Inspiration 41

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YESTERDAY WHEN I POSTED ON FACEBOOK WITH A LINK DIRECTLY TO THE BOOK ON AMAZON AND SHARED IT IN A COUPLE OF GROUPS, I WAS TOLD THE POST VIOLATED FACEBOOK STANDARDS! SO, ALL POST WILL NOW CONTAIN A LINK TO MY WEBSITE, WHICH HAS LINKS TO EVER BOOK. I GUESS THIS IS WHAT WAS MEANT BY NEW RULES ON FACEBOOK. GOD FORBID SHOULD I POST A BEAUTIFUL, AWARD-WINNING COVER AND A LINK TO A BOOK THAT WAS A FINALIST A THE FAULKNER WISDOM COMPETITION, ALONG WITH SCRIPTURE AND/OR SOCIAL COMMENTARY. 

Rant over. Moving on to inspiration 41. 

Colossians 3:19 Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter against them.

Let's meet April's inspiration, Russell Dalton, a man with a mission--that almost got him killed.

Holding his cup in front of his face, the fatherly man said, "Honey, Monique thinks you're crazy, too."

"Why?"

"Something about a teddy bear." He set the cup down.

"Russell Bear."

The man raised his bushy eyebrows in question.

"I'm not crazy," laughed April with a shake of her head. "I talk to Russell Bear. I know he's a stuffed animal, but he was between a bullet and me. Somehow, his stuffing stopped the bullet's force. A shot from a thirty-eight at that range should've killed me."

"But you did get shot, darling."

She dipped her head back and forth from shoulder to shoulder. "The bullet lodged in my sternum. If Russell Bear hadn't been there, it would've gone through my heart." April held up her hand as Winchester started to speak. "Before you ask, no, I can't tell you who the two people were, only that they argued, and one refused to shoot me."

"I was going to ask about the bear's name," said Paul. "Russell Bear?"

"Russell Dalton gave him to me for my sixth birthday; therefore, Russell Bear."

"When did you last see Russell?"

"That day. He left for England. Is he fat and bald now?"

"No. Monique thinks he's, umm…"

"What?"

"The term she used was 'hot.'"

"So, he's nice-looking?"

"I suppose." Winchester shrugged. "He hasn't changed much. He has rescued the paper. Carlisle focused more on his book the last ten years."

"He needs a good reporter. He advertised, and I'm a good reporter." She smiled, revealing pearly, straight teeth.

Within an hour and a half, Lanelle Haymer had swept, mopped, vacuumed, and dusted the house, all the while singing a heartfelt spiritual or hymn. "I'll be back on Friday," she told April.

"I'll get you a key."

"All right. You gonna work?"

"I have a job interview tomorrow at The Bugle."

Opening the door, the women were greeted by the rumble of large mowers...

"Nice looking young man," observed Lanelle.

"Boy," sighed April.

"What would you call a man, sweetheart?"

April smiled. "What do you think of Russell Dalton?"

"Hooowheeeeee!" Lanelle cackled. "That's a man, baby girl! Grown. Married. Divorced."

"He got married?"

"Yep. British girl. Refused to come here. Filed for divorce."

"Oh," April whispered.

"He don't live across the road no more. Got a townhouse and a German shepherd. They run every morning. I clean his place."

"Girlfriend?"

"Lots."

The mowers roared to life, almost drowning Lanny's statement.

April scowled.

"What's that look for?" Lanny teased. "You ain't still got a crush on that man? Surely, you didn't expect him to wait."

"Of course not, but explain 'lots.' Doesn't he understand about disease?"

"He ain't stupid. That's how I know. I find things."

"Oh," April said with a huff.

"He don't never make his bed. Once or twice the woman was still there, not the same woman."

"Oh," April said shrilly with a wave of her hands as if fanning herself.

"Darlin', surely you've had boyfriends. You always were a pretty little thing. You still are, and you got something men like."

"Boobs?"

"Yep. They real?"

"All natural. Yes, I've had boyfriends."

"On what level?"

April laughed. "I've never been married and divorced, but I'm not a virgin, Miss Lanny. I did go to college, and I grew up."

Lanelle squinted at April. "You ain't a wild child, are you?"

"Not that either. Miss Lanny, what can I expect tomorrow?"

"With Russell?"

April nodded.

"I hear he runs that paper like a tyrant. He expects lots from his employees." Lanelle put her hands on her hips and stared in the direction of Magnolia Manor, the Dalton home. "He's a good-lookin' man, like his daddy. I guess Russell's almost six feet. Broad chest with lots of muscles; must be one seventy, one seventy-five. He goes to the gym. Still got them captivatin' violet-blue eyes, but he wears readin' glasses these days. Loses 'em all the time. Must have ten pair between home and office."

April laughed. "I wear contact lenses every day."

"Bad eyes?"

"Real bad."

"Well, Russell still has his hair, short with a little gray startin' at the temples." She tapped the side of her head. "Makes him look distinguished," Lanny added as if it were a secret. "You goin' for a job or a man, April?"

"A job."

"Well, the man's available."

April entered the newspaper front office ten minutes before her appointment and approached the receptionist, a woman about forty with short dark-blonde hair and hazel eyes. April observed a wedding ring. Her nameplate on the counter read, "Trina Polk."

Trina looked up from an Excel spreadsheet. April noted that the woman must also keep the books.

"May I help you?" Trina asked.

"I have an interview with Mr. Dalton at ten."

The office manager smirked. "I'll let him know you're here. Take a seat; he's on the phone."

April sat in one of the three simple, tan, padded chairs in the lobby. "Breathe, April," she said to herself. She took in her surroundings. The front was plate-glass with the masthead, a bugle trumpeting the name of the paper in old English font, emblazoned on the door. She watched as people walked the downtown sidewalks. Several offices were housed across the street and on each side of the newspaper office. A large parking garage offered parking for most of the downtown businesses. She couldn't remember if it was there when she was a child. She thought it must be new since the cinderblocks were not as grimy as some of the other businesses, and many of the existing storefronts resembled architecture of Merry Olde England. The area was even called Olde Towne Square and had flickering gas streetlamps.

When the light on the switchboard went off, Trina buzzed Russell, putting the summons on speaker. "Mr. Dalton, your ten o'clock is here."

In his office, Russell glanced at his calendar. "A. M. Chastain?"

"Yes, sir."

"Send him back."

The receptionist started to say something, but April shook her head vehemently. "Yes, sir," Trina replied, and released the intercom button. To the perspective employee she said, "All the way down the hall on the right. You can't miss it. Good luck, A. M."

"April."

"Good luck, April. Maybe the surprise will get his attention."

Swiveling his chair to face the credenza behind him, Russell scanned the papers in a folder as he waited for his appointment to come in. Applied electronically. Must know computers. Fresh out of college. Excellent writing skills. Pretty hard-hitting matter. One good feature. Magna grad. Hope he's not as insipid as the other three I've interviewed.

April stopped in front of the opaque door with "Russell Dalton, Publisher/Editor" stenciled on it in old English lettering. She glanced down the hall. Other doors seemed to lead to unused storage space. She heard the clickety-click of a printer somewhere in the back, and she smelled fresh ink. Inhaling a scent she loved, she knocked with confidence.

"Come in," said Russell with his back still to the door.

April went in. She observed the disorderly office. Files were spread across the desk, several with colored tabs. The in/out tray spilled over with contents. She had a feeling what looked like disorder made sense to the owner of the desk. She termed what she saw orderly chaos.

The computer screen displayed the masthead flitting across it as a screensaver. Two comfortable-looking chairs sat in front of the desk while Russell occupied an executive chair. Several folding chairs leaned behind the door. "Sit," said Russell as he pointed at a chair.

Instant irritation filled April at the command. She asserted her response. "I'm not your German shepherd."

Russell froze at the sound of a woman's voice, a woman who knew he had a German shepherd. He turned in his chair to face the woman who still stood. His violet-blue eyes blinked in slight, doubtful recognition. "A. M. Chastain? A is for?"

"You tell me. You're the hard-nosed newspaper man."

"April?" His hands tensed on top of his desk. "April McDougal? Is that you?"

"In the flesh."

"Oh, my God." Although he felt a tightening in his chest, Russell stood. "Please sit down."

"Thank you." April sat across from Russell and opened her briefcase.

"Copies of what I already have?" he asked.

"Yes. I also have letters of recommendation." April handed Russell the letters.

He scanned them: one from a professor, one from the editor at The Hattiesburg American where she interned, and one from the actual dean of the school of journalism at Southern Miss. Russell sat back down. "Most impressive to have a letter from your dean. First job?"

"First real reporting job. I've held jobs since I was sixteen."

"So, I see. Why do you want this job?"

"I'm a reporter. You advertised. I've come home."

"How did you know I have a German shepherd?"

"Confidential, but reliable, source."

Russell laughed. "What else do you know?"

"About you?"

"And Magnolia Blossom." Russell nodded. "How nosy are you?" Russell laced his fingers together and rested his hands on top of his desk, awaiting her response.

"You came home after Mr. Carlisle had a stroke, but he had let the paper flounder in lieu of his novel. Your British wife refused to come here. You're divorced, no children. You run every day with your dog and work out at the gym. There's still only one here. You sleep around."

Russell raised his eyebrow and flattened his hands against his desk. Undaunted, April continued. "You made your mark as a free-lance reporter with articles in major newspapers as well as Time and Newsweek. You've won a few awards, including a Pulitzer for your story about diamond smuggling. You obviously pissed somebody off." She pointed and moved her index finger back and forth. "You have a scar above your right eye, a cut that required stitches, and your nose has been broken."

Russell placed his elbow on his desk and rested his chin on his hand as April rattled on. "Magnolia Blossom is a small town with lots of skeletons in the closet. There have been allegations of corrupt politicians and illegal dumping at The Dunes. My parents' murderers still have not been apprehended. They were probably paid by somebody Daddy had pissed off. Magnolia Blossom still has its very poor and its very rich, but a solid middle class has sprung up."

April took a deep breath. In mock concern Russell asked, "Would you like a glass of water?"

"I'm not done. Save your sarcasm until I finish. Although much has changed in Magnolia Blossom, good-old-boy politics still go on. You would like to expose some of this corruption. Maybe somebody else will break your nose so it'll go back the other way. You are now one of the most influential men in Magnolia Blossom, even if you don't have kids to live under a microscope." She exhaled as if all had been said in one breath.

 "Quite a discourse," said Russell. "What do you mean—I sleep around?"

April tilted her head to the side. "Is that the only thing you heard in all I said?"

"No, but it bears explanation."

"You have multiple sexual partners, no men. You're straight."

"Microscope?"

April laughed and brushed a stray hair from her face. "The last time I saw you, you said I was too young to know what it was like to live under a microscope as the son of one of the most important men in Magnolia Blossom." Her voice hitched slightly. "I never got the chance to find out what it would be like."

"You actually remember that conversation?" Russell asked with surprise. "You were only six."

"I do."

"Unbelievable." He shook his head in dismay. "I've been told I'm a pain in the ass to work for. I expect deadlines to be met. I know perfection's not possible, but I strive for it in print. How would you cover the society page?"

"Is that what I'll be doing?"

"Among other things."

"I can write features. I prefer news, but I can write features. First, I would try to attend events rather than relying on forms. I know I couldn't make all of them, but firsthand accounts are more accurate."

"Can you operate a digital camera?"

"Yes."

"April, I have a sports reporter; he handles sports, all sports. One thing he does is utilize the high school sports reporters and edit up a storm."

"Who are the high school sports reporters?"

"Zach Logan for the city."

"I met him."

"I have a copy editor, me, but we read and edit one another's stories."

"I can do that."

"The paper still goes to press, but comes from desktop publishing, not typesetting. Desktop skills?"

"I'm quite familiar with it."

"I have three stringers who cover whatever I ask them to cover. All of us cover hard news, but I need a features person. My sports person is a black male, André Cheeks. André is in charge when I have to be away. Do you have a problem with a black man telling you what to do?"

Wrinkling her nose, April replied, "No." Is race still that big an issue here? That's the second time I've been asked about race.

"I have no other female reporters. I'm not sexist. You're the only one who has applied. Why do you want to be here?" Russell spread the letters of recommendation on his desk.

"I told you. I've come home. I'm a reporter. I need a job."

"The paper comes out every Thursday. Monday through Wednesday, you'll put in fifteen hours a day. Thursday is down time. The weekends vary. This is not a nine-to-five job, but there's no overtime pay, strictly salary, and it's low. Makeup and manicures are optional. So, if Miss Magnolia Blossom is in Natchez or Vicksburg for the Miss Mississippi Pageant, you'd go?"

"That's my job. And if I discover someone bribing a judge, I'll report that."

Russell laughed. "You'd be looking for something extra."

"Doesn't a good reporter always look for something extra?"

"How would you react if I told you that you have a smart mouth and you're impertinent and rude?"

April's jaw dropped. "Do I? Am I?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. I've never met a polite reporter. Hmmm." Russell stood. "Okay. Should I send you out and tell you I'll call?"

April stood with him, sensing the interview was over. "No." Her insides quivered. I already made a fool of myself. I have nothing to lose. She spoke forthright. "You should put me to work. You're understaffed. You have circles under your eyes. You're too tense to have had a late night with a woman. It's Tuesday. I haven't had a chance to attend any functions. Do you have some pre-filled forms? Submitted photos? What pages do I fill?"

"Five and six. You're hired. Follow me."

Cover by Christopher Chambers.

This is who I've pictured as my Russell since the day of the character's inception: