Chapter 23
Fields came by my desk first thing the next morning with an article.
“We’re back to that, are we?” I felt a little awkward around him—and not just because he had seen me in a cocktail dress without a brassiere the night before. We had a secret now. This was definitely fraternization territory.
He leaned in close, and I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Miss Kelly was nowhere nearby. “The story is just for cover,” he whispered. “I wanted to tell you the vice president is in California until Saturday.”
My shoulders dropped. So much could happen between now and Saturday. The mass goal could occur before we found out what it was. Someone else could scoop us. “So we just wait until he’s back, then go sit at Off the Record until we see something?”
“Actually,” he said, then straightened and said in a louder voice: “News needs this by eleven.” His tone was strictly professional. “And you’re the fastest typist.”
I looked at him, confused, then saw Miss Kelly cross behind him, clearly listening. “Right away, Mr. Fields,” I said. “Does it need edits, or have you figured out how to write an effective lead?”
Her lips twitched, though she didn’t actually smile, as she headed toward the elevators.
“Ouch,” he said, lower.
“Start with who or what. Where, when, why, and how aren’t the most important information. You’re losing interest before readers even find out who’s involved.”
He blinked three times. “That’s—”
“What they teach in introductory journalism—unless you missed that day?”
He grinned sardonically. “Thanks, professor.”
“You’re welcome.” I lowered my voice: “Now what were you saying?”
“Are you sure you’re done ripping apart my writing style?”
“No, but the other conversation is more interesting.”
Fields shook his head. “You’re quite annoying, do you know that?”
“I prefer tenacious.”
“That too,” he said, then glanced over his shoulder as the door of the elevator closed, Miss Kelly inside it. He knelt down to my desk. “We should go see the nightclub singer.”
My skin began to prickle with the excitement—and potential danger—of the situation. “Do you think she’s the one who—”
“I don’t have any idea. Probably not, actually, if it’s anything big. The higher profile the affair, the less likely it is to be anything secretive.”
He had a point. A movie star had serenaded the president for his birthday a month earlier, and the rumors were flying about their involvement.
“Say, speaking of that, are the president and—”
“Off the record,” Fields interrupted, knowing where I was going with my question. “Yes. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
I looked at him, surprised. “Why wouldn’t you write it, then? That’s a huge story.”
He sighed, but he sounded annoyed. “I know. But the paper won’t touch it.
Partially because of national security. Partially because the feds are going to want to know sources, and then I lose access to people who have information on much more important stories.
Better to let the scandalous but unimportant one go to catch a bigger fish. ”
“What could be a bigger fish than the most famous woman in the world?” He said nothing but looked at me as I worked it out. “You don’t mean . . .” Then, in a low voice: “Havana, do you?”
“Anything the Soviets are doing that actually affects millions of lives is more important than who someone is sleeping with. Even if one of those someones is the most powerful man in the world and the other is the most beautiful woman. And we know the Soviets are in bed with Castro—pun intended.”
A chill ran down my spine. The Soviets partnering with a country within missile range of the US couldn’t mean anything good. For any of us. Was it really possible I had found a key to unlocking that story though?
“But if you don’t think this singer is our Havana lead, why go see her?”
“She may know something. She may not, but it doesn’t hurt to try. We’re fumbling in the dark here to see if this lead of yours means anything, which means we should explore any possible connections we can find.”
I felt like I was vibrating with excitement—he believed I could be onto something. Enough to really explore it.
The Bohemian Caverns show was going to be tricky though—it did make it easier if I didn’t have to make up an excuse every night.
But the girls from the typing pool would be there, and it was going to raise suspicions if I arrived with Fields.
Patricia didn’t like him, but would anyone actually turn me in to Miss Kelly for fraternization if they thought we were dating?
Speaking of Patricia, her desk was empty. I squinted at the clock. I had gotten in early, thanks to my father driving me to work. She still had a minute before it was time to worry.
But I was a Jewish woman, so no clock was going to stop me from worrying early.
I was about to ask Fields if he thought she was okay when the elevator door opened, and Patricia walked out. I exhaled.
“The typing pool girls who met her last weekend are going to her show Thursday night. How do we deal with them?”
He looked over his shoulder and saw Patricia rolling her eyes at me over him being at my desk. “We—uh—might have to pretend to be . . . friendly. Or something.”
I shook my head. “What about the no-fraternization rule?”
Fields grinned. “That’s at the office. Do you really think there’s no funny business going on after hours?”
I looked at him sharply. “Is there?”
“Are you kidding?” He used a finger to count girls around the room. “Eight of them are dating reporters.”
“But they know I don’t like you. I mean that I didn’t. You know what I mean.”
He held a hand to his heart, pretending to be wounded. Then he winked at me. “Isn’t that how the best love stories start? Romeo and Juliet? Beatrice and Benedick? Darcy and Elizabeth? Rhett and Scarlett?”
I laughed loudly enough for several girls to look over, including Patricia. “Don’t go expecting a happy ending from me, Fields.”
“Jack,” he reminded me.
“At work, Fields. And we’re working off the clock too.”
“Fair. But in front of people, you may need to pretend.” He hesitated. “So should I pick you up Thursday, or . . . ?”
“No,” I said quickly. “My parents—”
“Right. I forgot you live with them.”
My grandmother’s words from the night before rang in my head. I was eventually going to need to produce a man. And Fields could pass for Jewish, if we Yiddished up his name some.
“I’ll go with the girls, and then you ‘happen’ to be there.”
“Like Clement last night?”
“Exactly. Although hopefully with less of a scandalous past.”
He smiled, and it struck me that my mother was going to love him as long as she didn’t find out what we were playing at. Or that he wasn’t Jewish. “I’m practically a Boy Scout.”
I rolled my eyes. “Get out of here before Miss Kelly comes back. I’ll see you tomorrow night at the Bohemian Caverns.” He started to take the paper on my desk back. “I can type that.”
“You don’t have to.” His tone was sheepish. “I was just making an excuse for Miss Kelly.”
“It’ll look bad if she comes back, and it’s on the board. Besides, someone has to clean up your leads.”
Fields looked at me for a few seconds, then shook his head. “You’re going to keep me on my toes, aren’t you?”
I shrugged. “It’s only fair. I had to wear heels to even see over the bar last night.”
His laughter rang through the typing pool as he walked away.
Patricia was at my desk before he was even in the elevator. “You two seem . . . cozy.”
I was a little miffed about how she abandoned me the night before.
“Well, we had a lot of time to talk last night.” She colored slightly, and I felt bad.
No, I didn’t approve. And I was worried about her safety.
But the way she had called me the princess and what she said about happy endings made my heart ache.
“He’s not so bad. You won’t tell Miss Kelly on me, will you? ”
She looked hurt. “Of course not.”
“Thank you,” I said, and her demeanor softened. “What happened last night after I left?”
Her lips stretched into a sly smile. “Let’s just say the rooms at the Hay-Adams don’t have coin-operated beds.”
“Patricia!”
“What? A girl’s got to have some fun.” She leaned closer. “I did hear you last night though. I’m not getting attached.”
“Good.” Though I wondered how much fun a man old enough to be her father could really be. “Think I can tag along to that singer’s show tomorrow night?”
“Of course. Do you want to pick me up again? We can snag you another dress.”