I sat in front of my ancient computer monitor, screen blank, cursor flashing rudely back at me.
I was on deadline. I had two hours to spit out 750 words of drivel summarizing this evening's county council meeting. It had run late, per usual, and the presses would start up early on a Friday night for the Saturday edition.
Shaking the cobwebs from my head, and sipping lukewarm coffee, I focused in on my notes, determined to make the deadline. And thus not end up jobless.
I pressed on. Everyone in the newsroom had left, so I could hone in on my task, furiously typing and flipping through pages of budget documents and proposed ordinances. More writer's block, more cold coffee. I got the short straw this time. County council minutes weren't exactly a journalist's dream. No one ever received a Pulitzer writing about municipal sanitary engineering funding. But not every assignment is sexy. And this one was most definitely anything but sexy.
So I trudged on, the ambient light from my desk lamp illuminating my worn keyboard. I lost myself in the chore. I squeezed 800 words out of my notes, once I found a juicy section on controversy surrounding docking permits at the reservoir marina. Like I said...not sexy. But the bloated word count would satisfy my editor. Never hurts to overachieve, even though I was already well regarded by the publisher for some pretty big scoops in the past.
I ran a hard copy on my trusty dot matrix printer and hit SEND on the screen. Another story down. Wouldn't make the front page -- or even the front section -- but I didn't need every byline to validate my career.
I nearly jumped out of my hard plastic chair when I felt a hand pat my shoulder. My mp3 player's headphones were buried in my ears and I didn't hear the footsteps approaching behind me. I spun around to find my editor standing behind me.
"Goddammit, Serena. You scared the shit out of me."
"I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left."
"Don't worry about it," I sighed and put a hand to my chest as my heartbeat returned to normal.
"Thanks for handling that meeting tonight. I know it's not on par with your usual beats."
"Hey, no problem," I offered. "I gotta pull my weight around here somehow." I looked at my watch.
"Oh, I'm sorry, you probably have plans," she apologetically interjected.
"It's midnight, Serena," I scoffed. "I'm 32 years old. My post-midnight party persona tapped out years ago."
She laughed at the self-deprecation. "Anything else going on this weekend?"
I wanted to get out of there and find a cold beer in my fridge and unwind, but I tried my best to maintain some semblance of friendliness. "Yeah, actually. I copied you on the email. I'm having a little get-together tomorrow night at my place. You should come."
The newsroom staff and a few others always threw weekend bashes. I was a rare attendee myself, but as far as I knew, Serena had never come. I couldn't blame her. I spent fifty hours a week with these people. The last thing I wanted was more quality time with this crew. But I wasn't a pariah, and could cut loose with them every once in a while. I had offered my place as the hang-out spot for this weekend's booze fest.
She paused for a moment. "You know, I think I will."
That surprised me. I had always been curious what she was like out of the office. While I didn't necessarily have a thing for Serena, I did find her captivating at times. She was smart and well-spoken and was charming enough to keep the peace on a staff full of eccentric personalities. I respected that and found her charisma attractive.
"I'm glad to hear that," I said, grabbing the sports coat off the back of my chair. "It should be fun."
She smiled and put her hand on my arm. "It's a date."
I found the gesture a bit out of place for her. She wasn't a very touchy-feely person and she must have read it on my face because she quickly removed her hand from my arm and blushed.
"Okay," I said, still a bit flustered. "I'll see you then."
I left her standing at my desk. A warm sensation had crept into my body. Somehow I felt comforted and a bit flattered by her affectionate touch and her referring to the tomorrow's occasion as a 'date'.
Interesting.
By 11:30, the party had gotten out of hand.
Nick was in my unfinished basement passing out weed and bottles of malt liquor to James, Pete and Jenny. Brody got it into his head that he was going to actually finish the basement with some tools he found in the furnace room. Fortunately, he couldn't find the outlet to plug them in.
Ray-Ray was in the guest bedroom with his skank of a girlfriend. I made a mental note to wash the sheets tomorrow. Lisa from accounting had passed out on the loveseat, her makeup smeared and one shoe missing. Marcia was sulking in the corner, knowing that - as the designated driver - she'd have to take most of these drunk losers home soon. She rolled her eyes as she caught my sympathetic glance.
This gang of drunken oddballs were my co-workers. These staff parties almost always devolved into exercises in binge drinking. By day, they were reporters and editors - an amalgam of personalities coming together to form a smoothly efficient, if highly stressful, newsroom. By night, they got smashed and broke shit.
I hoped like hell the police didn't show up. We were the only paper in town;who would write the headline if we were all in the drunk tank?
That left Serena and I, bemusedly watching all this. It was my house, so I couldn't get high to the point that I couldn't make sure everyone left safely. I also wanted to see that no one set fire to anything or stole stuff out of the drawers. I wouldn't put it past any of them. And Serena was our boss, so naturally she wanted to keep up appearances and didn't appear intoxicated.
We sat at the kitchen island on barstools, I nursing a longneck and Serena sipping wine. We smiled and laughed. Conversation was easy between us. She rarely let her guard down. She was managing editor, after all, and she didn't regularly fraternize with the staff reporters. I was still a bit surprised she'd shown up at all.
I was inquisitive, but cautious. She was talking more as the evening wore on and she opened up as she felt more comfortable. I understood that that there's a fine line to walk in even friendships between supervisor and subordinate, so I carefully kept my questions on the up and up. Where are you from originally? What made you want to go into journalism? What was college like for you? And so on.
Serena was pretty, but not to the point of being intimidating. And unlike many pretty girls who knew it, she treated everyone casually and respectfully. Since she joined our paper from a sister outfit only 18 months ago, I didn't really feel like I knew her very well. She didn't micro-manage, and I worked best in a hands-off environment. But during our conversation that evening, I quickly realized that I enjoyed talking with her. She had a quick wit and a pleasant demeanor. At work she wasn't necessarily cold, but distant. And justifiably so. There were workplace rules after all.
