“I need you to install these new towers at a few stations.” Greg pointed to a stack of computer boxes and handed Lincoln a piece of paper.
“Now?”
“Yeah. They know you’re coming. They’ve moved their people to different desks.”
Lincoln loaded the boxes onto a cart and took the elevator to the newsroom. The place was hardly recognizable at four o’clock, in daylight. There were people everywhere, all typing or talking or moving around. You wouldn’t think that writing and editing would make so much noise. Telephones ringing, televisions buzzing, babies crying …
Babies? There was a crowd of people at one end of the copy desk, all fussing over a stroller. A small boy was sitting on someone’s desk, playing with a stapler.
Lincoln started disconnecting cables, untangling wires, and trying not to look too closely at any of them. Jennifer must sit over here with the other day copy editors. She might still be here. This might even be her desk. No, not unless she was obsessed with Kansas basketball. What did he know about her? That she was married. Would she look married? That she thought she was fat …That could be any of them. Beth could be here, too. Walking around. Talking to an editor. Cooing over that baby.
No, he told himself, don’t look.
It took about three hours to install the new computers. The newsroom turned into its nighttime self while Lincoln worked. It got quieter and darker. The people wearing ties gave way to people wearing wrinkled T-shirts and shorts. One of the nighttime editors, a girl with a limp blond ponytail and nice blue eyes, brought in banana bread and offered him a piece.
He thanked her, then headed up to the empty IT office without looking back.
From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
To: Beth Fremont
Sent: Mon, 10/18/1999 4:08 PM
Subject: This isn’t a day care, you know.
It’s a newsroom.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> What are you getting at—that I shouldn’t be taking a nap? Or that I shouldn’t be using a sippy cup? Because it’s all part of my method.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> What I’m getting at is, I shouldn’t have to listen to babbling and cooing when I’m trying to edit Dear Abby.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Why do you have to edit Dear Abby? Doesn’t all that stuff come in a package from the wire service?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Someone has to write the headline. Someone has to give it a good once-over, make sure there aren’t words or entire paragraphs missing. Content doesn’t magically appear in the newspaper. Hence, the roomful of editors.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Editors, huh? By golly …you’re right. They’re everywhere. What is this place? Heaven?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Ha.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> You’re supposed to say, “It’s Iowa.”
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Maybe next time.
Why do people with children bring them to work? This isn’t a place for children. There are no toys here. There are no changing stations. The drinking fountains are all set at adult heights.
This is a workplace. People come here to get away from their kids—to get away from all talk of kids. If we wanted to work with children, we would get jobs at primary schools and puppet shows. We would walk around with peppermint sticks in our pockets.
This is a newsroom. Do you see any peppermint sticks?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> You alliterate when you’re angry. It’s adorable.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> You are a barrel of laughs today, an entire barrel.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Speaking of adorable, I saw my cute guy again last week.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Are you sure? I didn’t hear the alarm. Also, when did he become your cute guy?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> No one else has claimed him. He definitely works in Advertising. I saw him sitting back there.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> What were you doing in Advertising? That’s on the other side of the building.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I was trolling for cute guys. (Also, Advertising has the only pop machine in the building that sells root beer.) He was sitting at his cute desk, typing on his cute computer, looking super-super cute.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Advertising, huh? I’m pretty sure they make more than us over there.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> They might just look like they make more.
And he doesn’t necessarily look like he sells advertising. He’s not one of those guys with the suits and the Glengarry Glen Ross smiles. He doesn’t look like he wears product in his hair.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> I want to see him. Maybe we should take a root-beer break.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> How can someone who hates children enjoy root beer?