Love Show

by Audrey Bell

  "What do we mean by conflict-sensitive journalism?"

  "Journalism that actively works to reduce conflict, encourage resolution," I said.

  He nodded. "Can that kind of journalism ever be unbiased?"

  I paused. "Well, according to Ross Howard, yes. And it encompasses more than writing articles that will encourage people to be nice to one another. Part of conflict-sensitive journalism is just good journalism. Not relying on the statements of spokesmen, looking to report on, say the opinions of low-ranking members of the military or unarmed civilians, acknowledging widespread beliefs without necessarily validating them.”

  Riley nodded. "Good. And why do journalists have an obligation to follow Howard’s principles?"

  "Because journalists are mediators. They make choices on what to communicate and how to communicate it. When you frame a conflict in Syria, for example, as intractable, you also inform the opinion of someone halfway around the world reading your paper. And that has real-world effects.”

  Riley nodded. He glanced at the clock. "Exactly. We'll be concluding our ethical inquiry into reporting from areas of conflict next week and moving onto specific conflicts in our modern world. We will also be doing the first round of profiles in courage," he said. "You'll each be assigned a journalist who lost his or her life in combat. Frame it as a short, retrospective magazine piece—who she was, what he did, how she died, what he wrote that we will remember, and what do we learn from it." He looked around the classroom and nodded. "Be safe this weekend, please."

  The class cleared out quickly. On Mondays and Wednesdays, people always hung back to talk to him, but at four-thirty on a Friday afternoon, everyone sped out the door.

  I took my time deliberately, waiting so that the room would be empty when I asked him for help.

  When the door closed and it was just me and him, I looked up. "Professor Riley?"

  He nodded. "Yes."

  "I was wondering if maybe I could talk to you about my career after college," I said.

  He nodded, like he’d tolerate me for a few seconds

  “I have a job offer. I don’t know if I should take it. "

  "Yeah. Where at?"

  "USA Today."

  He nodded. "Not a bad paper."

  "Yeah. The position is at the D.C. bureau. Politics. And I'm not that interested in policy. And I d—”

  "Turn it down," he said flatly.

  "Well, I don't have another offer."

  "Well, get another offer."

  I smiled weakly. "Right."

  "Listen. You're a smart kid. And you're tough." He paused. "You're the Editor-in-Chief of the undergrad paper, yeah?"

  "Yeah.”

  "Scrap a little bit," he said. "They tell you a lot of things about job interviews, but it's not a tea party."

  "Yeah, okay."

  "Where else have you interviewed?"

  "Just The New York Times," I said. "For the Africa bureau. I didn't get it."

  He nodded. "They say why?"

  I nodded. "Not enough experience."

  “You sure you don’t want to do policy?”

  “I want to do conflict and combat in the Middle East,” I said. “Maybe I could like policy, but—”

  "Don't take it if you already know it’s not what you want," he said. "Nobody likes a journalist who doesn't seem committed. When you tell them in two years you want something different, they're not necessarily going to give it to you then either. You speak Arabic, right, kid?”

  I nodded. "Yeah.”

  He nodded once, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. “I might have something from you.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t get excited,” he said. “I’ll make a phone call.” He opened the door, letting me out before him and I grinned broadly.

  “Professor Riley, thank you.”

  He nodded once. “A word of advice, Arrington? You’re going to have to get into the habit of telling people what you want if you’re going to have a fighting chance at it.” He gave me a knowing look.

  I bit my lip, thinking about Jack rather than journalism when he said that. I want to talk to you, Jack.

  I nodded. “Right.”

  “I mean it,” he said. “You’re too talented to fuck around.”

  I grinned. “Thanks.”

  He nodded, dismissing me, and I walked away, knowing I should talk to Jack, knowing I should tell him that it seemed like he was ignoring me and I wanted to know why. Maybe it was all about seeing me with Andrew, but I felt sure I had told him Andrew was just a friend.

  I texted him as I walked to the parking lot.

  Are you free?

  Yeah.

  I waited long enough to be sure he wasn't going to ask me to come over. Keeping Riley’s advice in mind, I texted him: Do you want to come over?

  Nothing. I reached my car and made a face.

  Or I can come there?

  He wrote back right away: Yeah, if you want.

  If you want. Meaning he didn’t really care. Well, I did care. I wanted to see him and ask him why he'd been acting weird.

  Which he totally had been.

  So I drove to the frat house, parked my car, walked past a snowman-building contest deteriorating into a drunken snowball fight in the front yard, and up the stairs. I stepped into the house without knocking.

  Jack sat slumped down on a couch in the living room, texting on his phone with one thumb, and sipping a beer. He sat in between Xander and a kid named Nate, both of them too riveted by a basketball game to notice me. Jack did though. He looked surprised.

  "Hey," I said softly.

  “Hey,” he said. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and turned his attention fully to the basketball game on the screen. "What do you want?" he asked coolly.

  "What's your problem?" Nate asked him, chuckling.

  Jack shrugged.

  I leaned my head towards the door. "Should I go?"

  He looked at me shamelessly, like he could see right through the jacket I was wearing. He took a long sip of his beer, without breaking eye contact.

  “Christ, Diamond," Xander muttered. "Stop eyefucking each other and go to your room.”

  Jack turned and looked at him. He stood up. “Hey,” he said to Xander. He was pissed off.

  Xander smiled casually. “You know I’m joking." He looked at me, saying it mainly for my benefit.

  “It’s not funny.” Jack said shortly. He nodded at me. “Upstairs?"

  I shrugged. "Sure."

  "Xander's fucking stupid," he muttered as we left the living room and walked up the stairs, towards his room. He closed the door behind me and took off his shirt roughly.

  Well that was direct. He thought I was just here for sex.

  I cocked my head at him. “Jack?"

  “What?” he asked roughly.

  “What are you doing?”

  He smiled sarcastically. “I thought we weren’t going to ask each other personal questions,” he said. Maybe he saw the hurt in my eyes. He looked away.

  "You’re mad about dinner.”

  "You lied.”

  I exhaled. "How exactly did I lie?"

  "I thought you didn't date anyone," he said. He had stopped smiling. "You told me that, right?"

  "It's complicated, but—”

  "Complicated? You go to dinner with Andrew Brenner and you fuck me? No, that's not complicated," he smiled bitterly. "I mean this is fun and all, Hadley. This is really fucking great. But, don’t tell me you don't date people when all you really mean is you don't take me seriously. And don't tell me something is complicated when it's actually really simple."

  "Andrew is the managing editor of the paper," I said. "He wanted to discuss a Valentine's Day issue."

  "He took you to dinner to talk about Valentine's Day?"

  “The Valentine’s Day issue of the newspaper." I ran my hand through my hair. "And let me finish. I already told you it wasn't a date. I’m not lying to you—”

&nbs
p; “You—”

  “Would you let me finish?”

  He looked at me. “Fine, finish."

  “I didn't have time to talk about the issue last week and I said we'd talk over dinner to get him off my back," I said. "I thought we'd go to Chipotle or something. I didn't even remember I'd agreed to dinner until five minutes before and he had to drive me home to change because he'd made a reservation at Mill House."

  He laughed bitterly. "Right."

  "That's what happened!"

  "I know you," he said. "You wouldn't have gone if you didn't want to. You say 'no' like nobody's business."

  “It’s different.”

  “How is it different?”

  “Because he’s not like you,” I snapped.

  Jack stepped back, hurt. "Right. Well, good to know where I stand."

  “You don’t know where you stand. Obviously. We wouldn't be having this stupid argument if you did. He’s...he’s nothing like you. He doesn’t….he doesn’t scare me like you do.” I took a breath. “I don’t think you understand how much you scare me, Jack.”

  He was quiet for a second. He took half a step towards me. He spoke softly. “Hadley, how the hell do I scare you?”

  I looked at him and whispered, “You just do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like you. You're my friend and I'm sleeping with you and I just like you. I like having you around and I'm not used to that."

  Oh," he said. "Well, I like you, too."

  "Right," I smiled sarcastically. "You've been dying to see me."

  He took a step towards me and he reached for my wrists. He pulled me to him. His eyes were deep. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just thought…”

  “I’m not dating him,” I said softly.

  “Okay,” he said. He pressed his forehead to mine.

  He undressed me slowly, kissing me everywhere. He took his time. Something deeper that words passed between us when we had sex. He said things without speaking and I understood without hearing. I understood that he was a little lost and confused. He understood that I was stressed out and afraid that everyone would find out how much I was faking it. He could taste that I was afraid of so many things. Even him. Especially him.

  His mouth and his muscles and his hands knew me well. They loved me well.

  I caught my breath curled against his shoulder. “That was good,” I whispered and he laughed gently.

  He kissed my stomach right above my hipbone. “You excited to skydive?”

  “Can’t wait.”

  He smiled. “Good.”

  I sat up and he ran his hands up my body once more. “I should go,” I said.

  He dropped a kiss on my neck. “Hads?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t have anything to be afraid of,” he whispered into my ear. “I promise.”

  When I finally left the frat house, I checked my email and found a short note from a New York Times editor.

  Hi Hadley,

  Rob Riley suggested you might be a good fit for a position in the Middle East this summer. I know you've interviewed for the Cairo bureau. Could you fly out for an interview next week?

  Dale Broussards

  I wrote back immediately, agreeing. I decided Jack might be good luck.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  "I have an interview," I told Jack, when I arrived at the frat house early Saturday morning, thinking about anything other than jumping out of a plane.

  "Where?"

  "The New York Times," I said. I exhaled. "Your godfather actually helped me out."

  "I'll have to tell him to stop doing that," he said.

  We took Xander’s old Jeep south of the city. Jack and I got the back seats. Xander and Nate took the front.

  “I want everyone to know that this is a bad idea,” Xander said. “And it's all Jack's fault."

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Jack said. He leaned his head against the cold window and I leaned my back against the door and put my feet in his lap. Whenever I looked over at him, he caught me staring and smirked.

  “You’ve done this before?” I asked him.

  “Yep,” he said. “Couple of times.”

  “Jack’s skydiving solo,” Xander told me, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. "Everyone else is getting tied to a professional."

  “Seriously? Have you done that before? By yourself?”

  He nodded. "Yeah."

  "You've made this a hobby?"

  "Yeah."

  "Why?"

  He smiled. “Why not?”

  “Seems a bit extreme.”

  “We can’t all be Editors-in-Chiefs in our free time.”

  "Well, how'd you get into that?"

  “Um, in Costa Rica, actually. When I was fourteen,” he said. “I did this outward bound type of thing after I got kicked out of boarding school.”

  I raised my eyebrows incredulously. "What? Why?"

  "I don't know. It was Costa Rica."

  "I meant boarding school."

  “I didn’t do anything evil,” he assured me. “Marijuana. Very old-fashioned place. Not everyone is from San Francisco, you know. They probably taught you a class on how to roll a joint.”

  “Not quite,” I said dryly.

  He smiled. “I got kicked out of a few boarding schools actually.”

  “What for?”

  “Kid stuff,” he said. “Alcohol, breaking curfew, marijuana. I’m not great with rules.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Your rules are okay,” he smiled. “Anyone who bans flowers I’m willing to listen to.”

  I smiled and looked at him. “They’re just guidelines.”

  “Really? So, you will go to dinner with me?”

  I laughed.

  He chuckled back. “I’m seriously starting to hate this Brenner kid.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m just outraged you had the time for dinner with him.” He grinned at me goofily. “So, when will you find out if you get the Times job?"

  “I don’t know. Like a week after my interview probably,” I said.

  "You should practice." He lifted his chin. “What’s your greatest strength?”

  “What?”

  “Let’s practice for your interview.”

  “No,” I said, embarrassed. I wrinkled my nose at the idea of Xander and Nate and Jack hearing the answers to my interview questions.

  “Come on."

  "No," I said.

  "What? You're suddenly shy?”

  "It's just a personal question," I said.

  "Is that what you're going to tell the guy who interviews you?"

  "I'm going to tell the guy who interviews me that my greatest strength as a journalist is precision."

  Jack grinned. “What’s your greatest weakness?”

  I grinned. “I have trust issues and watch reality TV. What's yours?"

  He gave me a once-over. “Brunette reporters.”

  I laughed and my dark hair fell in front of my face.

  “This is probably true,” Nate chimed in. “Jack doesn’t even know how to attend a meeting and he managed to organize a mandatory meeting on your behalf.”

  "It wasn't on my behalf," I said.

  "Yes, it was," Nate said. "He's the laziest person in the world. If you hadn't been the one asking, nothing would have happened."

  Xander and Jack chuckled.

  I looked at Jack and shook my head. "I don't think that's true."

  "No, really. He's profoundly lazy," Nate insisted.

  "I am," Jack told me.

  I shrugged. I still think he’d have listened.

  "Seriously," Jack persisted. "Not into meetings at all. And I didn't think it would work, to be honest."

  "Why?"

  "Because the guys are immature and they thought it was funny," Jack said. He shrugged. "It's not like we have any real authority."

  "Yeah," Nate said. "It's a fraternity."

  "I know that," I said. />
  "Being drunk and kind of homophobic is par for the course," Nate said.

  "Hadley's a little confused about Greek life. She thought we were a pillar of responsibility.”

  Nate nodded knowingly. "It's more like a club that supports underage drinking and loose morals."

  Jack laughed.

  "I don't think it's funny," I admitted quietly. "And it worked out. Everyone left him alone." I shrugged. "Maybe I'm naïve and idealistic, but sometimes you have to be.”

  Jack met my eyes and smiled. “I never thought it was funny. I thought you were a little bit funny.”

  We pulled up to the skydiving facility and for the first time all day, I acknowledged that I had agreed to jump out of a plane. Jump. Out. Of. A. Plane.

  In February.

  Fuck.

  “Don’t freak out,” Jack said unhelpfully.

  "That's great advice."

  I wondered when he started being able to read me like that. I smiled at him, looking down the simple, paved runway. And I opened the car door. It was bitingly cold and it would be even colder when we jumped.

  Jack had signed the release forms before, and watched the safety videos. I watched them, too. Death, serious injury, all that jazz.

  I signed the form with a shaky hand.

  “Just pretend you're writing a newspaper article in Egypt,” Jack teased.

  “I am absolutely going to kill you,” I said.

  Jack laughed. “Trust me.”

  “I do trust you. It’s the parachutes that I’m suspicious of,” I hissed.

  He laughed and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

  PDA. We hadn’t talked about that. It should probably be against the rules, but I liked the way it felt, so I just leaned against him. You’re starting to be my good friend, Jack. Don’t fuck this up.

  He nuzzled me under his chin and spoke softly. “Look, you don’t have to jump if you’re really freaked out.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, screw you. I drove all the way out here. I’m jumping out of a goddamned plane.”

  He laughed and slipped his hands around my waist and he leaned into my ear and spoke very, very softly. “I didn’t think anything could feel as amazing as skydiving until I slept with you.”

  I arched my head back. “Oh, yeah? So, what’s this? Double-checking?”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “No, I’m sure. This is just to keep things interesting.”