Chasing Deception

by Dave Milbrandt

  Since they were filled up on pizza and dessert, the return trip was quieter than the one coming. Jim and Melissa chatted off and on about various things. All the while a question floated in the back of Melissa’s mind. She sensed Jim was hiding his true feelings about Christianity and she wanted to know why. No time like the present.

  “Why are you angry at God?”

  “What?” Jim was taken aback.

  “You have made more than a few snide comments against Christianity. Most of the people I have met who are like that are angry with God about something. So, why are you angry with Him?”

  “That’s kind of a personal question.”

  “I don’t mean to pour salt in your wounds or anything, but today’s been a day of personal questions, and I have been curious for a while now.”

  “Fair enough. I guess I still am angry with God. I have been for quite a few years now.” Jim paused. “My dad had a heart attack when I was 16. He was a lawyer and worked all the time. When he wasn’t at the office, he spent his weekends giving free legal advice to senior citizens. His doctors told him all of this work, even the volunteer stuff, was stressing his already weak heart. But nothing kept Dad from his work. He was in court one day and had the attack as he was cross-examining a witness. Mom got a call from his office just after it happened. They told us to go to the hospital right away.

  “Uncle Phil and Aunt Patty were there with Vince in the waiting room. Uncle Phil is Mom’s brother. Mom rushed to Uncle Phil, and they walked over to a corner and sat down. I joined Aunt Patty, who had her arm around Vince as he half-watched the TV. After a couple minutes, I asked Aunt Patty why Mom and Uncle Phil were in the corner. She explained that Uncle Phil was praying with Mom for Dad. I asked why they were praying since we didn’t go to church like they did. Aunt Patty didn’t really answer me, other than to suggest we should pray too. I only went to church with Vince a few times, but I went along with the idea anyway. I figured it couldn’t hurt.

  “In fact we prayed every day that week in the waiting room. And Uncle Phil said it was working. The doctors even said he would recover and come home soon. But then…” Jim willed his tears back.

  “But then a few days later, May 4th actually, Dad had a second heart attack and died. I was so mad at God and Uncle Phil for making me think Dad was going to be OK and then letting him die. The memorial service was at a church I had never been too. They needed more room than where Uncle Phil and Aunt Patty went at the time because Dad had so many friends. The pastor talked about how death makes us think about our lives and if we wanted the ‘hope of heaven’ we needed to repent right then and there.

  “It sounded to me like he was saying my dad was such an evil person that God sent him straight to Hell, and if you don’t want to go there, too, you had better repent right now. After that day, I never returned to church until we went two weeks ago.”

  “Wow,” Melissa whispered as Jim continued.

  “I realized about two years later it wasn’t Uncle Phil’s fault and it wasn’t that pastor’s fault. He was just doing what he had been taught would work. It was God who let me down. He’s the one who let us think Dad was getting better and then let him die. I talked to a counselor about this in college, and he told me to just let it go. He was an atheist, so he told me being angry at something that didn’t exist was just plain stupid. And I took his advice and let it all go. Or so I thought.”

  —

  By the end of the story, tears silently streamed down Melissa’s face. The story grieved her, but she knew it wasn’t healthy for him to have such a wrong picture of God.

  “I’m sorry your Dad died so early, but God wasn’t playing games with you. You see, he has a certain time for all of us to go. With some people he takes them young. Other folks don’t leave until they’re old and gray, but God has picked a certain time for everyone. Now believe me, I don’t always understand God’s timing, but it is intentional. Everything is with Him.”

  The anger had been rising inside of Jim for the last several minutes, and despite his attempts to contain it, his emotions finally boiled over.

  Jim cursed. “But why did He have to let him die when I was so young?”

  “You got to spend that last week with him, didn’t you?” Melissa’s gentle response deflated Jim’s anger.

  “I did.”

  “God knew He was going to take your father. Perhaps He gave you that last week as a gift. So you could say good-bye.”

  They drove in silence for the next few minutes until they reached her house. He walked Melissa to her front door.

  “I’m glad we got to talk today,” she said.

  “Me too.”

  She gave him a friendly hug. “Jim, I will always be your friend.”

  “Good, because the way you grilled me tonight, I would hate to have you for an enemy.” Jim cracked a wide smile.

  After saying good-bye, he walked down the brick path to his car and drove home.

  14

  Tuesday, August 5

  As Jim was settling into his new job, he had little time to spend with Melissa. He was busy with hearing and sharing the local dirt. If any of the other reporters had a scandal in the beat they were covering, they told Jim about it. Not everybody was thrilled with this, but Executive Editor Ted Nelson drilled reporters on the new routine. Ted talked a great deal about “team coverage” and about being the “community’s watchdog.” In the end his message was simple: if someone had a scandal, let Mitchell know about it so he could cover it on the editorial page while the reporter wrote the news story for the front page. And if a reporter couldn’t break the story, Dan sent him or her to James T. Mitchell, the paper’s pit bull, to help crack the case.

  Jim was more than willing to comply with the new rules. Despite his desire to turn a juicy tip into a provocative expose, he dutifully passed the tip on to the appropriate reporter. And he also knew from personal experience never to steal a story from a colleague. He remembered the impotent anger that coursed through his veins in the summer of 2002 when a veteran Courier reporter poached a story he had nurtured for weeks, doing little work but taking all the credit.

  Even with the hate mail and phone calls, Jim found he was really enjoying his work. And the Courier readers seemed to be enjoying his work as well. In the month since Jim started his column, newspaper rack sales increased 5 percent, and hits to the website were up 35 percent. In early August, Gary Keating shared this information with the staff in an office-wide email. There were no major changes in the paper other than Jim’s column. Because there had been much positive word-of-mouth feedback for his work, Keating praised Jim and the editorial team for helping to make the Courier a better paper. Jim received a second email from the publisher, setting up a meeting between the two of them and Promotions Director Nancy Kidwell.

  They met on a Wednesday afternoon in the Publisher’s office, which Jim had only visited twice before. The awards that covered the walls were given primarily by local groups who had held events co-sponsored by the Courier. Some might have thought the sponsorship cost a great deal of money, but Jim knew it usually meant free advertising space in exchange for the paper’s name on banners, programs, and T-shirts at the event. Keating and Kidwell were already involved in a deep discussion when Jim arrived, so he took the seat closest to the door.

  They started the meeting talking about the recent success of the Courier and how Jim had helped contribute to it.

  “People love your tenacious writing, and we want to capitalize on that. We want people to associate that roll-up-your-sleeves-and-take-care-of-business attitude with the Courier newspaper as a whole. That’s why I want you to help us with a new promotional campaign.”

  Nancy took over, outlining her plan. “This campaign will involve all three of our regular columnists, but you will be the guy in the spotlight. We’re pulling out all the stops here. Banner ads on the website, house ads in the paper, newspaper rack signs. Signs on Metro buses, even a half-dozen billboards. Cassie Moya
and Barry Paulson will be in 25 percent of the ads apiece, but you will have the lion’s share of coverage.”

  Jim was ecstatic as Nancy continued to describe the campaign. He was especially excited about the fact he would get most of the press. Cassie had written film reviews for seven years, and Barry’s weekly sports column was practically legendary. But Jim was the new kid on the beat, and he loved all the attention.

  He tuned back in as Nancy continued her presentation. “Our slogan will be ‘Get Current. Get the Courier’. As you can guess, we’re trying to relate to our readers where they are. A recent nationwide survey conducted by the Associated Press and Northwestern’s Medill School of Journalism shows people who consume local media care about being the ‘first to know’. They care more about city council rivalries than foreign wars, so we will focus on what’s local and what’s current. Specifically for you, we want to emphasize your image as a ‘muckraker,’ as Gary likes to put it. We’ll be doing some special photo shoots with you, Barry, and Cassie next week. The campaign officially kicks off August 15. I’ve talked enough for now. You and I can go over some specifics later.”

  “So, what do you think?” Gary asked.

  “Sounds great to me.”

  —

  He spent nearly 30 minutes with Jeff Wang the following Tuesday, as the photographer took dozens of shots of Jim in various poses. Some were simply close-up headshots of Jim with a here-comes-trouble glare on his face. He kept the same glare for the other shots, only this time he was holding up a copy of the Courier, his head turned toward the camera. On Thursday he met with Nancy as they talked about the copy that would accompany his photo on the ads.

  “For the racks and the bus signs we’re thinking of going with this.” Nancy handed him the mocked-up ad featuring the head and shoulders photo. The copy ran beneath.

  Don’t Mess with Mitchell

  Get Current. Get the Courier.

  Then she showed him the billboard ad. This one had him with sleeves rolled up and tie loosened, holding the Courier but facing front. The tagline ran to the left of newspaper, taking up about a third of the ad while the slogan ran across the bottom.

  James T. Mitchell

  The T is for Troublemaker

  Get Current. Get the Courier.

  “You like?”

  “You don’t think it’s a little too much?” Jim was worried the ads might make him look egotistical rather than confident.

  Nancy assured him that was not the case. “Listen, Jim. People look at you like a private investigator. You may do a lot of dirty work, but you get results. Our readers like those results. They like your style; they’ll like the campaign.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Jim said in his matter-of-fact voice that masked his exuberance. My face is going to be on billboards!

  —

  Monday, August 25

  Melissa had noticed a definite change in Jim, and not necessarily for the better. He’s so arrogant now about his writing—and himself. It didn’t help that his larger-than-life image was on a billboard not a quarter-mile from the Courier office. If you stood at just the right spot—on the sidewalk in front of the office—you could clearly see the entire sign.

  The worst part was that he was beginning to believe the praise from editors and readers that came along with a couple of monthly writing awards from the local chapter of the Golden State Reporters Association. When she walked by his desk on her way to the photocopier, she would often hear him arguing with a caller over some matter that seemed trivial. She had yet to hear him apologize for possibly being wrong. Regularly she found herself offering up a prayer for him, that God wouldn’t let him get too proud. Whatever that takes, God.

  His busy schedule over the summer helped to keep their relationship from taking a romantic turn. Jim simply didn’t have much time outside of work or work-related events to spend with her. They went to the monthly GSRA dinners together as friends and they ate lunch with each other once a week, but did little else together. They did find time to go to the beach two evenings during the summer, but their relationship remained platonic.

  This suited Melissa just fine. The lack of a social life gave her the chance to take on more story assignments for different sections. She reviewed a play put on by a church-based drama troupe and wrote a business story on a new Christian clothing company. She even tried her hand at editing, hoping to make herself more versatile if she decided to move up the chain of command at the Courier or work somewhere else.

  But the whole time there was a constant voice in the back of her mind telling her she needed to do more than just pray for Jim. She ignored it throughout the summer but now she had decided to do something about it. She didn’t know what that would be, but she had a feeling her sister might. Melissa called her up after dinner on Monday and explained the situation.

  “Sounds like God’s trying to tell you to burst his balloon,” Elizabeth said.

  “The man’s name is on billboards, for crying out loud. They don’t make safety pins big enough for that kind of ego.”

  “Jim finds his identity in his writing, correct? So ask him if he would be happy if he were fired tomorrow.”

  “What will that accomplish?”

  “It will make him evaluate what he lives for. He needs to look at the big picture.”

  “But how do I make him see the big picture? There is no life outside the Courier for him. If it’s not ‘All The News That’s Fit to Print,’ it simply does not exist as far as Jim is concerned. I’m a reporter, Elizabeth, not a therapist. I can get the ball rolling, but where do I go from there?”

  “God doesn’t expect us to solve everyone else’s problems. Sometimes He just wants us to point them to the right path and let Him to do the rest.”

  “So, how much do I owe for these pearls of wisdom?”

  “I’ll settle for lunch at that new Italian place downtown.” Elizabeth chuckled. “It’s not exactly Timothy’s cup of tea. Besides, I could use a kid-free afternoon.”

  Melissa promised to let her sister know what happened after she talked with Jim. After chatting for a few more minutes and making plans for lunch, they hung up.

  —

  Tuesday, September 2

  She decided to bring the subject up during one of their lunchtime conversations. They were talking about what things had been going on with them over the summer.

  “I noticed you have been writing for just about every section except sports. Why all the variety?”

  Melissa shrugged. “Ever since we wrote the New Creation stories, I’ve wanted to try my hand at writing for different sections. It’s been fun.” Then she asked about how he liked his writing.

  “Can’t complain, Miss Jenkins,” Jim said in his John Wayne drawl. “Caught me a few bad guys, nabbed some awards, and captured the devotion of thousands of readers.”

  “But are you happy with your life?”

  Caught off guard, Jim’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”

  “Say Keating announced staff cutbacks tomorrow and he got together with Ted and Ken and they decided the Courier could do without Mr. Troublemaker—”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Jim shot back a little too quickly.

  “But say it did. What if you knew that as of a week from Friday, you would need a new job? What would happen to your confidence?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I’m just curious as to whether you get your happiness or confidence from your job as a columnist or from something outside the newsroom walls.”

  He thought for a moment. “If you’re trying to hint at religion, you know I don’t do the ‘God’ thing. I’m glad you have your faith and all, but that’s not right for me. For now, I’m happy because I am confident I can do my job well. When things change, I’ll let you know.”

  After a lengthy pause, Melissa changed the subject. “Isn’t it time to check in with Pastor Jeremiah about the move?”

  “Huh?”

  “Remem
ber, according to Measure B, New Creation and those other non-profits had to move out by October 1?”

  “Oh yeah, I had forgotten about that. I figured Tammi would be handling it since it’s her beat now.”

  “Why don’t we talk to Tammi and see if she will pass the story off to us. Besides, I’ve talked to Jeremiah a couple of times over the summer and he doesn’t seem to loathe you as much as he did before.” Melissa cracked a smile.

  “How sweet of him.”

  —

  Tammi agreed to the hand-off, and Melissa called the New Creation office on Tuesday. She talked to Rose, who told her Pastor Jeremiah would be sending out a press release at the end of the week to announce his future plans for the church.

  “So, off the record, what will the church do?” Melissa hoped she could get some advance information and might be able to scoop the competing newspaper on the story.

  “I can’t comment on that.” Rose paused and then lowered her voice. “What’s your cell number?”

  Melissa gave it to her.

  “I’ll call you tonight.”

  Melissa briefed Jim on the exchange.

  “Sounds like one of my sources. Call me afterwards and let me know what happened.”

  Rose called just as Melissa and Sarah had just finished dinner. After she identified herself, Rose got down to business.

  “Where can we meet? I’m thinking somewhere out of town where no one will recognize me.”

  Melissa thought for a minute. “How about The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on Fair Oaks in Old Town Pasadena in an hour?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Do you mind if I bring along another reporter? His name is Jim Mitchell and we have been working on this story together. You might remember him. He came with me when we interviewed Pastor Jeremiah a couple months ago.”

  “Oh yeah. Pastor Jeremiah was complaining about him for weeks. Sure, bring him along. I’m sure he’d loved to hear this.”