The Best Laid Plans (9 page)

POMONA, CALIFORNIA: FEMALE JUDO INSTRUCTOR CAPTURES WOULD-BE RAPIST.

Perfect, Dana decided. She tore off the printout, crumpled it, stuffed it in her pocket, and hurried in to see Bill Crowell. "My old roommate just called me," Dana said excitedly. "She was looking out the window and saw a woman attack a would-be rapist. I'd like to cover it.

Crowell looked at her a moment. "Go ahead." Dana drove to Pomona to get an interview with the judo instructor, and again her story made the front page. Bill Crowell asked Dana to come into his office. "How would you like to have a regular beat?" Dana was thrilled. "Great!

It's begun, she thought. My career has finally begun. The following day, the Claremont Examiner was sold to the Washington Tribune in Washington, D. C.

When the news of the sale came out, most of the Claremont Examiner employees were dismayed. It was inevitable that there would be downsizing and that some of them would lose their jobs. Dana did not think of it that way. I work for the Washington Tribune now, she thought, and the next logical thought was, Why don't I go to work at its headquarters? She marched into Bill Crowell's office. "I'd like a ten-day leave." He looked at her curiously. "Dana, most of the people around here won't go to the bathroom because they're scared to death that their desks won't be there when they get back. Aren't you worried?" "Why should I be? I'm the best reporter you have," she said confidently. "I'm going to get a job at the Washington Tribune." "Are you serious?" He saw her expression. "You're serious." He sighed "All right. Try to see Matt Baker. He's in charge of Washington Tribune Enterprises newspapers, TV stations, radio, everything." "Matt Baker. Right."

Eight.

Washington, D. C." was a much larger city than Dana bad imagined. This was the power center of the world, and Dana could feel the electricity in the air. This is where I belong, she thought happily. Her first move was to check into the Stouffer Renaissance Hotel. She looked up the address of the Washington Tribune and headed there. The Tribune was located on 6th Street and took up the entire block. It consisted of four separate buildings that seemed to reach to infinity. Dana found the main lobby and confidently walked up to the uniformed guard behind the desk. "Can I help you, miss?" "I work here. That is, I work for the Tribune. I'm here to see Matt Baker."

"Do you have an appointment?" Dana hesitated. "Not yet, but " "Come back when you have one." He turned his attention to several men who had come up to the desk. "We have an appointment with the head of the circulation department," one of the men said. "Just a moment, please.

The guard dialed a number. In the background, one of the elevators had arrived and people were getting out. Dana casually headed for it. She stepped inside, praying that it would go up before the guard noticed her. A woman got into the elevator and pressed the button, and they started up. "Excuse me," Dana said. "What floor is Matt Baker on?

"Third." She looked at Dana. "You're not wearing a pass." "I lost it," Dana said. When the elevator reached the third floor, Dana got out. She stood there, speechless at the scale of what she was seeing She was looking at a sea of cubicles. It seemed as though there were hundreds of them, occupied by thousands of people. There were different-colored signs over each cubicle. EDITORIAL . ART .. . METRO .. . SPORTS .. . CALENDAR .. . Dana stopped a man hurrying by. "Excuse me. Where's Mr. Baker's office?" "Matt Baker?" He pointed. "Down at the end of the hall to the right, last door." "Thank you." As Dana turned, she bumped into an unshaven, rumpled-looking man carrying some papers. The papers fell to the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was "

"Why don't you look where the hell you're going?" the man snapped. He stooped to pick up the papers.

"It was an accident. Here. I'll help you. I " Dana reached down, and as she started to pick up the papers, she knocked several sheets under a desk.

The man stopped to glare at her. "Do me a favor. Don't help me anymore."

"As you like," Dana said icily. "I just hope everyone in Washington isn't as rude as you."

Haughtily, Dana rose and walked toward Mr. Baker's office. The legend on the glass window read MATT BAKER." The office was empty. Dana walked inside and sat down. Looking through the office window, she watched the frenetic activity going on.

It's nothing like the Claremont Examiner, she thought. There were thousands of people working here. Down the corridor, the grumpy, rumpled-looking man was heading toward the office.

No! Dana thought. He's not coming in here. He's on his way somewhere else And the man walked in the door. His eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Dana swallowed. "You must be Mr. Baker," she said brightly. "I'm Dana Evans."

"I asked you what you're doing here."

"I'm a reporter with the Claremont Examiner."

"And?"

"You just bought it."

"I did?"

"I I mean the newspaper bought it. The newspaper bought the newspaper." Dana felt it was not going well. "Anyway, I'm here for a job. Of course, I already have a job here. It's more like a transfer, isn't it?"

He was staring at her.

"I can start right away." Dana babbled on. "That's no problem."

Matt Baker moved toward the desk. "Who the hell let you in here?"

"I told you. I'm a reporter for the Claremont Examiner and "

"Go back to Claremont," he snapped. "Try not to knock anyone down on your way out."

Dana rose and said stiffly, "Thank you very much, Mr. Baker. I appreciate your courtesy." She stormed out of the office.

Matt Baker looked after her, shaking his head. The world was full of weirdos.

Dana retraced her steps to the huge editorial room, where dozens of reporters were typing out stories on their computers. This is where I'm going to work, Dana thought fiercely. Go back to Claremont. How dare he!

As Dana looked up, she saw Matt Baker in the distance, moving in her direction. The damned man was everywhere! Dana quickly stepped behind a cubicle so he could not see her.

Baker walked past her to a reporter seated at a desk. "Did you get the interview, Sam?"

"No luck. I went to the Georgetown Medical Center, and they said there's nobody registered by that name. Tripp Taylor's wife isn't a patient there."

Matt Baker said, "I know damn well she is. They're covering something up, dammit. I want to know why she's in the hospital."

"If she is in there, there's no way to get to her, Matt."

"Did you try the flower delivery routine?"

"Sure. It didn't work."

Dana stood there watching Matt Baker and the reporter walk away. What kind of reporter is it, Dana wondered, who doesn't know how to get an interview?

Thirty minutes later, Dana was entering the Georgetown Medical Center She went into the flower shop. "May I help you?" a clerk asked "Yes. I'd like " She hesitated a moment. " fifty dollars' worth of flowers." She almost choked on the word "fifty." When the clerk handed her the flowers, Dana said, "Is there a shop in the hospital that might have a little cap of some kind?" "There's a gift shop around the corner."

"Thank you."

The gift shop was a cornucopia of junk, with a wide array of greeting cards, cheaply made toys, balloons and banners, junk-food racks, and gaudy items of clothing. On a shelf were some souvenir caps. Dana bought one that resembled a chauffeur's cap and put it on. She purchased a get-well card and scribbled something on the inside.

Her next stop was at the information desk in the hospital lobby. "I have flowers here for Mrs. Tripp Taylor."

The receptionist shook her head. "There's no Mrs. Tripp Taylor registered here."

Dana sighed. "Really? That's too bad. These are from the Vice President of the United States." She opened the card and showed it to the receptionist. The inscription read, "Get well quickly." It was signed, "Arthur Cannon."

Dana said, "Guess I'll have to take these back." She turned to leave.

The receptionist looked after her uncertainly. "Just a moment!"

Dana stopped. "Yes?"

"I can have those flowers delivered to her."

"Sorry," Dana said. "Vice President Cannon asked that they be delivered personally." She looked at the receptionist. "Could I have your name, please? They'll want to tell Mr. Cannon why I couldn't deliver the flowers."

Panic. "Oh, well. All right. I don't want to cause any problems Take them to Room 615. But as soon as you deliver them, you'll have to leave."

"Right," Dana said.

Five minutes later, she was talking to the wife of the famous rock star Tripp Taylor.

Stacy Taylor was in her middle twenties. It was difficult to tell whether she was attractive or not, because at the moment, her face was badly battered and swollen. She was trying to reach for a glass of water on a table near the bed when Dana walked in. "Flowers for " Dana stopped in shock as she saw the woman's face. "Who are they from?

The words were a mumble. Dana had removed the card. "From from an admirer." The woman was staring at Dana suspiciously. "Can you reach that water for me?" "Of course." Dana put the flowers down and handed the glass of water to the woman in bed. "Can I do anything else for you?" Dana asked. "Sure," she said through swollen lips. "You can get me out of this stinking place. My husband won't let me have visitors. I'm sick of seeing all these doctors and nurses." Dana sat down on a chair next to the bed. "What happened to you?" The woman snorted. "Don't you know? I was in an auto accident." "You were?

"Yes."

"That's awful," Dana said skeptically. She was filled with a deep anger, for it was obvious that this woman had been beaten.

Forty-five minutes later, Dana emerged with the true story.

When Dana returned to the lobby of the Washington Tribune, a different guard was there. "Can I help ?"

"It's not my fault," Dana said breathlessly. "Believe me, it's the darned traffic. Tell Mr. Baker I'm on my way up. He's going to be furious with me for being late." She hurried toward the elevator and pressed the button. The guard looked after her uncertainly, then began dialing. "Hello. Tell Mr. Baker there's a young woman who "

The elevator arrived. Dana stepped in and pressed three. On the third floor, the activity seemed to have increased, if that was possible Reporters were rushing to make their deadlines. Dana stood there, looking around frantically. Finally, she saw what she wanted. In a cubicle with a green sign that read GARDENING was an empty desk. Dana hurried over to it and sat down. She looked at the computer in front of her, then began typing. She was so engrossed in the story she was writing that she lost all track of time. When she was finished, she printed it and pages began spewing out. She was putting them together when she sensed a shadow over her shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing?" Matt Baker demanded.

"I'm looking for a job, Mr. Baker. I wrote this story, and I thought " "You thought wrong," Baker exploded. "You don't just walk in here and take over someone's desk. Now get the hell out before I call security and have you arrested." "But " "Out!" Dana rose. Summoning all her dignity, she thrust the pages in Matt Baker's hand and walked around the corner to the elevator. Matt Baker shook his head in disbelief. Jesus! What the hell is the world coming to? There was a wastebasket under the desk. As Matt moved toward it, he glanced at the first sentence of Dana's story: "Stacy Taylor, her face battered and bruised, claimed from her hospital bed today that she was there because her famous rock star husband, Tripp Taylor, beat her. "Every time I get pregnant, he beats me up. He doesn't want children." " Matt started to read further and stood there rooted. He looked up, but Dana was gone. Clutching the pages in his hand, Matt raced toward the elevators, hoping to find her before she disappeared. As he ran around the corner, he bumped into her. She was leaning against the wall, waiting. "How did you get this story?" he demanded. Dana said simply, "I told you. I'm a reporter." He took a deep breath. "Come on back to my office."

They were seated in Matt Baker's office again. "That's a good job," he said grudgingly. "Thank you! I can't tell you how much I appreciate this," Dana said excitedly. "I'm going to be the best reporter you ever had. You'll see. What I really want is to be a foreign correspondent, but I'm willing to work my way up to that, even if it takes a year." She saw the expression on his face. "Or maybe two.

"The Tribune has no job openings, and there's a waiting list." She looked at him in astonishment. "But I assumed " "Hold it." Dana watched as he picked up a. pen and wrote out the letters of the word "assume," ASS u ME. He pointed to the word. "When a reporter assumes something, Miss Evans, it makes an oss out of you and me. Do you understand?" "Yes, sir." "Good." He was thoughtful for a moment, then came to a decision. "Do you ever watch WTE? The Tribune Enterprises television station." "No, sir. I can't say that I

"Well, you will now. You're in luck. There's a job opening there One of the writers just quit. You can take his place." "Doing what?

Dana asked tentatively. "Writing television copy." Her face fell "Television copy? I don't know anything about " "It's simple. The producer of the news will give you the raw material from all the news services. You'll put it into English and put it on the TelePrompTer for the anchors to read."