Attach ments(26)

<<Jennifer to Beth>> If we ever need any of his DNA for a paternity test or a voodoo spell, we’ll know where to look.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> If we ever need any of Tony’s DNA for a paternity test, one of us deserves to be pushed off a cliff.

Hey, remember when we used to have to leave our desks to have conversations like this?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I don’t think we ever did have conversations like this. I know I never ventured into reporter land unless I had incredibly good gossip or unless I really, really needed to talk.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Or unless somebody brought cookies.

Remember that lady who sat in the corner, who used to always bring cookies? What happened to her?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> The city hall reporter? I heard they fired her when they found out she carried a loaded gun in her purse.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> That doesn’t seem fair. As long as she kept it in her purse.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Wow. It wouldn’t be 30 pieces of silver with you, would it? It would be cookies.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> No. ( Yes. Snickerdoodles.)





THAT AFTERNOON, GREG introduced Lincoln to college students he’d hired to take on the Y2K project.

There were three of them; one from Vietnam, one from Bosnia, and one from the suburbs. Lincoln couldn’t tell how old they were. Much younger than he was. “They’re like an international strike force,” Greg said, “and you’re their commander.”

“Me?” Lincoln said. “What exactly does that mean?”

“It means you have to make sure they’re actually doing something,” Greg said. “If I knew anything about coding, I’d be the commander. You think I don’t want to be the commander?”

The Y2K kids sat at a table in the corner. They worked days mostly, between their classes, so Lincoln usually tried to meet with them as soon as he came in. He didn’t do much commanding at these meetings. The college students seemed to already know what they needed to do. And they didn’t talk much otherwise, to Lincoln or to each other.

After about a week, Lincoln was pretty sure that they’d hacked the firewalls and were running instant messaging and Napster on their computers. He told Greg, but Greg said he didn’t give a shit as long as he still had a job on January 1.

No one on the Strike Force had interoffice e-mail, so no one was monitoring them. Sometimes Lincoln wondered if anyone was monitoring his own mail. Maybe Greg, he thought, but it didn’t really matter because Greg was the only one who ever sent him messages.





From: Beth Fremont

To: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder

Sent: Wed, 09/22/1999 2:38 PM

Subject: Roo-ah-rooo-ahhh.

Roo-ah-rooo-ahhh.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> What’s that?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> It’s the Cute Guy Alarm.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> It sounds like a bird.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> There’s a cute guy working here.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> No, there isn’t.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> I know, that was my first response, too. I thought he must have come in from the outside, a repairman, perhaps, or a consultant. That’s why I waited for two confirmed sightings before sounding the Cute Guy Alarm.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Is this Cute Guy Alarm something you made up with your eighth-grade friends? Do I need to be wearing Guess overalls to understand this?

Also—confirmed by whom?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Confirmed by me. I know a cute guy when I see him. Remember when I told you about the cute messenger? (And I just now made up the alarm. It felt necessary.)

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Oh, that messenger was cute.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> And that’s why he didn’t last. This place can’t sustain cuteness, I don’t know why. It’s cuteness-cursed.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> You’re very cute.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Oh, I was. Once. Before I came to this decuteing factory. Look around you.

We journalists are a homely lot.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Matt Lauer isn’t homely.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Now, that is a matter of opinion. (And I can’t believe you went straight to Matt Lauer. Have you seen Brian Williams?) Regardless, TV journalists don’t count; cute is their job.

There’s no reason to look pretty in print journalism. Readers don’t care if you’re cute. Especially not my readers. The only time I’m out in public, I’m sitting in the dark.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Now that you mention it, I haven’t worn lipstick to work in three years.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> And you’re still too cute for the copy desk.