55. George
George
“What do you think, Lenny?” I made a flourish over my newspaper section, pen in hand.
“Looks good, boss.”
Jacob’s first column stared up from my dummy draft, Tales from the Rails proudly claiming the top left corner. “Bet the art guys can give it some punch. Ask them to mock up something for next week. Railroad theme.” I peered at my longtime friend and assistant. “Think readers will like it?”
“I did. Your farm boy can write.”
“Great, Lenny. I liked it, too.”
I’d already carved out a spot for Jacob’s column in my secret syndication project.
One perk of editing the Star’s lifestyle section was that every column was planned far in advance.
I could cast stereotype plates early in the week, then send them out for papers to print in their Sunday edition.
First regional, then national distribution. It could be my legacy.
My fingers smoothed and folded the page. Nothing like the smell of fresh ink. “Your opinion. Our top four columns?”
He counted on his fingers. “Mrs. Perkins’ advice column. Harry’s serial with his bumbling detective. Frannie’s fashions and trends. And either Bucky’s cartoon or the Musings column.” He rubbed his chin. “Though I’m probably the only one who knows you still write that little gem.”
Perfect. My idea included every one Lenny listed. Tales from the Rails would round out the page. Give it that extra sparkle.
Lenny crossed his arms. “You got that look, boss.”
“Which one?”
“The one that means I’m going to have a lot of work to do.”
“Read me like a book.” I clapped his shoulder. “Give you the details soon.”