No victory in the ring had ever felt so small and worthless. No scoop he’d missed had made him feel like such a low, unconscionable shit.
He had difficulty locating Honeywell’s desk. There was a midline in the office, hard news on one side, all the rest on the other. He had to cross over to where they talked about eyeballs instead of circulation, where they considered things like unique visitor counts, search engine optimization and bounce rates, where statistical algorithms ruled in place of a reporter’s second sense for a killer hook.
Over on this side of the office they didn’t write the news so much as curate it, and though he knew it was the future of journalism, he didn’t like it, for all its key-word-dependent, page view hit, search engine referred conversion rates. It wasn’t reporting—it was repackaging. It wasn’t what people needed to hear about, it was what would distract, engage or amuse them.
Crossing the midline made him feel like a dinosaur lumbering to certain extinction.
Lost in the confusing layout of cubicles, he gave up and called her name. Expecting her head to pop up over the low walls and big screens, he was annoyed when he had to call again. But then, if their positions were reversed, he’d have made her work for it too.
“Derelie Honeywell!”
He got back, “She’s not here.”
Well, fuck. Most of the workstations on this side were empty. No one over here worked to a print deadline. She’d probably gone home for the day. He turned to trek back to his own desk when he spotted her coming into the main office area from the service corridor. That was where the breakroom and bathrooms where. God, if he’d made her cry in the ladies’, he’d need someone to lay him out for the count.
She saw him. She hesitated for a second, taking a step to the side as if to avoid him, but then she lifted her chin and walked straight for him. If she’d been crying there was no evidence of it, but there was a balled-up tissue in her hand and he didn’t like the symbolism of that.
“I came to say I’m sorry.”
She mashed her ruby lips together and frowned, head tilted to the side. “For what?”
“For that.” He gestured in the direction of the conference room. “There was no need for me to say what I did.”
“But I asked a stupid question.”
“It wasn’t stupid. You couldn’t have known.”
“But I knew everyone else there has been through that kind of rodeo before and I should’ve held my question, not wasted time.”
That was one way to interpret it. “You’re not upset about what I said?”
She shrugged a shoulder and looked away. “I deserved it.”
“No, you didn’t.” He had to quell the urge to shake her. He didn’t like this meek acceptance, this lack of fire. It was as if he’d doused her in doubt and she’d sucked it all up till it infused her. He preferred her when she was mouthy. “I was a prick. Twice in one day.”
“No, no, I get it. No need to feel bad. I was pestering you and I knew you were only humoring me. I should’ve taken the hint. It’s not like I didn’t know you were on a big story. I should’ve respected that.”
“I was an asshole.” He’d deliberately belittled her. Why wasn’t she accepting his apology?
“It’s okay.” She waved a hand. “I’ll work something out with Shona. I’ll explain to Phil.”
“No, you won’t.” Madden would mince her up. “I’ll make the time for it.”
“I’d really rather you didn’t. We’re not ever going to be... It’s, um, fine, really, it’s just a silly s
tory, and I didn’t understand the context, but I see the big picture now. I see it from your point of view, so I get it. Thank you for putting up with me. There’s no need to apologize, and look, I have to go. I can make a late class if I go now.”
He didn’t know what to say. He stepped aside to let her pass, let her go to her desk, collect her things and leave the building thinking she was the one at fault, she was the one on the sharp end of a lesson she deserved.
Back at his own cubicle, he checked his messages. There was work to do but he couldn’t focus, kept seeing Honeywell’s eyes swallow her face when he’d ignored her by his desk, and then how she’d flinched when he’d humiliated her in the conference room.
Bundling up the folders on his desk, the random Post-it note scrawls he needed to follow up on, along with a couple of data sticks, he headed out. He ate a quick diner meal and endured a berating from another customer for the fact his story on unfair bank charges didn’t go far enough without doing anything to cut short the exchange for once.
He made it to church, changed, and was looking for an assistant when he found Barney.
“Saw your name on the wild card list. It’s too soon for you to have another fight.”
Trust an ex-priest to have ethical standards. “I’m fine.”