Kent Breyer was thinking about calling Jackie Templeton – he had her card, which his daughter Laraine had given him. Laraine had run into Jackie in a bar, the London Underground.

She picked up her phone and answered, "What?" in a short and annoyed tone. Kent was not at all offended. He was a reporter, too.

"I'm not a lead, or a story," he said. "Just a blast from the past. High School. Kent Breyer."

"Hi, Kent!" Jackie's voice was suddenly friendly. "I was in town and I ran into your daughter. Time flies! Who'd have thought my ace reporter for the Port Charles High School News had a grown daughter!"

Kent laughed. He'd been the editor, and she'd been a reporter. "I have two grown sons, too. How about you?" That was always the best way to start a conversation with age-mates these days. Some of them even had grandchildren. Kent was glad he didn't, not so much because he didn't want them as because he wanted his children to have a little fun in life first.

"I have a son and a daughter," she said. "By my ex-husband."

"Singular. The same ex-husband?"

"Yep. Can you believe it? Who did you marry, anyone from PCH?"

"Yeah, but she was a little behind us. But we're divorced, too. Being a reporter, I figure I did pretty well to raise three kids before my first divorce."

Jackie laughed. "I've had two divorces. The father of my kids and then another guy. I tried twice. Now when it comes to men, I just rent, I don't buy." Kent laughed. Jackie did too, and went on: "Being an international correspondent and a married woman do not mix. Say, we have a lot to catch up on. Let's go get a cup of coffee at Kelly's Diner, before something else comes up for one or the other of us."

Kent agreed, laughing. That was the life of the reporter. They had a lot in common, though they had not talked in years and though her career was much more high-powered.

At Kelly's, over cups of Kelly's locally famous coffee, Jackie explained what she was doing at the Port Charles Gazette.

"It came time to write the book about my life," she explained. "And I thought I would write it back where I got started. The Port Charles Gazette."

"My son is dating one of the reporters," he said. "It sounds like a nice, local paper. Has it changed much?"

"Do you know her name?" Jackie said, and went on without waiting for the answer. "It has changed. No typewriters, all computers."

"Of course."

"The staff is slightly larger, and the paper they put out is bigger. The enlargement of the staff is in editorial."

"Too much fat at the top?"

"Yeah," she said. "Somebody needs to step in and rearrange things before they end up in the red."

"Would that be you?"

"Oh, no, I'm a reporter only and always will be."

Kent nodded. Many reporters were like that. Some wanted to become editors, but others never saw any step up in that. It was more like selling out.

"Why don't you come by sometime?" Jackie asked. "Haven't you ever tried working for the local rag?"

"No," Kent laughed. "I've stayed away from it."

"Think of becoming an editor?"

"I'm up for it at the paper I work at. Have been for years."

"Well, it can't be the glass ceiling."

He smiled. "No, it's the not-ready-for-retirement ceiling."

"Must be a great job if they hang onto it rather than retire at the first opportunity."

"It gets addictive."

"Don't I know it! So what are your kids up to? Do they all live in Port Charles?"

"Yes, luckily. Laraine, my oldest, is an accountant at Deception Corporation. Then there's Chad, he's an engineer at McKinley. Last, there's Toby, he's still at PCU and his life revolves around his guitar playing for a rock band called The Dissentors."

"How interesting! My daughter Nancy is going to be a freshman and she's going to come look at PCU. She wants to be a nurse, she thinks, and PCU is a good place to go to nursing school. My son Nathan, he's going to be graduating from Oxford."

"Wow, that's impressive!"

"Thanks. My son still doesn't even know what he wants to do in life. He majored in African Art."

"African art?"

"Yes, my kids are half African, you know."

"No, I remember hearing something about you and the African journalist, though."

"That's my first husband. William Ngala."

"Fascinating. Which country is he from?"

"Bamanda."

"So you raised your children there?"

"Oh, no, in London. That's where I was working and where William was given asylum. We can't go to Bamanda; it's a dictatorship. Nasty business. I'll tell you all about it sometime when we've got hours and hours."

Kent smiled. "What a life. Mine's been positively dull."

"Is your ex-wife still around?"

"Yes. She's a librarian at the Port Charles Library. Her name was – is – Lane Charleson. She changed back after the divorce."

"Too bad it didn't work out, after raising three kids."

"It was working out OK, until she went Holy Roller."

"You mean, fundie?"

Kent laughed. "Right. Jesus freak."

"Oh, boy."

"Oh, yes."

"So she divorced you for not being religious?"

"I divorced her for being too religious. There's only so much a moderate agnostic can take."

"Oh," Jackie said. "Hadn't thought about that kind of thing. I break up with my husbands because of other women."

"Can you believe, I never cheated on her? Even though I'm a reporter."

Jackie laughed again. "You're a good boy, Kent," she said.