Andy stepped into the bullpen and walked over to her desk. She was early, which meant that most of her colleagues weren't in the office yet. A few of the night reporters were heading out and merely waved at her, probably too exhausted to do anything else.
Pulling up her story, to see what edits Hessle had done as he had personally taken on her story, she began reading. She could tell where Hessle had cut some of her text and edited it in places, but all in all, it gave the same feeling of hope and generosity that was the topic.
"Andy!" A male voice made her jump and to her annoyance, her heart began racing and simply wouldn't slow down again.
"Hi Carl," Andy said and tried to act as if nothing was amiss.
"Great to see you!" Carl looked like he was about to round her desk and hug her, which was not his normal way of greeting his employees. Andy got up and hurried over to the coffee machine where half a pot of what looked like tar waited to be finished off. "Coffee, boss?" she asked and wiggled the pot.
"Only if you start a new pot, as that stuff looks like it'll give me a new ulcer." Carl frowned. "You look a little pale. You sure you're up for it today?" Leaning against another co-worker's desk, he studied her a little too closely. Not in a creepy way, but it still felt like an invasion of privacy. Sure, as her boss, he needed to know she was fit to do the job. Still.
"I'm fine. And I'm only here 50% for the time being." Andy poured out the tar in the small sink and began setting up the coffee machine to brew a new pot. Once that was done, she went back to her desk, hoping Carl had given up on his uncharacteristic idea of being touchy-feely suddenly. She was sure it was meant in a kind, fatherly sort of way, and if she hadn't felt so jumpy about being touched overall right now, perhaps she would have seen it in another light. But then again, no. She still would have found it weird.
"I had planned to send you on another trip for a feature story assignment, but as you're not back fully yet, I'll have to send Parker. Today I think fact-checking will be a good first-day back assignment for you." Carl nodded eagerly and then left. He made a detour to the coffee machine, poured two mugs, and handed one to Andy before disappearing into his office.
Why would he bring her coffee without asking how she took it? She had worked there for four years, and she knew the boss took his coffee black. Feeling a little ridiculous for getting pissy over something so trivial, Andy got up and fetched some milk for her coffee and then returned to her desk. She checked her emails, and as she had logged in a few times at the townhouse, she had managed to keep on top of them. Now she found one from a colleague, which wasn't uncommon, but the subject line was weird.
Regarding the scheduled interview. Andy clicked on the email and found it was from Simon Frost, a young journalist, two years her junior. Apparently, he had gotten the impression that he was going to interview her about what happened in Colombia.
Andy got up and knocked on Carl's door. He saw her through the glass in the door and waved her in.
"Are you aware of Simon's latest stunt?" Andy said and placed her hands on her hips to keep them still. She had a habit of fidgeting, or tugging at her fingers, if she was upset. And she was angry now. The nerve of that guy.
Carl smacked himself on the forehead. "Ah, I forgot to let you know that I gave him the go-ahead." He shook his head. "I swear, I'm not getting older, just busier." He started to laugh at his lame saying but then stopped. "Andy?"
"Are you crazy?" Andy spat. "I haven't agreed to do an interview. It's not going to happen."
"But you're an eyewitness," Carl said and frowned. "It's been reported already that a New York journalist was caught in the mayhem. There's an interest among the public, especially the Hispanic community."
"I do not want to talk to Simon, or any other journalist, about what happened." Andy pressed one of her hands against her stomach which had begun to ache. "And that's final."
"That's bit of a double standard, don't you think, Andy?" a voice said from behind. "The public has a right to know, as kidnappings happen a lot down there."
Andy could hardly believe her ears. She looked at Carl, who now tugged at the collar of his shirt, and then over at Simon, who just seemed excited, obviously not good at reading faces. "I'm going to tell you both this and this is final. I'm not doing any interviews. Ever." She pushed past Simon who stumbled back, and then headed back to her desk.
Andy kept working on answering emails until the tremors in her stomach became too bad. She pulled out her phone and called her psychologist's office. She only got an answering machine and remembered that Delores had spoken about a conference in Philadelphia today.
Staring at her phone, she was starting to get too worked up to simply put it off. She dialed Miranda's number, fully expecting to hear her voicemail greeting. Instead, she got Miranda after two rings.
"Andrea." Miranda's voice, a soft, low purr, made Andy turn to face the wall partition and close her eyes. She heard the familiar cadence of four-inch heels against the marble floor at Runway.
"Hi." Pressing the phone against her ear, Andy tried to think of what to say.
"What's wrong?" Miranda said and her footfalls came faster.
"Nothing. I mean, not nothing, but nothing that I haven't handled. I just needed to hear your voice for a moment. Am I holding you up?""
"Not at all. I just got out of the elevator and am heading for my office. What upset you that you needed to handle?" Miranda spoke quietly, but so close to the phone, Andy felt as if she was in her cubicle.
"How can you know that I was upset?" Andy smiled, as she knew the answer.
"Because of your voice. I know it very well. Now, tell me, darling." Miranda's voice hadn't lost its purr, but some might mistake it for a growl.
"Not sure what my boss was thinking. He had approved an interview with me, which was supposed to be done by a junior colleague of mine, Simon Frost. I told them no. They tried to talk about the greater good or whatever, but I refused. I'm a journalist here. Not someone to be used as a steppingstone for an ambitious reporter." Andy was even more angry now, but it felt better to be angry with Miranda on the other end than by herself.
"He did what?" Miranda said, her voice slow and menacing.
Shit. Andy blinked. Perhaps she should have made sure Miranda knew she was handling this herself. "I took care of it," Andy said. "I just wish I didn't have to. Part of me feels…used…even if I did put a stop to it."
"I know of Carl Hessle. He's made his view of my, and I quote, 'frivolous little magazine,' quite clear. I have chosen never to engage with him, no matter what his tired editorials state. But his unprofessional attitude toward you, Andrea, is staggering."
"So, I'm not blowing it out of proportion when I feel weird about it?" Andy pulled her knee up and leaned her chin against it.
"Not at all. I fear you may not have reacted strongly enough, knowing you. You have become a lot tougher these last four years, but you're still a very kind and forgiving person, Andrea."
Andy had to smile. "You say that as if it's a character flaw."
Miranda huffed. "In some cases, being less kind and remembering to hold a grudge can be appropriate."
Giggling now, which was a miracle, considering how she felt only moments ago, Andy knew that she had never loved Miranda more than in this moment. "I take your word for it. I will take that to heart in this situation. I don't feel very kind or forgiving."
"Excellent." Miranda smiled, Andy could hear it. "What about your tasks? Starting easy?"
"A little too easy, but I'm okay with it. I'm more tired than I thought. I hadn't counted on that." Andy drew a deep breath. "I feel better thanks to you."
"I'm glad I was between meetings so I could take your call. When are you going home?"
Andy checked the time. "In two hours. I have a meeting with my union rep after work and then I'll go home. Want me to pick something up on the way?"
There was a brief silence. "Pick something up?" It was obvious that Miranda was taken aback by her question. "What do you mean, darling?"
"I know Cara shops for groceries, but I want to contribute, Miranda. So, what can I pick up on the way home that's not on Cara's list?" Andy spoke gently, but this was important to her, and yet she felt there was a risk of exasperating Miranda.
"I see." To Andy's surprise, there was warmth in Miranda's voice. "Since I believe you intend to walk part of the way, you might find a decent deli and pick up a few pieces of cheese. I know Cara always buys grapes, and it would be nice with some cheese to go with that. We could perhaps combine that with some port tonight and relax."
Andy smiled so broadly now, her face hurt. "Consider it done." She wasn't going to push her luck by asking Miranda which cheese. She was certain she could channel her former inner assistant skills and figure it out. "I won't keep you any longer, Miranda. I know you're busy." Hesitating, Andy lowered her voice. "I look forward to when you come home."
Another pause, and then Miranda quietly said, "As do I. You have no idea."
Getting back to work, Andy sat straight and with her shoulders squared. She was still pissed, but she wasn't going to let that get to her. She had the person who truly counted in her corner and that was all that mattered. Carl and Simon could nag about the interview all they wanted, but she wasn't going to budge.
#
Miranda was fuming. She postponed two minor meetings as she knew she would have eviscerated the other participants if they so much as breathed the wrong way, which was not good business sense. Instead, she had her assistant find the number for the CEO of the conglomerate that owned the Mirror. She knew the woman well after being on several committees over the years.
"Miranda!" Rhonda Baker took her call immediately, which was encouraging. "This is a surprise."
"Rhonda. It's been too long. I wish this was merely a social call to catch up, but I need to call in that favor you keep saying you owe me."
"Absolutely," Rhonda said, sounding serious now. "I owe you more than one, Miranda. We both know that."
"Thank you. I'll be brief as I know you're as busy as I am." Miranda waited until she had her fury under control. "You heard of the attack on the hotel in Cartagena in Colombia, I imagine. Your paper had it on its first page."
"I did. Horrible incident." Rhonda sounded puzzled.
"This Sunday, there will be a feature article by Andrea Sachs in the Mirror. She was in Colombia when the attack happened, doing a story about a school receiving special aid from the Colombian government. She stayed at that hotel."
"What? Why haven't I heard of this? Is Ms. Sachs all right?" Rhonda sounded sharp now, and Miranda knew she had her attention.
"Physically, yes, I'd say so. Emotionally, well, you can imagine, as she was a witness to the horrific attack. She saw people killed." Miranda drew a deep breath. "She returned to work today and found out that her boss, Mr. Hessle, has scheduled an interview with her, to be done by a junior journalist. She turned them down, of course, as she has a lot to process before she can even talk to me about it. And these…these men expect her to turn herself inside out for the masses in her own newspaper, at her own place of employ."
"I take it Ms. Sachs is important to you." Rhonda spoke curtly, but Miranda suspected it was because she was trying to not fly off the handle regarding her employees. Rhonda was known for her temper.
"She is."
"What do you want me to do? What do you expect from me? I can't interfere with Hessle's way of running the Mirror. I can't micromanage." Rhonda sighed.
"I'm not expecting you to. What I had in mind was for you to offer the junior journalist a raise, a better position, but let's say, in Kansas? And I believe your conglomerate also owns a newspaper or two in Idaho. Any of those, perhaps?"
"Kick the son of a bitch upward and sideways at the same time?" Rhonda snorted.
"Something like that."
"And Hessle?"
"Oh, he can stay. I don't want to cause you the bother that getting a new editor-in-chief would create. One suggestion that would go a long way could be to send out a memo that no journalists travel alone into countries that have an elevated risk to their life."
There was a prolonged silence. "He sent this woman there alone? How old is Ms. Sachs?"
"Twenty-eight."
"Fuck." Rhonda must have slammed something onto her desk, as a loud thud echoed at the other end.
"That's a word as good as any."
"Don't worry. I will make sure the memo gets out to all our departments, nationwide. I honestly must be getting naïve in my old age. I never even considered having to stipulate something like this." Rhonda growled a rather impressive sound.
"Glad I could inform you. I am trying to come to terms with that Andrea had to go through this. It would still have happened, but at least she wouldn't have been alone." Miranda let her guard down for a few moments. "Honestly, Rhonda, if you would have seen the way she looked when I fetched her at the airport. Shoeless, dirty, and dusty, smelling of gunpowder, and in such a state of shock. It broke my heart."
"Miranda. I believe this young woman must be more than a friend." There was no judgment in Rhonda's voice, merely a sudden understanding. Only then did Miranda remember the media posse that had been hunting Rhonda when she married her current husband, who was nineteen years younger than her.
"You're not wrong." Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose and then felt for a nasal spray in her desk drawer. She could not get a migraine right now. "Thank you for understanding, Rhonda. As soon as things stabilize at home, I want you and Eric to come for dinner."
"We'd love that." Rhonda sounded calmer, but an underlying tone of ice proved the woman was on the warpath, much like Miranda.
They hung up and Miranda administered her migraine medication before the next meeting. She had at least six more hours of work before she could go home, and when she was home, she had the challenging task of explaining her decision to call Rhonda, to Andrea.
Contingued in part 24
