Two
Whenever possible, Wesley Chen walked the forty-five minutes to the Spear office. It set him up for the day and provided a much needed separation between home and work. Unfortunately, this Wednesday morning offered none of the little pleasures he looked forward to. His favorite place to grab coffee had shut down for emergency maintenance. His second favorite had a line out the door of all the people who couldn’t get into the first place. The third had apparently gone out of business last week.
He was deciding whether to get a watery cup from a chain store—he wouldn’t enjoy it, but it would at least be coffee—when his phone rang. His spirits immediately soared when he saw it was his little sister, Ella.
“Hellooo.” He drew out the greeting, but instead of the laughter he expected, all he heard was sniffling. Wes went on immediate alert. He should have known Ella wasn’t calling to say hi. It wasn’t even six in the morning where she was in Vancouver. “El? What’s going on? Are you hurt?”
“No.” More sniffles. “Ma just called.”
Of course it was Ma. “What did she say?” He left out the this time . There was a reason Ella went to university on the other side of the country, and it was their mother.
“Nothing. More of the usual. That I’m selfish for staying here. If I cared about her, I would come home. She’s lonely since Amy moved out, and it’s my fault.”
Wes leaned against the brick wall of a design store and settled himself to calm his sister. “Ella, Ma is fine. I’m at home, and Amy’s apartment is close.”
“Are you sure?” Ella’s voice had a little waver that made Wes’s heart clench.
“Absolutely,” he assured her. “What did I say when you left for Vancouver?”
“To get the yakiniku rice hot dog from Japadog, work hard, and not take open drinks from strangers,” Ella repeated in a singsong voice.
“Correct. What wasn’t on the list?”
“Worrying about Ma.”
“That’s my job.”
“Things really are okay at home?”
“They really are,” he said, almost believing it himself.
After they disconnected, Wes sat on a bench and watched people hurry by on their way to work. He stared at his phone. Then he called his mother.
“Hi, Ma.”
She didn’t return his greeting. “I want Ella home. I keep telling her she needs to be here, and she doesn’t listen.”
Wes knew the tone in her voice meant he had about thirty seconds to prevent a follow-up call to Ella. Luckily—or not—years of experience meant Wes had become the family’s expert Ma whisperer, and he reached for his gold-standard tactic: redirection. “Oh? By the way, Ma, I called to tell you I won’t be home for dinner.”
His mother immediately turned her attention away from Ella and onto him. “Not coming home? Where are you going?”
Wes hadn’t thought that far ahead in his lie, so went with the basic, “Out with a friend.”
“What friend? You don’t have friends. You don’t need them. You have your family. I work to the bone to come home to an empty house? What kind of gratitude is that? Selfish. I’ve always known it. Only thinking about yourself after all I do for you. Useless.”
He listened for another five minutes, not speaking, just gazing at the pigeons, until his mother wound herself down and abruptly hung up. He slid his phone into his pocket—there was no point calling back, as she wouldn’t answer—and continued walking, shoulders tighter than usual with tension.
It was a glum and uncaffeinated Wes who arrived late at the office to some critical glances that he seriously did not need. The Spear expected early-morning starts from their staff, reflecting the rise-and-grind hustle attitude of their distant tech owner.
When they moved last year, the Spear implemented a first-come-first-served desk booking system to promote collaboration by forcing staff from different departments to mix. It had been an abject failure, and a week of cutthroat intrigue and backroom deals had resulted in each department staking out its own unofficial territory. Luckily, his editor, Rebecca, had survived the mechanisms of a socialist arts collective in university, thus ensuring her Lifestyle team eventually reigned supreme over the floor’s most coveted area, a small quiet alcove in the corner away from copy machine socializing and kitchen smells.
The only downside was its location next to the investigative team, which daily forced Wes to face the fact that his career had stagnated. He passed Tyler Dawlish, who was stroking his beard and laughing at his own jokes while sitting at the desk Wes desperately wanted to be his again.
“What a cock-up.” Tyler’s voice drifted over like burned popcorn. “I told JJ it was incredibly poor journalism. Who doesn’t confirm news of that caliber? That guy should be fired. The Herald is a joke.”
JJ, who was Jason Jackson to people like Wes, was the Spear ’s investigative editor. A few months ago, Jason had rejected Wes’s application for the latest spot on the I-team, all the more galling since Wes had already been there as part of a six-month secondment. They gave the permanent role to Tyler, moving him from Opinions and returning Wes to Lifestyle. Rebecca had welcomed him back with open relief and a pile of assignments she’d been saving for what she called his magic touch. Her appreciation had cooled the burn of rejection, at least a bit.
Wes tuned out Tyler’s blustering as Rebecca appeared in front of his desk, blocking the sun coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Can you believe it?” Rebecca pulled back her long sandy-brown hair.
“Believe what?”
“Didn’t you hear what the Herald did?”
“No.” Wes hated feeling caught unawares, having internalized the idea that because he could know everything thanks to his phone and the internet, he should. It wasn’t healthy, but omniscience—or the appearance of it—was a big advantage at the Spear . He couldn’t afford to look like he was slacking if he wanted another chance at the I-team.
“The Herald screwed up. Like the mother of all screwups.” She almost vibrated with excitement. “They ran Dot Voline’s obituary last night.”
“The author? I thought she was already dead.”
“Me too, but she is very much not dead as of today. Which, you will note, is after her obit ran.” She sipped her huge bubble tea with gusto.
“Whoa.” That must have been what Tyler had been talking about. Since the Herald ’s owner considered the digital-only Spear a trashy upstart compared to the hundred-year-old Herald , it was pleasant to see them humbled.
“I’ve never worked obits, but you’d think the first rule is to make sure your subject’s fully passed beyond this mortal coil,” Rebecca agreed.
“Their editor’s run that section for ages,” Wes said. “My mother reads it religiously.” All the while commenting on how she could have achieved more than the deceased, be they politician, entrepreneur, or athlete, had she not dedicated her life to her family.
“No, he died, and a woman took over a month or so ago.” Her forehead scrunched. “Natasha Barbell? Something like that.”
Wes looked up in surprise. “Nadine Barbault?”
“You know her?”
“We went to journalism school together, but she’s on the politics team.” He turned to his laptop. No, there she was on the Herald ’s staff directory page: Nadine Barbault, Obituary Editor. An unexpected change, given how well she’d been doing, but probably the result of some long-game career plan. She was devious like that.
The sounds of the office drifted away as Wes basked in the keen enjoyment of his schadenfreude. A mortification of this magnitude could not have happened to a more deserving person. Nadine’s blunder was a devastating defeat in their ongoing, never-declared battle for supremacy that had started the tenth day of JORN 102, Introduction to Journalism, when they’d tied for the highest mark in the class on their first assignment.
Her latest crime had been last year, when she scooped his story on unregistered lobbyists during his I-team secondment. Getting scooped was a risk for any journalist, but Jason had not been impressed to see the story Wes had been working on emblazoned on the Herald ’s front page under Nadine’s byline. It wasn’t the reason he’d been sent back to Lifestyle but Jason might have fought harder for his transfer if Wes had been the first to break that huge story.
“It’s a big drop from politics to the dead beat,” Rebecca said. “Then to mess that up?”
Wes shook his head and shut his laptop. It hurt him to admit, but in fairness, Nadine was undeniably fantastic at her job. “It must have been a glitch in the system. Remember when Radio France Internationale posted a bunch of obits because of a web upgrade?”
“My baser self prefers to believe she blew it. Trust but verify.” Rebecca made a motion as if reading the phrase from a marquee, causing her cup to slip alarmingly in her hand. “You know, we should do a story on Dot Voline to capitalize on this. Maybe get a comment from her about the experience.”
“I’m on it,” said Wes immediately, happy for any chance to one-up Nadine.
“Great. I also want to talk to you about some things before the morning meeting.”
Wes had been waiting for this moment, so he put thoughts of Nadine aside. “Good, because I have a story for you.”
She looked suspicious. “You know I’m always open to that.”
He didn’t bother to correct her. “New research says skin-lightening products are more carcinogenic than formerly believed.”
“Sorry, Wes. It’s not for us.” Rebecca held up a hand to halt his objection. “I have my marching orders,” she continued. “The vision for Lifestyle is to bring delight to a reader’s inbox. Our readers engage most with joyful content.”
“Cancer might not be delightful, but it’s important.”
Rebecca gave him a sympathetic look. She’d been a friend before she became his editor, and he didn’t know if he would have lasted so long at the Spear without her support. That, and Rebecca letting him ransack her emergency jelly bean stash on bad days. He reciprocated by leaving bags of shrimp chips on her desk.
Rebecca lowered her voice. “I know you want back on the I-team.”
“It’s not that I don’t like Lifestyle,” he said.
“It’s just not the kind of work you want to do,” she finished for him.
“I give you my best,” he protested.
“That’s why I want you on my team. Your Lifestyle stories have the highest engagement scores across the company, and you know why that’s important.”
Wes did know. “Money.”
“Muh- nee . Traffic for those sweet ad dollars that keep us employed.” She cocked an eyebrow at him as if to ask, Do you want to be employed? They’d heard the rumors around the Spear ’s lack of profit, which neither of them had been able to confirm, so the question was relevant.
“I get it,” he said.
“You’re right though. It is important,” Rebecca said. “Let’s think about how we can sneak in that research without making it the whole story.”
Wes was ready. “How about a skin care myths and facts feature?”
“That works. I can always count on you.” Her phone rang. “Oh, give me a second. I was expecting this call.”
Rebecca left for the phone room, and Jason came up as Wes logged into his email. “Wes, buddy, do me a favor.”
“Yeah, of course.” Wes sat straighter. Helping Jason wouldn’t directly impact his chances to get back on the I-team, but it couldn’t hurt.
Jason sat on the desk and put his foot on his chair, scratching at his reddish beard. His boot pressed into Wes’s leg. “I need your perspective. What do the Chinese think about the International Monetary Fund?”
Wes had become used to these kinds of questions during his career and fell back on his usual line. “Why would I know?”
Jason gave him a come-on look. “You must have a sense.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Jason as the spokesperson for all Chinese people on earth the IMF sucked balls, but Wes restrained himself. “Sorry, man, couldn’t tell you.”
“Too bad.” Jason shifted as if to leave, and Wes panicked, wanting to redeem himself. There was that pitch he’d been thinking about…
“Hey, Jason, you know I’m very interested in rejoining the I-team.”
“I know that.” Jason looked around as if checking for eavesdroppers. “Look, I’ll be honest. You have solid ideas, but I barely heard you speak up in meetings. I need my team to be assertive, capable of fighting for a story.”
Since that was what Wes was doing at the moment, it was a win-win. “It’s connected to the lobbying piece I was working on,” he said.
“The one the Herald ran? What about it?”
“I heard several Chinese cultural centers had their funding cut after work by unregistered lobbyists,” he said. “A direct result of the changes.”
Jason looked intrigued. “Yeah, I like it. There might be something there if we can broaden it out to other organizations.”
“What do you think of me taking a look?” Wes tried to keep the golden hope from filling his every cell. “Rebecca would probably be open to me doing this on the side.” She knew it was important to him and that he wouldn’t let it interfere with his work for her.
Jason pressed his lips together. “No offense, Wes, but there might be concerns you’d be too close to the story.”
“Too close?” Wes echoed.
“Yeah, we need to make sure our reporters can emotionally distance themselves from their reporting. Optics, you know. Journalistic integrity.” Jason shrugged his thick shoulders. “Plus, you’d probably get scooped again.” Jason took his foot off Wes’s chair, the force causing him to spin slightly. “Hey, Becky. How’s it hanging?”
Rebecca ignored him. “Wes, as I was going to say earlier, I want you to do a how-to on packing the perfect summer picnic.”
Jason snorted as he left, and Wes reopened his laptop so violently that the screen almost hit the desk, then shrugged in apology when Rebecca raised her eyebrow. “Picnic ideas,” he said to make up for showing his temper. “Let’s do three versions and base it around different tablecloths people can use to sit on. Gingham for vegetarian, French Provencal for meat, and chintz for dessert.”
She beamed at him. “Love it. Add matching nonalcoholic wines too.”
“Bien s?r.” He turned to his computer and caught sight of Nadine’s profile from the Herald website. She had a slight smile and was looking at the camera with her body angled to the left and arms crossed over her chest. He cheered slightly as he shut the page down. At least his day wasn’t as bad as Nadine’s.
***
hours later, he’d finished interviewing a local decorator who had launched a new website to help people choose wall paint based on their pets’ personalities and decided it was time for coffee.
In the office kitchen, waiting for the water to boil for the instant coffee he kept for emergencies, he pulled out his phone and found Dot Voline’s obituary, which someone had copied and posted on the Spear ’s internal message board so they could collectively gloat over it. Within two lines, he knew it wasn’t Nadine’s work. Over the years, he’d become familiar with the cadence of her writing and the turns of phrase that were wholly hers. Sometimes he thought he’d be able to recognize her hand faster than his own. This had a dry, academic tone and none of Nadine’s usual flow.
Although the comments section was usually something he avoided, this time, he scrolled through to see if there was anything useful. Most were about Voline’s contribution to the literary landscape or all-caps exhortations to hold politicians accountable for issues that had nothing to do with the story. Then he found one that made him pause.
Wasn’t there some scandal about 30 pieces? They never teach the good stuff in school.
A scandal. Wes stirred the brown powder into his hot water. Scandal was good. That it was probably from forty years ago was bad. But it could be interesting. He did a quick search, but Voline’s profiles all told the same story about a small-town teacher who made it big in the literary world with her razor-sharp insights into human nature and an acid perspective on social mores. Nothing about a scandal. Who could he ask? Wes was about to take a tour of the office to see who might know something when his colleague Eliza came in to grab a yogurt from the fridge. He liked Eliza, who was from the breaking news desk and won the pumpkin-decorating contest each year. Last October, she had carved out small divots and inserted radishes formed into eyes, then put the whole thing on top of a mannequin with tentacle limbs. It still popped up in Wes’s nightmares.
More importantly, Eliza had been in the business for a long time and knew where a lot of bodies were buried.
“Hey, Eliza, did you see the Voline obit?” he asked.
She looked at his cup and quietly handed him a few creamers that he accepted with gratitude. “I did. What a mess.”
“There was a comment about a scandal, but I can’t find anything online. Do you know what it is?”
“I thought the only scandalous thing about Dot Voline was her fashion sense.”
“No, it was about one of her books.” He handed over his phone so she could read it.
Eliza looked thoughtful. “You know, there was something from early in my first job. One of the many stories that never get covered, and it was barely a scandal. More of a scandalette.”
This was a good start. “Do you remember the details?”
“God, it was decades ago.” Eliza paused. “Maybe Thirty Pieces of Silver was based on someone? I’m not sure, although that’s the most likely story.”
He thought. “Could it have been plagiarized?”
Eliza laughed. “Then I don’t think it would be on the school curriculum. Sorry, Wes. That’s all I have.”
She left. Wes took his terrible coffee back to his desk to generate a listicle on the best plant-based ways to get rid of ants for the picnic piece, then did some more research on Voline. Nothing. This frustrated him beyond belief. Growing up in the internet age meant he refused to believe a fact existed that would not be available for him to find online. This Voline scandal, however, might be the exception.
He messaged Rebecca. There might be a scandal about one of Voline’s books. Thirty Pieces of Silver.
Rebecca’s reply was fast. I had to do that in school. Forget the scandal. I want a nice puff story about Voline and her non-brush with death. Do it that way or the jelly beans get it.
She was joking, but Wes knew there was no point fighting. Fine, just leave the jelly beans alone. The way his day was going, he was going to need them.
He stared at his laptop. He’d give Rebecca her story, but it wouldn’t hurt to do some checking on that scandal. He knew it would bother him until he figured it out. Since he needed a quote from Voline anyway, he could ask her about the rumor at the same time. It might also further screw over Nadine, which would be a bonus. If it was truly juicy, it might be worth pitching to Rebecca or Jason. Double bonus.
He smiled. It felt good to investigate something that wasn’t about whether crochet walls were the next big trend.
Which of course they weren’t. Crochet banisters, however, had a chance.