Twenty-five
It was a good thing Wes wasn’t the kind of guy to have his mind in the gutter, because he would have been sorely disappointed when thirty minutes later, they walked into an old-school strip of a diner.
But even if part of him was, the way Nadine’s dimple appeared with her smile as she held the door open went a long way to cheering him up.
Wes took a seat at one of the red vinyl stools that lined the beige-and-sand-marble-patterned counter and faced the cooking area. It was like a time capsule. A woman with dark brown hair in a hairnet flipped an omelet before tossing some breakfast potatoes next to it. He had a brief thrill to be out so late without having to deal with his mother asking where he was going, why, and when he would be back. It was a relief to do what he wanted without answering to anyone.
“I’ve never been here,” Wes said, sniffing in delight. “I’ve always wanted to though.”
“Comfort food at its best,” said Nadine. “Perfect for one-in-the-morning munchies.”
He knew what Nadine wanted—the fish and chips she’d been talking about on the way over—and read through the items listed on the bright yellow sign that hung on the wall to decide his own order.
“What can I get for you?” The cook came back after serving the only other customers, a few university kids at the giggly level of high.
Although intrigued by the bandeja paisa, Wes went for that diner classic, a club sandwich. Nadine opened her can of Sprite—he noticed she didn’t drink caffeine after noon—and watched as the cook tossed the fish into the fryer. “Extra crispy, please,” she called.
“You got it.”
It didn’t take long for the food to arrive, glistening under the bright lights. He bit into the sandwich, the toast abrading the top of his mouth, as Nadine cut into the fish to release a puff of steam. Then she said, “Time for me to claim my point. No surprise, it’s the same question you avoided at the grotto. What happened with you at the Spear ?”
“I’m not doing exactly what I want, but at least I’m working.” Not having a choice but to answer made it much easier to talk to Nadine.
“That sucks.” Nadine’s voice was understanding. “Where do you want to be?”
“The investigative team. I was seconded for six months before they sent me back to Lifestyle.” He swallowed down the disappointment that always came when he relived Jason telling him, Sorry, man, Rebecca insisted she needed you. It’s fine. I had my eye on Tyler and convinced him to come on board.
“I read your stories. You’re good, no matter what section you’re writing for.”
“Yeah?” That made him feel better, because Nadine was not someone to blow sunshine. If she said his work was good, then it was.
“You always were. You used to drive me bananas at school. I called you Mr. Why.”
This made him laugh. “Why?”
She grinned. “I prove my case.”
“Come on, Nadine.”
“You were never happy with the first answer someone gave you,” she said. “I noticed it when you were doing a story about the new naming rights for the school athletic center.”
“With the donation from the guy rehabilitating his reputation.”
“That one. I saw your interview transcript, and you kept asking why. Why did they accept blood money? Why, why, why, until that vice president finally snapped.”
“I had a big fight with the faculty advisor,” Wes said. That had been one of his scariest days, but he’d been certain of his story. After it resulted in a student protest, Wes had been awestruck with the knowledge that this was what he was meant to do. “I had a name for you too.”
“I feel it wasn’t flattering.”
“It was Nadacity.”
She put her fry down to look at him. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Nadine and tenacity.” He grimaced at her expression. “I was twenty. Give me a break. It was because you never gave up. You contacted ten people for one of your stories and another five to confirm a point. It was good.”
She turned back to her plate. “Thanks. Your name for me is terrible though.”
“It’s not like yours is winning any originality prizes.”
“Fine, I accept that. I haven’t used it in years anyway. You said you were seconded? What happened?”
He’d never talked about it, not trusting anyone at work and knowing that Caleb, cheerleader though he was, wouldn’t understand. Caleb thought adversity bred opportunity.
“It’s not like it’s a bad reason,” he said. “It’s more frustrating. They put me back in Lifestyle because my stories there get good engagement, the best in the company.”
Understanding dawned on her face. “Makes sense. I heard the Spear was having revenue problems.”
“I heard that too, although every staff meeting makes it sound like we’ve got cash to burn.”
“Lifestyle has great stuff,” she said. “It’s the first section I check.”
Wes didn’t look up. “Sure, but it’s not what I want to do.”
“Is that it?” she asked.
He reached for the ketchup to give him some time to decide how to phrase it. “It’s not only that they sent me back. It’s who they put in my place.”
“Who?”
“This guy Tyler Dawlish.” The words came out slow. “I found out later that Jason—he’s the investigative editor—told my manager Tyler was a better fit for the team anyway.” That had stung.
Her eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
“Maybe he is. I’m not aggressive in the same way Tyler is. It’s not my thing.”
“That’s bullshit.” Nadine sounded furious, and his heart dropped. He should have known better than to trust her, even within the rules of this game. What was he thinking? “The way you work is incredible, Wes, and you can be forceful without being loud. You listen and observe.”
This wasn’t what he expected. He didn’t know what to say but managed “Thanks?”
Nadine wasn’t done. “Let me take some guesses about that team.”
He laughed, feeling lighter. “All right.”
“One guy talks a lot about shining a light in the dark corners and insists he’s completely objective in his reporting. Another got hired because he’s friends with one of the editors or an old roommate.” She was warming up to her mental template. “One’s a legacy. His dad worked there.”
“No, her mom worked for the Herald , actually.”
“I’m also willing to bet the loudest people in the meeting are the ones who carry the day.”
Wes looked over. “How do you know?”
“I work for the Herald ,” she said simply.
“It’s infuriating,” he said.
She reached out to tap his arm. “It is. I’m sorry, Wes. It sucks to feel like that. You shouldn’t need to be an extrovert to be a success.”
“No, but it helps.”
She was silent, unable to argue.
Wes didn’t want to talk about himself anymore. He’d answered her question, and it was his turn. “Is that why you left the politics team?” he asked. “Frustration?”
“Is this your question? Are you using your point?”
“I am.”
She pushed her plate to the side, then shrugged in a fatalistic way. “I wrote an immigration story that generated a lot of anger, including a death threat from a guy who also came to my apartment.”
Wes felt sick. “Nadine.”
“He was a subscriber, if you can believe it, and he sent it under his own email. I saw a picture of him before he showed up to my place, so I recognized him.”
“What did he look like?”
She thought. “He’s one of those men who are the color of teeth.”
“Did the Herald deal with it?” he asked gently.
“Yes. One of my colleagues had been doxed a couple months before. They’d screwed it up, and she had to move. At least that didn’t happen to me.” Her hands were balled in her lap.
“It’s still frightening. It’s good you had support from work.” He caught the way her mouth twisted. “Some support?”
“Some. They talk a lot about protecting staff, but there’s always a feeling that you can’t take the pressure if you complain. My editor was old-school and thinks the best self-care comes from a whiskey bottle and anesthetizing all emotion.”
“I know the type,” he said. “That’s why you moved to obits?”
“Yeah. I’d had enough, you know?”
“I do.” He kept his tone soft to encourage her to go on.
“Every time I saw an email from someone I didn’t know, I stressed out that it was going to be another hateful message.” Her laugh was rough enough to hurt. “I mean, I had that a couple times in obits too, but at least those had attacked my work and not me.”
“I get that,” he said.
“There’s a huge difference between being told I’m a bad journalist because I made a mistake in the date of someone’s graduation and being told I’m a bad person because I’m a woman and why didn’t I go do something useful like make a sandwich because I’m a waste of space and also ugly.”
“That’s disgusting.” Wes wasn’t a violent man, but he wanted to fight on her behalf.
She finished her drink. “I started second-guessing myself, and I couldn’t have that. It was getting to the point of moving or quitting. Or worse, getting fired. I needed a break, so I took the obits editor job.”
“Did it get better?”
“Clearly not. I fumbled Dot’s obit, and they made me night web editor. I feel nauseous every time I have to make a decision because what if I make another mistake? Before, I was always so sure of myself.”
“It’s okay to make mistakes.”
“Is it?” She gave him a wry look. “It’s been nice to be at Dot’s house. It’s important but also secret. I feel comfortable working.”
“It sounds like you haven’t felt that in a while.”
“No,” she said. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like not to dread your day.”
“It’s good that you’re finding that again, here at Dot’s.”
“Thanks.” This time, she smiled. “All it took was tracking down a mystery in a mansion with my main competition.”
He laughed. “Who knew?”
It was late by the time they finished and drove back to Dot’s. Wes was weighed down by the fantastic club sandwich, the knowledge he had to be up in too few hours, and Nadine’s story. He knew she didn’t want pity, but he wished he could make her feel better. He felt bad he couldn’t.
“Good grotto find by the way.” She congratulated him as they went back through the gates at Dot’s. Her voice was normal, and when he looked over, that dimple was there again. He felt better. Perhaps letting her talk had been enough for the moment.
“God knows what else is back here,” said Wes as she parked. “A helipad?”
“An arena.”
“A ranch.”
“Area 52?”
Trading increasingly wacky suggestions, they locked up and headed to bed. Separately.
Although when Wes watched Nadine’s door close, missing Murasaki’s tail by a centimeter as she trotted in, he was alarmed but not surprised to find he wished he was going in as well.