Laura Lippman - Charm City

"You are not in a position to make demands, Miss Ruiz," Mabry said, his voice stern yet regretful, as if she were a daughter who had disappointed him. "At every turn, you have demonstrated a complete absence of ethics, judgment, and professionalism. It is one thing to risk your credibility, but you risked my paper's credibility as well. Don't you understand that Rosita Ruiz, by herself, is insignificant? It is Rosita Ruiz, Beacon-Light reporter, who gets officials on the phone, who convinces private citizens to share their confidences. You care nothing for this institution, you care only for yourself, but you are nothing without the institution. You used your computer skills to slide your story into the paper because you knew it could never withstand the scrutiny that Jack Sterling and I had brought to the process. In your conceit and your egotism, you embody everything wrong with journalism today."

"I'm what's wrong with journalism?" Rosita jumped to her feet, and although it wasn't quite as dramatic as Mabry's performance, she did manage a stumpy kind of dignity. "What about you, you relic, you dinosaur? What was the last story you ever reported, the influenza epidemic of 1908? All you do is sit in your corner office and tell your war stories and hope the paper lurches into a Pulitzer by sheer luck. Well, when I walk out this door, I'm not only going to take my prize-winning story with me, I'm going to take some other stories as well. Stories about this godforsaken place, with its sexual harassment, rampant mismanagement, blatant conflicts of interest, editors who sleep with reporters-"

"Whitman, you crotch-sniffing dog!" Colleen turned on him and he shrank back as if he thought she might strike him. "Couldn't you keep it fucking zipped for once in your life?"

"I swear, I don't know what she's talking about," he whimpered unconvincingly. "Haven't a clue."

Lionel did not allow this ancillary drama to distract him. "Tell me, Miss Ruiz, where will this story of yours appear? What responsible news organization will listen to a dismissed employee without calling to check your allegations? It's my fervent hope there aren't too many reporters whose morals and standards are as lax as your own."

Before Rosita could retort, two security guards entered the room, one carrying a cardboard box filled with notebooks, files, dictionary, AP style book, and one not-quite-clean coffee mug. The detritus of a reporter's desk, Tess realized. But did they really need two beefy men to escort one small woman from the premises, even one as angry as Rosita?

"We've taken the liberty of cleaning out your work space while you were in here, Miss Ruiz," Mabry said. "We have decided to let you keep all your notes and files, although we could claim them as the paper's property. I hope your big story is in one of those notebooks. Alas, I suspect it's mainly in your imagination."

Tess had to admire Rosita for not bursting into tears, begging for one more chance, or groveling to regain Sterling's offer of help in finding another job. Instead, she grabbed the box from one of the security guards and left the room so quickly the guards had to break into a trot to keep up with her.

No, it was Colleen who had tears in her eyes, while Whitman continued to stammer general denials. Sterling stared at the long table, his face ashen, and even Five-Four seemed discomfited. Only Lionel was flush with victory, his piss-yellow locks flying around his head, his yellowish teeth bright in his face.

"Back to work," he said. "We still have a paper to put out. Jack, please find Feeney and tell him about Miss Ruiz's babblings, on the remote chance there's even a grain of truth in them. Whitman, call human resources and tell them to prepare a final check for Miss Ruiz. And Colleen, I'd like to see you in my office now , to discuss your taste in protégés."

Whitman almost bowed as he ran from the room, grateful for the chance to live another day in abject fear. Colleen was composed but deathly pale as she stalked out behind him, while Five-Four tried to give Mabry a manly pat on the shoulder which ended up closer to the small of his back. Only Sterling was left behind, still staring at the blank legal pad in front of him.

"I wonder what she'll do," he said.

"Find a new job, start over. What else can she do?"

"She could still fight it, if she was smart. File an EEOC complaint, say she was railroaded out because she's a minority and a woman."

"I don't think the facts of Rosita's firing make her an ideal candidate for any kind of job action."

"But it was so ugly, so vicious," Sterling said. "I've never seen anything like it, not in all my years in the business. I tried to prepare her for it, but I don't think she understood the severity of her circumstances. She thought I could save her, but I couldn't, I really couldn't."

"No one could. Besides, it was Lionel's decision in the end, not yours."

"I was part of it, though. We were all part of it. If Rosita is a monster, we're Dr. Frankenstein."

Tess wanted desperately to comfort him, to remind him he was a good person, albeit one in a rotten business. She tried to put her arm around his shoulders, but it was awkward, reaching around the padded leather chair, and she ended up pressing her cheek next to his. She couldn't believe how hot his face was, how hard the pulse beat in his temple.

Sterling was the one who pulled away. "So you're free of us now."

"I guess I am. Won't take a security guard, or even a box to clean out my desk. I never settled in."

"It will probably be weeks and weeks before you get paid. We're not very timely in sending checks out to our independent contractors."

So that's what she was to him. An independent contractor.

"No problem." She grabbed the straps of her knapsack, ready to flee. She didn't have a reason to see him anymore, she realized. That also was part of the bargain she had struck.

Sterling's voice stopped her before she reached the door. "Tess-what's Tess short for, anyway?"

"Theresa."

"Whitney refers to you as Tesser, sometimes."

"Do you and Whitney talk about me?" She didn't know whether to be flattered or troubled.

"Before you were hired, she briefed me on you. Remember my little instant thumbnail description of you? Whitney fed me most of my information."

"She was a double-agent, then. She did the same for me. Anyway, Tesser is the way I said my full name, Theresa Esther, when I was a kid."

He had seemed to be cheering up, but his low spirits suddenly overtook him again. "Everybody was a kid once, pure and hopeful. You. Rosita. Wink. No one plans to fuck up, do they?"

"I don't plan on it, but I do count on it."

Good, she had made him laugh, and his bad mood lifted for good this time. Strange, his ambivalence over Rosita only made him more attractive to her. He was the only person here today-Rosita included-who seemed to understand that there would probably be no second chances for Rosita, no hope of starting over. She was damaged goods at twenty-four. Well, she could go to law school, or find some other profession where a situational approach to the truth was less of a detriment. But she'd probably never work as a reporter again.

Sterling stood up to leave. "Good-bye, Tess. Good luck. Everything I've seen suggests you're going to be a hell of an investigator. I bet you were a pretty good reporter, too."

"Thanks. I'd say it's been fun, but-"

"I know. It hasn't." He jingled the change in his pocket, suddenly self-conscious. "Look, I don't want you to think I'm another Whitman-for one thing, I don't have a wife and five kids at home-but would you like to have dinner sometime?"

"Sure." She waited to see if he was going to make the invitation concrete, or if he was merely being polite.