Getting The Last Word

Thursday, July 10, 1969 – 7:55am.

The phone rings as Lacy enters the kitchen fresh from her shower and wrapped in a towel that just manages to cover what it's supposed to. She snatches up the receiver before either Ma or Peg, sipping coffee at the table, even know she's there.

"Hello?"

"Yes, hi. This is Lou Tammerly calling for Lacy Wilson."

"This is her," Lacy replies, feeling an excited tingle down around her belly button. "How can I help you?"

"Well first of all, young lady, I want to thank you and your family for the hospitality shown to my nephew the other day. Y'all helped make his inaugural column an unqualified success."

Lacy shakes her head, blonde hair falling into her eyes. "Mark done that all by himself, mostly, an' you done good by not cuttin' stuff out."

He chuckles in her ear. "Hey, even an old newshound like me knows when to take the advice of a pretty girl. Especially," he adds, clearly amused with her, "when that girl has the moxie to tell him how he should edit his own paper."

Lacy feels herself blush. "You're laughing at me!"

"No ma'am, I am not." His voice turns serious. "I would never do that to someone I wish to employ."

Wait, what?

Before she can re-gather her scattered wits, he chuckles again. "Ah, so my nephew is not the only one to render you speechless, I see."

"Don't get used to it," she mutters. "Y'all just caught me off-guard, is all."

"No doubt," Lou agrees, but his next question has her gaping at the phone. "So, my dear, may I ask what you're wearing?"

This time Lacy finds her voice. "Why? You ain't some pervert in a trenchcoat, are you?"

Now Ma and Peggy are the ones gaping, and Lou Tammerly's explosive laugh is the last thing Lacy expects from him right then.

"Ha! Miss Wilson, that was priceless, and you are even more of a gem than my nephew let on. But let me assure you that, while I do occasionally don a trenchcoat during inclement weather, I generally prefer clothes under mine."

"Too bad," Lacy says, back on her game again. "An' here I was, all set to drop my skimpy towel just for you an' let you breathe heavy in my ear."

"Lacy Ann Wilson!" Evelyn gasps from the table, but all Lacy hears is the utter, vindicating silence coming from Lou's end of the line.

"See you in an hour," she says sweetly, and hangs up on him.

Forty-seven minutes later, Lacy – now wearing sandals and the same sundress she'd worn Tuesday – enters the front door of the newspaper office and looks around.

The reception area is nothing like she expected, clean and uncluttered with not a printing press in sight.

And Merri, grinning at her from behind a battered metal desk.

"'Bout time you got here. Boss man keeps ringin' my phone to see if the new girl – that's you, by the way – is here yet."

Lacy rolls her eyes. "First off, I told him an hour, so it ain't like I'm late, an' besides, how can I be his 'new girl' if I haven't even met the man? All we did so far is talk on the phone."

Merri's grin widens. "Uh-huh. And whatever you said at the end of that call had him in there talkin' to himself and laughing like an idiot."

"I do that all the time," a male voice says, and Lacy looks over to see Lou Tammerly standing in the doorway to his private office with a warm smile on his face.

And wearing a trenchcoat Sherlock Holmes himself would kill for.

She stares at him wide-eyed, then laughs happily. "Got me good, didn't you?"

Lou grins. "Yes, ma'am, I did."

"But you coulda got me even better," she says, "if you'da rolled up your pants and come out of your office barefooted."

"I thought of that, but with my luck some humorless biddy like Gertrude Peabody would have shown up on her broom and gotten the wrong idea." He looks at his watch as Lacy and Merri both giggle at his apt description of Rebel Creek's resident busybody. "Now let's get you in here so we can hash out the fine points of your impending servitude."

And just like that, Lacy lands her first honest-to-God writing gig.

"So how'd it go?" Evelyn asks as soon as Lacy comes into the cafe a short time later and kicks off her sandals. "Did he hire you?"

"Oh, man!" the girl cries, unable to contain her excitement. "Ma, you are lookin' at the newest member of the Rebel Creek Gazette."

"Well, congratulations," Evelyn says, setting a glass of lemonade in front of her as Lacy perches herself at the counter. "What will you be doing?"

"Helping Mark with his column, research an' like that, but the best part is, I get to write my own stuff, too."

"Oh, honey, that's wonderful! Will you have your own byline?"

Lacy shakes her head. "No, but sorta. It'll still be part of what Mark writes, only right at the end." She grins. "I'm gonna call it Lacy's Last Word."

"Of course you are." Evelyn reaches out to ruffle her daughter's hair, then frowns as something occurs to her. "But wait. Is this a free-lance position, or am I about to lose my best waitress?"

Again Lacy shakes her head. "Neither. I can write my part from home, and my hours at the office are like 4-to-6 Monday, Wednesday, and Friday."

"That's not so bad," Evelyn concedes. "How much is he paying you?"

"Two bucks an hour," Lacy says proudly. "An' a free half-page ad for the cafe every Friday."

Evelyn's jaw drops. "Are you serious? That's insane." She slaps a guest-check pad on the counter next to Lacy's glass. "Now grab a pen and write something before the man changes his mind."