Robert Swartwood - Legion

Ashley followed him, passing all the cubicles, everyone at their desks trying to make tomorrow’s deadline, some even editing or posting their stories that would immediately go to the Web. She passed Jeff’s cubicle and saw him at his desk, his phone to his ear. Their eyes met briefly and then she was past him, still following Eric, still wondering what this was about.

Tom’s office door was closed. Eric went in first, holding the door open for her. Tom sat behind his large desk, the top cluttered with papers. He was currently typing at his computer, but smiled at her when she entered and asked her to take a seat.

Ashley sat in one of the two chairs facing Tom’s desk. Eric stood off to the side by the window.

“Ashley,” Tom said, his voice a bit overly enthusiastic, “how have you been?”

“I’ve been fine, Tom. You?”

“Hectic as always. The life of an editor never slows down.”

She smiled. “What’s up?”

“Right, so let me cut to the chase. It’s come to our attention that you are in fact very good friends with ADA Baxter.”

Ashley forced herself to keep smiling and not blink. “Is that right?”

“College roommates, in fact.”

“And your point?”

“As you know, ADA Baxter is prosecuting Timothy Carrozza.”

“Yes, Tom. I may be an entertainment reporter, but I am up to date with current events. I thought you said you were going to cut to the chase.”

“Ah, yes. Well, it’s also come to our attention that you had lunch with ADA Baxter this afternoon. That you two meet for breakfast at least once a month, in fact, if not more. That you are, should I assume, in frequent contact with her.”

“Again, Tom, the chase.”

The plastic smile on the editor’s face finally cracked. The light in his eyes began to dim. “Ashley, let’s not play games. Is there anything you can tell us?”

She had been bracing herself for this question, but still she couldn’t believe it. She shook her head, glancing at Eric, and said to Tom, “I can’t believe you’re asking me this.”

“I’m not asking you to give up state secrets. All I’m asking is if you happened to talk about the case.”

“No, we didn’t, and even if we did, why would I tell you?”

It hit her a moment too late that her tone was one an employee shouldn’t use with her boss. She considered apologizing-she liked Tom, after all-but decided no, she was way too pissed to do that just yet.

Tom took a breath to compose himself, folding his hands on the desktop. “Ashley, do I have to remind you how we currently work in a dying medium?”

She did her best not to sigh. “No.”

“And how subscriptions are declining rapidly?”

“No.”

“And how our business has become even more cutthroat than ever before? To matter anymore, we have to be the first ones on the scene, the first ones to report what’s going on, the first ones to do our fucking jobs. Our business is to bring people the news, and, more importantly, to make money. Do you think I like having to bring you in my office to ask you this? Of course not. But my bosses, they’re breathing down my neck, and when it comes down to it, all of our jobs are on the line.”

“Are you saying that if I don’t do this my job is in danger?”

“All of our jobs are in danger. There’s a reason why I’ve had an ulcer for twenty years. Now look, I’m not asking you to betray your friend’s trust. If she told you something in confidence, she told you something in confidence. I get that. I understand that. I certainly know Eric understands it, too.”

Eric, from his place by the window, nodded silently.

“But here’s the thing, Ashley. In our business, we can make people heroes, and we can make people villains. Now I’m not saying we intend to make ADA Baxter a villain. Of course I’m not saying that. She’s bright, ambitious, and, I have to say, quite attractive. She’s a star. And this case, it’s going to raise her star even higher. What she could use, though, is a news outlet that’s willing to make sure her star shines as bright as it can. She helps us out, we help her out. It’s the same quid pro quo that’s been happening since the beginning of time. If we contacted her office, they would just ignore us. But coming from a friend? Well, that would mean something.”

Ashley waited five full seconds-holding Tom’s gaze the entire time, still fuming-before she said, “Are we done?”

Tom didn’t answer. Neither did Eric.

She said, “Well, this was certainly a pleasure,” and rose from her chair, started for the door.

“Remember what I said about this being a dying business?” Tom asked. “Budget cuts are coming at the beginning of the new year.”

She turned back to the editor-in-chief. “Are you threatening me, Tom?”

“Not at all. But I do want to remind you that most of the reporters here were hired because of their experience and expertise and ability to network, not because of who their daddy is.”

There had been a moment where she considered letting them know about the death threat placed on Melissa, and how the ADA had twenty-four-hour protection from the city police. It was news that wasn’t really news, but it would break at some point, and why not let it be from her newspaper? But after what Tom had just said to her, there was no way in hell she was going to tell him anything.

“You keep talking about a dying business, Tom. Maybe about most of this paper, sure, but what I do? People crave celebrity gossip. I keep working here because I enjoy it, but I could get a job at any tabloid I wanted, and without any help from my father.”

“We don’t want you to quit, Ashley. We simply want you to extend the invitation to your friend. That’s all. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Thanks for the chat, guys.”

The moment she was outside the office she immediately felt herself shaking. Her hands, her legs, her entire body-everything trembled from end to end. She was thankful for small miracles she hadn’t been shaking in Tom’s office, and she marched straight for her cubicle, wondering if maybe she had been shaking after all, when she nearly ran into Jeff.

“Listen,” he said, his hands raised, “I had nothing to do with that.”

“Go to hell.”

“Ashley, I’m serious. Eric saw me talking to you earlier, and then he came to me and asked me what that was about, so I told him, and then …”

She didn’t hear the rest, already past him, his words hitting her back. She bypassed her cubicle and went straight for the women’s room. Through the door, into an empty stall, she sat down on the toilet seat, placed her arm to her mouth, bit down on flesh, and screamed.

They have me sit outside the conference room, just sit there like a complete tool, until finally the door opens and Ed motions for me to come inside.

“Thanks for waiting, John,” he says, shaking my hand. He’s wearing his usual office attire, khakis and a blue polo with the company name embroidered on his chest. He pulls out a chair from the table and motions for me to sit. “Do you want anything to drink? Water, coffee, tea?”

My boss, the owner of the company, acting like an assistant.

I tell him no thanks, then regard the two other men in the room, both sitting across from me-Reggie and Hank. Reggie, just like Ed, is on my side. Hank, well, not so much. I can tell just by Hank’s body language-his slouched shoulders, his crossed arms, his perpetual scowl-that he isn’t happy. Maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe that means I get to keep my job.

Ed takes his seat and clears his throat to begin.

“For starters, John, I want to make sure you’re okay. I know I asked you before and I’ll probably ask you again. You had quite a day, didn’t you?”