the ice cream scoop I went to hug him. “I really want to write that story. I think it could be huge.”
“Well, I think you should write it too. After a little persuading on my part, Jane agreed.”
“I don’t want to get her in trouble,” I said.
“I asked her to introduce you to that Fritz guy she told us about. How could that get Jane in trouble? Besides, I’d like it if you met him. I think Jane’s interested in him and you know what lousy taste she has in men.”
“I’d like to meet him too,” I agreed. “Jane sounded very interested in him to me and I wouldn’t mind checking him out either.”
I wriggled out of Steve’s embrace and went back to scooping ice cream into two bowls. “I’ll call Jane after we have dessert and see what she has to say.”
As if on cue, my cell phone rang. It was Jane. “Mom,” she said when I answered. “How about lunch tomorrow?”
“At Kutrate Kemicals?”
“Why not? I can’t see how it would do any harm for you to look around a little. After all, I’ve worked here for almost a year and you haven’t even seen my office ye
t.”
“That’s because you haven’t invited me,” I pointed out.
“I’ve been busy,” Jane replied. “Besides, it seems very childish to have my mommy come and see how I decorated my office, but after a year I guess it’s okay. I’ll tell you what: come over when you’re done with work and I’ll treat you to a salad in the employee cafeteria. Then I’ll introduce you to Fritz if you promise not to write a word until I tell you that you can. All right?”
“Of course!” I quickly agreed. Truthfully, story or not, I wanted to talk to Fritz and not just to see if he was suitable dating material for my daughter. I wanted to hear more about his invention. I’d love to get my hands on a spray that melted fat without any kind of exercising or dieting involved. “I’ll see you tomorrow around 12:15.”
“Park in the visitor’s lot,” Jane instructed, “and wear those black slacks and that tunic top I gave you for Christmas.”
“Which shoes I should wear?” I asked a touch tartly. Jane has never had much confidence in my ability to choose my own outfits.
“Use your best judgment,” Jane said, not hearing my sarcasm. “Just nothing with too high heels. You always walk funny in heels.”
“Jane, I don’t own any shoes with high heels,” I reminded her. I do tend to totter in heels. “I’ll see you tomorrow and thanks, honey.” Picking up my bowl of ice cream, I joined Steve in the family room. “It’s all set,” I told him. “I’m meeting Jane and Fritz tomorrow.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed, hon,” Steve said. He was reading the Kemper Times. “As soon as your interview is in tomorrow’s paper I’m going to cut it out and tape it to my office door.”
“Oh, Steve, that’s not necessary.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m going to save all of your articles and put them in a scrapbook.”
“You’re crazy.”
“About you, you bet I am. Look at that.”
I looked. Steve was pointing at a full page ad for Kutrate Kemicals in the newspaper. “I bet that cost a pretty penny,” I observed.
“I’ve noticed that the Kemper Times doesn’t write a whole lot of stories about Kutrate, not even when there were all those layoffs there a few years back. They seem to have a hands-off policy when it comes to them.”
“Kutrate Kemicals is the biggest employer in town. I suppose they must spend a bundle on advertising and the paper doesn’t want to bite one of the hands that feeds it.”
“Still, that’s not right. News is news, isn’t it? The newspaper has a responsibility to print anything that’s newsworthy.”
“That’s what Mrs. Silber said back in high school journalism. But I’m sure the paper would be thrilled to run a story about Kutrate Kemicals if they’ve come up with a new weight lost product. That could only be a win-win situation for both sides.”
“Absolutely,” Steve agreed before turning on the television. “Hey, Send Me No Flowers is on and then Lover Come Back. Looks like our evening is set.”
Happily, we settled down with our ice cream to watch a Doris Day-Rock Hudson marathon.
Chapter Seven
“Don’t be surprised if Fritz is a little cranky,” Jane warned as she led me down spotless hallways toward the very back of the gleaming glass tower that housed Kutrate Kemicals. We’d had our salads in the cafeteria and so far I was impressed with everything I’d seen at Kutrate Kemicals—the food was good, the buildings were lovely and the people were friendly. Maybe I should look for a job at the chemical company since the ambiance was far more pleasant than the one down at the newspaper.
“Why is he cranky?” I asked.
“He’s run into a little trouble with his invention.” Jane paused. “You know, Mom, I’m glad that you’re going to talk to Fritz. You have a way of making people see the bright side of things.”
“I do?” I adore my daughter but she isn’t big on handing out compliments so I knew that she meant what she said.
Jane nodded. “You do. Maybe you’ll be able to cheer Fritz up.”
“You really like him, don’t you?” I asked.
Jane blushed. “Yes, I guess I do. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever been interested in before. He’s just so…intelligent. And quite attractive.”
It sounded like our daughter was finally over her married ex-boyfriend and that was very good news. I already liked this Fritz person if he could get Jane to forget about that unfortunate chapter of her life. “He sounds wonderful,” I said warmly.
Jane and I stopped in front of a door with a brass plate that read FRITZ SCHEIDER. Jane’s knock was answered almost immediately. “Come in!” a deep voice barked from the other side of the door. Jane pushed open the door and I followed her into the room.
A tall, thin man with dark hair sat behind a desk. Jane was right; he was attractive. Fritz looked quite a bit like the Atticus Finch version of Gregory Peck although at that moment it was the upset edition of Atticus Finch. Actually, Fritz appeared more than upset; fuming seemed like a better description. Fritz was older than I expected, probably in his late thirties. Well, that was okay. Jane was in her late twenties so a ten year difference wasn’t too much. “Fritz,” Jane said, “I’d like you to meet my mother, DeeDee Pearson. Mom, this is Fritz Scheider.”
Fritz’s face lightened after Jane spoke and I could see that he was making an effort to control the anger that seemed to be seeping out of every pore of his body. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Pearson.” He had a slight German accent.
“Please, call me DeeDee. I’m sorry to barge in on you—perhaps this isn’t a good time?”
“No, no, of course not.” Fritz gave his head a hard shake. “I’m the one who is sorry. It’s just that I’m a little angry right now. No, that isn’t true. I’m furious. It’s that pig of a boss of ours. He treats me like someone who comes in here to deliver the mail instead of a scientist.”
“Mr. Morton is tough on everyone,” Jane pointed out.
“Perhaps, but he’s been especially obnoxious lately. If only there was some way that I could quit working for this joke of a company before––” Fritz broke off, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes.
“I hope you don’t mind but I told my mother about what you’re working on,” Jane said. “She’s very discreet and she won’t tell anyone, but she’s fascinated by the idea.”
“It is an amazing idea,” I agreed. “Imagine, a spray that makes people lose weight. You’ll make this company millions.”
“Billions,” Fritz said dryly. “I don’t mind that you know, DeeDee. I’m very proud of ‘Fat Off’.”
‘“Fat Off’?” I repeated. What a horrible name, I thought.
“I thought of the name myself,” Fritz said proudly.
“Very direct,” I said.
“That’s what I thought. Why call it something that it isn’t? But our idiot boss doesn’t agree. He thinks we should call it something else, something pedestrian like ‘Feather Lite.’ He’s so stupid that I can barely stand to think about him.”
“Then don’t,” Jane advised.
“But I must. I’m close to changing the smell of ‘Fat Off’ from its current dead skunk scent to something that is much more akin to a meadow full of wildflowers. I’m sure that once ‘Fat Off’ smells good, I’ll be able to put my final seal of approval on it.”
“Um, what about the pollution issue?” Jane questioned.
Fritz looked perturbed. “I’m working on that also. I’m hoping that once we change the scent, we’ll also reduce the toxicity of production. Our boss, naturally, wants me to fudge the statistics so that no one will ever know how toxic the process of making ‘Fat Off’ truly is.”
I had a sudden stabbing pain of conscience. “Hold on, Fritz,” I said, putting up my right hand in the Stop position. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“And that is?” Fritz questioned.
As much as I wanted him to continue talking about his miracle fat loss formula as well as all the behind-the-scenes ma
chinations at Kutrate Kemicals, I couldn’t allow that to happen until I let him in on the fact that I was a journalist. “You should know that I’m a reporter for the Kemper Times.”
“You are?” Fritz’s eyes boggled a bit.
I was getting a little tired of the incredulous stare that accompanied that question. “Yes, I am. Of course, everything you’re saying is off the record since I didn’t tell you that I was a reporter right away. I wouldn’t want you to tell me anything that you don’t want to.”
Fritz eyed me for a few moments, his intensely blue eyes studying me like a pair of sapphire opera glasses. Then he looked at Jane. “Your mother might be a big help to us.”
“Really? How?” Jane asked.
“The moment ‘Fat Off’ hits the shelves, this company is going to start making money hand over fist. Everyone knows that the entire world wants to lose weight without doing anything drastic like sweating or cutting out Doritos.”
“True enough,” I agreed.
“And where will that leave me? Getting a tiny share of the profits while our idiot boss drives to the bank in his Maserati to shovel dollar bills that I earned for him into his already bloated bank account.”
“But how can Mom help you?” Jane asked.
“Yes, how can I help?”
“You can be my Deep Throat—figuratively speaking,” Fritz quickly added.
A vivid memory of Robert Redford playing Bob Woodward in All the President’s Men popped into my mind. As I recalled, he met his Deep Throat in a parking garage in Washington, D.C., but I presumed Fritz and I could meet someplace a little nicer, like maybe the McDonald’s over on the highway. I smiled at Fritz. I had told Steve that being a reporter would be like watching All the President’s Men and I was right. “I’d be happy to be your Deep Throat,” I said but then I remembered something. “But didn’t Deep Throat provide information for the Washington Post reporters? I wouldn’t have anything to tell you.”
Black and White and Dead All Over: A Midlife Crisis Mystery (Midlife Crisis Mysteries) Page 9