Rene Gutteridge: Listen

“Everybody wears them and nobody gets in trouble. Besides, these jeans are ripped only at the knee. So don’t freak out.”

Kay was about to retort when she noticed something on Jenna’s wrist. It looked like white string. She remembered reading something about what these string bracelets meant. It was some sort of code for-

“I’ve got to go. We’ve got that cheer thing today,” Jenna said.

Kay glanced at Jenna’s eggs. Hardly touched. “All right. I’ll see you there.”

Jenna paused. “You’re coming?”

“The cheer moms are supposed to be there, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, I guess. Whatever.” Jenna grabbed her backpack.

Kay stood. “Why don’t you take a light sweater? or one of those cute hoodies I bought you last month? It’s December and-”

“I’ve got something in my backpack,” she mumbled. And she was gone.

Kay nodded toward the doorway. “You think she’s okay?”

“I don’t know. Probably just hormones.”

“I miss her. I mean, the old her. She was so bright and sunshiny.”

“She’ll pop out of this.”

“You should talk to her,” Kay said, sitting back down at the table. “About how she’s dressing. She’ll listen to you.”

“Honey, she’s a teenager. All parents hate how all teenagers dress. It’s just the way it is. Didn’t your parents hate your clothes?”

Kay sipped her coffee, trying to calm the nerve that struck. She wanted to explain that Jenna was giving off a lot of promiscuous signals with those kinds of clothes. And that string… she couldn’t get her mind off it.

They both noticed Hunter had taken his earbuds out and was staring at them.

“Sweetie?” Kay asked.

“I’m not really hungry anymore. Can I go?”

“Sure. Go ahead. I’ll see you tonight.” She checked her watch. “I probably should go too. I need to stop by work before going to the school.”

“Hey, I’ve got that thing with Frank tonight,” Damien said, wiping his mouth and looking at the bacon like it had personally insulted him. “Is this real meat?”

“What thing?”

“That whole ritual we do. Yesterday was his ex-anniversary with Angela. You know how he gets.”

“So you’re ordering chicken wings and beer and watching something violent on TV?”

“Exactly.”

She squeezed his hand. “Have fun.”

“And, um… wish me luck. I’m going to talk to Edgar today.”

Kay, halfway out of her seat, sat back down. “You’re sure this is what you want? Because for years all you wanted to do was write op-eds and crosswords. Why the change of heart?”

“Maybe I always wanted to change the world. Or at least my little square mile of the world. Op-eds aren’t what they used to be. People don’t read a lot anymore. But maybe some investigative journalism could change people’s lives. Hold people in power accountable.”

Kay couldn’t help but smile at him. He was a good man. Honorable. Always an optimist. “Whatever you want to do, sweetheart. You think Edgar will go for it?”

“I’ll probably have to threaten an op-ed piece about him.”

Damien actually put on a tie. Usually he just wore a blazer and a semipressed shirt to work. Dressing up was more about self-dignity than anything else. He’d once read about a novelist who got up and put a suit on before writing every day to put him in the right mind of a professional. So maybe the tie would help.

He let a couple of hours pass in the morning. Edgar was hardly tolerable before ten. But if you waited until too close to lunch, then his blood sugar dropped and you had a whole new set of problems.

So at 10:17, according to the digital clock that was set by satellite or nuclear power or something, Damien knocked on Edgar’s door. The grunt meant “Enter.”

Edgar glanced up from a pile of papers on his desk, a strained expression almost in permanency. Everything looked strained on Edgar, from his undersize sweater to his bloodshot eyes. But usually, when he saw Damien, all that seemed to melt away.

“You got a second?”

“I never have a second,” Edgar glowered, but a hint of a smile gleamed in his eyes. “I’m going over the numbers. It’s not good. People don’t read. Why don’t people read?” Then he held up the crossword from Thursday, half-finished in blue ink. “This one’s a doozy. Some of these clues are ridiculous.” He set the paper down. “Anyway, people don’t read.”

Damien ran his hand down the synthetic silk of his tie. “They do read. Blogs are a huge hit.”

“That is a curse word around here. Nothing but someone’s opinion. Hardly ever backed up by fact.”

Damien smiled to himself. Edgar was already making his point for him. “So I wanted to talk to you about that very thing.”

Edgar’s face dropped. “Please tell me you’re not going to start a blog. We have eight going already. Not to mention a bunch of people Tweetering, which honestly seems like the quickest way to lose testosterone, but that’s just me.”

“No, no. Not interested in all that. In fact, it’s the opposite. I was hoping to do more investigative pieces.”

Edgar blinked, that strange sleep apnea sound he made during waking hours the only noise in the room.

“So that’s a yes?”

“It’s your generation. Never happy with where you are. I’ve been a newspaperman all my life. Done nothing else.”

Damien sat down. “That’s admirable. You know how much I admire that. And you. But I think it’s also healthy to venture out, not stay in the same place. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think I had something to contribute.”

“But people like what you do. You’re a popular column. Controversial. Thought-provoking. People write in about it all the time. Don’t you read those?”

“Of course. And I’m glad to do what I do. But maybe it’s time for a change. Like… like the clocks. Digital as of 2006, right? So now we’re right on time with the universe. See? I’m going from analog to digital; that’s all.”

“That sort of nonsense might work in your op-ed pieces, but it won’t work with me. What is it? You want a raise?”

“No. It’s not about money.”

Edgar scratched his double chin. “I don’t know. Bruce runs the investigative pieces.”

“He’s a sportswriter. He just does that because we’re trying to cover all the bases since you cut Jim’s position. I could help Bruce cover some of that.”

The leather office chair creaked as Edgar leaned back, staring first at Damien, then at the ceiling, and then at the clock. “It’s not even noon yet. This is going to be a long day.” He slapped both hands on his desk. “I don’t want the op-eds to stop. That’s your first job, and they better keep coming. If you want to throw in a few investigative pieces, we’ll see how it goes.”

Damien jumped up. “Thank you!”

“Bruce is not going to take this well.”

“I’ll handle Bruce. I’ll talk to him right now. He’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Hey, you want to go grab a sub for lunch?”

“Sure. In about an hour?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Damien raced out of the office and headed for Bruce’s desk, which sat across the room from his.

Bruce looked up from his Sports Illustrated. “Hey, Damien. What’s going on?”

Damien lowered his voice. “Edgar’s going to let me do investigative pieces.”

Bruce’s magazine dropped to his lap. “What?”

“Yeah, I just talked to him. Figured he wouldn’t go for it, but he said to go ahead, except I gotta keep doing the op-eds. So basically I’m doing twice the work for the same pay, but at least I’m not dying a slow death at my desk.”

“So… you’re doing the investigative pieces? Not me?”