Page 54 of When There Was You
I’mup ultra early Monday morning getting ready for my first day on the job. Professional outfit of black slacks and a white blouse? Check. Styled hair and light makeup? Check. Lunch made and breakfast scarfed? Check. Directions in hand? Check.
Mild jitters accompany me to work. I want to make a good impression, exceed expectations, make friends. Writing for publication is a competitive, cutthroat profession. Everyone’s trying to make a name for themselves, get the top stories, and secure the byline. I don’t kid myself thatVirginia Nowwill be any different.
My lips purse before widening into a smile, thinking about Jay’s parting advice:Fuck you for leaving, kick ass don’t kiss it, make it don’t fake it, be your ridiculously gorgeous and fabulous self, good luck finding a better coworker than me, and for god’s sake, get laid.
After navigating through traffic, I make it to the building and park in the garage. An elevator whisks me to the nineteenth floor, and I push through the glass doors, greet the receptionist, and ask her where to go. She makes a call, and a woman named Valerie emerges. She seems close to my age but stands a head shorter with a thick mass of auburn curls reaching her shoulders. She chats me up while leading me through a maze of cubicles, finally stopping at one that’s empty. With a wave of her hand, she proclaims it mine.
“Set your bag down, and I’ll give you the nickel tour,” she says warmly.
She guides me through various departments, past an expansive conference room where I glimpse a meeting in progress, smaller conference rooms, the employee lounge, and finally, the senior offices. Along the way, she makes quick introductions—most of the names forgotten by the time I’m back at my desk.
“Thank you, Valerie.”
“Sure thing. And don’t get comfortable…you’ve got an editorial meeting in ten minutes.”
The meeting consists of writing staff for the Travel & Culture section only, immediately following an all-sections assembly every Monday. As a guppy in this pond, I’m happy to have a seat at the table at all.
Tyler strides in shortly after me, dressed straight out ofGQagain with indigo designer jeans, a rich brown button-down, and a bolo instead of a tie.
“Has everyone met Jacqui?” he asks, not waiting for an answer as he scrawls something on an easel flipboard with a marker. “She’s our newest staff writer. Be nice,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder.
The six people present chuckle quietly, appraising me. Do they require a warning?
“You only need to watch out for Tanya,” the male across from me says, his thick black glasses outlining a pronounced nose.
I scan for the woman in question, who promptly responds. “Greg’s just jealous because I bag all the choice stories. You know what they say…talent talks, bullshit walks.”
Well then.Greg’s scoff rings out loud and clear. Tanya’s smirk morphs into a smile my direction, though it smacks of disingenuous. She’s young and attractive, although everything about her seems harsh: formidable dark brows, straight haircut at a severe angle, military shoulder pads in her blazer, that tongue.
Tyler starts the meeting, reviewing assignments and deadlines, asking for new material, and following up on previously discussed story ideas. I listen, take notes, and do my best to get a bead on each team member, hopeful that some will become allies.
I score my first assignment: an article about a record store that once housed a speakeasy. I’ll research its history, interview the owner and scan through the current offerings, hunt for old imagery, and schedule a photo shoot with one of our staff photographers. I’m also given assorted leads to dig into during my spare time, fleshing out any worth pursuing. I’m even encouraged to pitch my own ideas.
There’s no missing Tanya’s huff.Did she want this story?
The pressure to perform strangles me like a scarf tied too tight.I can do this.It’s what I’ve worked for the past six years, damn it.
I spendhours going through archived newspapers on microfiche at the library, pleased with the treasure trove of data it yields. Bleary-eyed after viewing all that magnified text on screen, I close my eyes and massage away the ache.
Once back at my desk, I review my scribbled notes and organize my thoughts.
“Knock knock.”
I swivel in my chair, a hand flying to my chest.
An imposing, sandy-haired man in a navy suit stands before me, his arm thrown casually over my cubicle like he owns the joint.
He grins. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Don Jennings. Wanted to see how your first day was going.”
Holy shit.I leap to my feet and extendmy hand. He’s the publisher. He may not technically own the place, but he’s still at the top of the heap with the biggest title.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jennings.”
“Don,” he corrects, a smile creasing his cheeks as hazel eyes pin me to the spot.
“Don,” I repeat.
“The pleasure is all mine, Jacqueline Hall.” He gives my hand a squeeze before releasing it. I’m surprised he knows my name. Isn’t he too busy and important to remember the names of minions?
