The Fall Girl

by T. B. Markinson

  “All good things must come to an end,” Claire said with eyes focused on the horizon.

  Another strong burst of wind blew the notebooks under Claire’s feet, knocking Darrell’s off the Mean Heather binder and ultimately flipping open the cover of Janie’s notebook. She leaned down, snapped it shut, and handed it to me for safekeeping. I crammed it under my thigh, uneasy having the repulsive words and threats contained within so close to my skin.

  “You okay?” She bunched her eyebrows.

  “Couldn’t be better.” I laced my fingers with hers and repeated, “Couldn’t be better.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Claire, still in grape-colored knit pajama pants and a matching top, strolled into the kitchen, yawning. She’d slept in past ten, a rarity in our household. I’d been up for a few hours, working.

  Her eyes widened when she spied the donut spread on the kitchen counter. “Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

  I smacked her hand. “Not ’til the guest arrives.”

  “Brenda won’t care. I wonder what she wants to talk about.” She poured coffee into her “World’s Best Mom” mug.

  “You’re her best friend. Don’t you have some kind of mental connection?”

  She spun around on her heel, sloshing almond milk onto the floor. “Do you and Cora?”

  “Nope, just video.”

  Her face crumpled. “I wouldn’t like having someone watch my every move in the office. What do you do when you have to fart?” She stirred her coffee.

  I laughed. “Do you have to break wind often at work?”

  She flushed.

  I laughed harder. “Maybe we should change our diet. Incorporate healthier food, not be so American.” I freshened my cup of coffee, the third in the past hour.

  “Sounds great. Let me know when you hire a nanny for all of us. Like Alice from the Brady Bunch, but maybe a smidge hotter, younger, and in a French maid’s outfit.”

  “I’ll get right on that.”

  She bent to the side with a hand overhead in her usual morning stretching routine. “I have to admit, having Brenda over for the day wasn’t what I had in mind for a Sunday without the kids.” She straightened and ran a finger down my front.

  “Oh really. What did you have in mind?”

  “It starts with the letter S.”

  “Skeet shooting.”

  “Yes. Every woman’s dream,” she deadpanned.

  “Maybe when she leaves, we can arrange different activities that start with S.”

  Claire recommenced stretching in the opposite direction. “What have you been working on?”

  I tapped the binder with the clippings Darrell had given me. “Preparing for a meeting later this week in New York.”

  She leafed through them while sipping her coffee. “Are you really considering hiring Darrell?”

  As if we were in a sitcom, he’d entered the house soundlessly and not for the first time, especially now that he had his own set of keys.

  I shoved a nasty comment down and asked, “Coffee?” I held the glass pot aloft.

  He grunted a “yes” and plucked a bear claw from the platter. Claire selected the glazed cinnamon roll I’d purchased for her, unable to contain herself any longer. Brenda wasn’t the type to stick to a schedule and could arrive any minute, or she might text to say she was just leaving when she was already supposed to be here. When it came to those close to her, Claire was forgiving.

  I set Darrell’s cup down in front of him and swept the raspberry jam coated in fine sugar into my mouth. Warm jelly oozed onto my chin. Wiping the gooey substance with a napkin, I said, “You want to see my presentation while you wait?”

  Claire groaned, looking upward like a prisoner heading to the hole. “I walked right into your trap.”

  Darrell gave zero indication either way, but I had a feeling he wanted to know if I’d synthesized his material. I had.

  I smiled sweetly as I ushered them into the dining room, which had a white wall to display my presentation. Late last night, after Claire had fallen asleep, I haphazardly put it together, highlighting some of Darrell’s key pieces of information along with facts I’d been analyzing well before starting MDD.

  The doorbell rang, and Claire shouted, “It’s unlocked.” Another plus to having an open floor plan.

  Brenda, looking bedraggled, appeared and immediately seized a chocolate donut and prepped a cup of joe. “I didn’t know we could wear pajamas.”

  I eyed her tattered shit-brown sweater, corduroy pants, and crazy hair. The only thing missing was her bag lady shopping cart laden with junk. Seeing her in pajamas was on my never want to witness firsthand list.

  Brushing the image from my mind, I said, “Join us. I’m getting Claire and Darrell’s thoughts about a presentation.”

  “I feel like I’ve been duped, like going to a free resort in Florida only to discover it’s a sales presentation for condos.” She chomped into the donut, not too bothered. From the time I’d met her, I hadn’t been able to figure out what got under her skin. I wondered what secrets she kept buried inside.

  I advanced to the slide while stating that in the past decade newspaper print ad revenue had declined by thirty billion dollars.

  Claire set her cinnamon roll on a napkin on the table. “Thanks for ruining my appetite and Sunday morning.”

  “Isn’t there a rule that bad news like this should never come before I’ve had my second cup of coffee?” Brenda slurped her coffee and chased it with another bite of donut.

  I nodded at Claire and acknowledged Brenda with a flick of my hand. “Don’t pretend you haven’t heard this before. With all the staff cuts in both of your offices, you two have been feeling it more than I have recently.” They bobbed their heads. “Of course, MDD isn’t bulletproof. Online advertising has grown, but not nearly enough to cover the billions lost across the board in print. That means there have been substantial cuts in newsrooms and increased digital demands on remaining journalists.”

  Brenda shifted in her seat.

  I advanced to the next slide that contained a tweet by The Boston Globe that read the “FBI has investifarted about 70 leads already.”

  “Investifarted!” Claire chortled, and even Darrell cracked a smile.

  Brenda’s eyes boggled behind her glasses.

  I spoke as if actually giving the presentation. “Reporters are now responsible for writing, editing, shooting videos, and tweeting. They’re expected to produce at a breakneck speed to keep up with the twenty-four seven news cycle. Mistakes happen.” I gestured to the slide. “This was The Boston Globe, a paper that’s won twenty-three Pulitzers.”

  Darrell cleared his throat. “During Nixon’s presidency, The Washington Post referred to John Ehrlichman as a ‘White Mouse aide.’ He wrote a letter to Kay Graham saying maybe when everything was over, he could find work at Disneyland.”

  I laughed and jotted down a note. “I haven’t heard that story before. Mistakes do happen; some are funny. And the public loves them.”

  Claire nodded. “All too often, it’s a spelling error or something that becomes the actual story, framing the public’s perception about what constitutes newsworthy events. Not to mention, these mistakes add to their mistrust of the fourth estate in general.”

  I advanced the slide to show the stats from a Pew Study that found during the years 2003 to 2014, full-time statehouse newspaper reporters had declined by thirty-five percent. “This fact should terrify the crap out of ordinary citizens, but it doesn’t. Most don’t understand the implications of not having reporters in government meetings. On the national level, hordes of reporters cover everything the president and congress does. Yet, decisions made at the state level have a greater impact on ordinary citizens. Without a presence by reporters and the contacts for the behind the scenes action, who’s holding local government officials accountable? Without accountability—”

  “There will be corruption on scales we haven’t witn
essed for generations or ever,” Claire cut in.

  “Exactly.” I sat on the edge of the table. “Let’s face it, societies need newspapers and journalists as a counter for dishonesty, fraud, exploitation—you name it.” I met Brenda’s and then Claire’s eyes. Darrell, for the most part, avoided my stare; however, I had noticed him bobbing his head as if in agreement. Newspapers were in trouble, and that meant local communities were in a dire situation.

  “We can’t let this go on without trying to counteract it,” I stated in my best Orson Welles’s voice.

  Darrell snorted. “Says the woman who just started a business that’s an online news aggregator and hires bloggers.”

  I smiled. “Don’t forget we love to post photos of cute puppies and lolcats on the homepage.”

  Claire peeked at Darrell out of the corner of her eye and then focused on me, gauging my temperature with a glance.

  “But I want MDD to be more than that. I want to find a way to incorporate actual news. I need more people to…” I stopped. My goal hadn’t been to offer Darrell a job—not yet.

  Darrell slowly looked up. “Claire told me the story about Schlesinger submitting articles for HuffPo, and I’ve thought about it, but… I don’t…” He swallowed and shifted in his seat. “I just don’t like the core idea of blogging.”

  All of the women laughed, including me. That had been one of the biggest bones of contention between Darrell and me when I was his boss.

  I shook my head. “I don’t want you to blog for MDD, and I don’t want to get into the argument that news websites need to be updated more frequently than what you’re used to.” I winked at him. “I’m considering having you run our statehouse news division,” I blurted. I hadn’t meant to mention this possibility until I spoke with Cora, but considering the whole Ashley Madison angle, I was fairly certain she’d go along with my idea. For a while at least.

  Claire gasped. “That’s why you’re putting this presentation together?”

  Darrell started to smile but checked himself. “I’ve checked out MDD. You don’t have a statehouse news division.”

  “I’m aware. You’ll have to build it from the ground up. Work with publishers, journalists, bloggers, and editors—recruit them, essentially. I can’t sit on the sidelines and let fake news and filter bubbles decimate actual journalism.”

  “So far, your company has only dabbled in real news, like the Fancy Pants story. B-but, you’re talking about good old-fashioned news reporting… online,” he stressed the word by pressing his finger on the table.

  It was thrilling to have Darrell on his back heels and stuttering, no less. “I didn’t go into journalism to become the queen of pursuing cheap clicks via sensationalist headlines, embellished news stories, thumbnail images, and scandal. MDD needs advertising dollars, of course, but is clickbait the only way to grab readers? I don’t want to believe it is.” I motioned to Darrell and then to me. “We got into this business because we’re truth seekers.”

  “But you do it all the time.” Claire added, “Sensationalism, not reporting.”

  “I’m aware. We have bills to pay. Yet, does that mean that’s all MDD can and should be?” I cleared my throat and joined my hands as if praying. “I think we can be more. Do more. Cull local news sources for stories to share on MDD. Hire local journalists to write for us.” I turned to Darrell. “I need your help. I have a few people in the Denver office who can pitch in during their spare time, but the onus will be on your shoulders. You’re just the old-school curmudgeon the public needs.”

  Brenda nodded her head enthusiastically. “I always knew you had a role to play, Darrell. Count my paper as a supporter, and I’ll ring up all my contacts.”

  I slapped my thigh with one hand. “Thanks for the support. I had a feeling you’d see the benefits of working together.”

  “Hard not to when I just had to lay off twenty people, including two reporters. Sooner rather than later, I’ll be asking you for a job.”

  “I’ll be offended if you don’t.”

  “How can you afford it?” Claire folded her arms across her chest, unaffected by the kumbaya feelings. “The site is barely surviving now. Right?”

  “I have a few ideas.”

  “Care to share?” Her eyebrows furrowed.

  I couldn’t decipher the meaning behind her expression. Distrust or fear? Quite possibly, out of guilt, I was reading too much into it—I hoped.

  “MDD state secrets,” I deferred. I hadn’t figured everything out completely, but I knew I had an ace in my back pocket. Two, in fact.

  “What do you say, Darrell? You ready to get back into the biz?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  After getting Darrell on board, prematurely, I had to break the news to Cora sooner than I’d planned. She’d ambushed me with Janie, and now I was lobbing back my own grenade. I fired off a text saying I was in, making sure not to say about what exactly, knowing I wouldn’t have to. I casually mentioned wanting to start my own project.

  She responded, “Tit for tat?”

  “Dinner Thursday?” was my only reply.

  My phone rang.

  “People might start talking about us,” Cora’s voice came through loud and clear.

  “Let them.”

  “It could be a way to attract more attention. ‘Extra! Extra! Miracle Girl Cheats on Fiancée with Business Partner, Who’s an Old Flame!’” She shouted it like a newspaper kid, Bronx accent and all.

  I laughed. “How you hanging in?”

  She sighed. “I’m apartment hunting.”

  “I thought you two were—”

  “It’s better this way,” she said, making it clear moving out wasn’t her idea.

  I sat heavily on the bed. “Maybe this isn’t the best time for me to visit.”

  “No, it is. Even if you plan to drop a steaming pile of shit on my desk, I want to see you. Get my mind off…”

  “You can always stay with us if you want to get away. Maybe you and Darrell can share the basement.”

  She snorted. “Things would have to be really bad to have that man in my life again. I don’t know how you do it.”

  Swallowing a nervous laugh, I said, “He has some good points. Shall I meet you in your office Thursday night?” We had a VIP staff meeting scheduled first thing on Friday in the Big Apple, and I was attending in person.

  “Sounds good. And, JJ?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Uh, never mind. See you soon.” She ended the call.

  Claire leaned against the doorjamb. “Do I want to know?”

  “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  My evasion tactic merited an angry exhalation.

  I tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Cora and Silas are—she’s apartment hunting.”

  Her eyes widened. “They’re getting divorced?”

  “I think separated is the appropriate word until they figure things out.” I tossed my hands in the air.

  “What happened? Did he cheat?”

  “Um…”

  “I know that um. It’s not a good um.”

  “Is any um good?”

  “Poor Sly. He’s at such an awkward age to deal with his parents splitting.”

  I nodded.

  “So JJ to the rescue.” It was hard to determine from the flatness in her tone if she was peeved. Surely, she wasn’t threatened by my relationship with Cora.

  “You’re more than welcome to come along.”

  Her glare informed me I had said something extremely stupid. “I don’t have your luxury of hopping in and out of town with the built-in work excuse. Someone has to stay with our kids. There’s also my job.”

  “You’re right.” I considered kissing her cheek but thought better of it.

  “Being right doesn’t make me feel better. Every time you schedule meetings in places like New York, I wish I could go, but…”

  I reached for her hand and kissed her
fingertips. “I know. What would make you feel better?”

  She fell back on the bed, covering her face with one arm. “I don’t know. I want to be supportive of MDD. I do. I’m relieved Darrell will have something to focus on. But I worry you’re taking on too much. We have a family. Bills. And if you hire Darrell, how will I juggle work and the kids. He’s been taking care of Ian after school and, half the time, Mia as well.”

  “I’ll hire a nanny,” I said.

  “With what money? And I don’t want a stranger taking care of our children. I want to.” She was on the verge of tears.

  I lay next to her and wrapped my arm around her stomach, nuzzling my head into the crook of her neck. She didn’t push me away.

  “We’ll manage, together.” I kissed her damp cheek.

  She inhaled deeply.

  It was time for a diversion. “Now, tell me what’s up with Brenda.”

  A tiny smile cracked through the sadness and fear on her face. “She’s getting married.”

  “What?” I replied with too much shock in my voice.

  “I’m just as surprised as you.”

  “Will wonders never cease?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  To say I was dreading the Darrell chat with Cora wasn’t strong enough. I’d rather walk through a field of razor wires with bombs exploding every other foot without a stitch of clothes on. I had to chuckle. Maybe I was in the right line of work after all because that stank of melodrama at its best, or worst, depending on the audience.

  “You made it.” Cora stood in her office in a stunning pantsuit, looking like she had just stepped out of a salon. “It’s nice to see you in person, not on video.”

  “I was expecting to find you balled up or something. Not this.” I waved up and down at her outfit. “You look great.”

  “It’s how I was raised. Don’t dress to show how you feel. Dress to kill no matter what.” She gave my jeans and V-neck sweater the once-over. “I guess that’ll do.”

  “It’ll have to, because all the clothes I packed are the same.” I placed my overnight bag on a chair in her office. “Did I miss anything while in the air?”