42

Debbie scowled at the hemorrhage of red on the bathroom mirror.

"Don't EVER EVER talk about the Lady Cardinal," someone had written in red lipstick or paint.

Debbie had gotten in trouble for referring to a womens' sports team as the Lady Cardinal in the paper. That had been yesterday. And now she was entering the lion's den. There was a certain rhythm whenever this happened. You screw something up and it gets in the paper. You hear about it the next day, and then you go back to your desk and lay low and try your best to just do your work, be on time and not call attention to yourself for the duration of the night.

You finish, you go home, sleep and arrive on the third day wondering if, in your desperate attempt to stay hyperalert and focussed about one thing, you had inevitably missed something else. The cycle could last a while, and just like superstitions among pro baseball players, Debbie had found that a 'losing streak' sometimes spooked the office

She sat down at her desk.

So far so good, she thought. There didn't seem to be anything out in the open. Not that that means I did a great job, it just means I didn't fuck anything up for a second day in a row.

Her phone rang.

Bombarde's technique for bothering his staff was to buzz them on the phone.

"Yeah?" she said, not even bothering to disguise her disdain for the boss.

"Debbie, come in here a minute, would ya?"

She walked into Bombarde's office.

"Did you see the Trib this morning?" The Xanthan Canyon Tribune was the rival paper of the Sloan City Daily News.

"No, Jim, I didn't get to see it yet."

"You know, we missed the story."

He handed her a copy of the Trib. "Nash, Shepard among the disappeared."

"Huh?" said Debbie.

"Take it with you!"

Bombarde was livid. His face was bright red. But he was livid quite often, which did tend to decrease the intensity of any individual tirade.

Debbie slipped back out.

"And make sure you read the Trib and the Herald each morning, okay? You cannot do this job if you don't!"

Debbie returned to her desk. She read the story.

Debbie put down the paper. She picked up the phone and dialed Nora.

"Hello?"

"Nora?"

"Hi Debbie."

"Well, we did it again."

"What's up, honey?"

"We missed the Shepard thing."

"Oh."

"And ... I thought of you because of -- any word on Ned?"

"No, not yet, dear."

"His real name's not Sam, is it?"

"Ha ha. No."

"It's really disturbing, though, isn't it?"

"You mean, Ned, or the missing Sams?"

"Both."

"Yes."

They both nodded, each on their own end of the phone conversation.

"Well, don't just sit there," Nora said. "Come on! None of this 'losing streak' stuff. Get out there and make your editor happy!"

"Thanks Nora."

Debbie could always count on her mentor to take the cue and drop into a pep talk, which was one of the reasons Debbie had called her.

"You're welcome!"