I got messages from her on every phone I owned that the
mayor of one of her towns had just been arrested.
“What do I do?” she asked.
The boss had called and left messages, too, but I got none
of these until I reached the office by which time someone else had broken the
story via the web.
She needed to get something up on our site to keep ahead of the
curve.
The fact that she sided with the mayor over his critics
seemed less important than doing the job she was hired to do.
I gave her some help. But she did most of it, a remarkable
feat for someone who claims she hates doing hard news.
At the end of the day, she emailed me saying she needed a
drink, wanting to talk again, but clearly nervous about starting up that conversation.
We have history, but she’s already moved on to someone else,
maybe someone who doesn’t exist, I don’t know.
Prior to our falling out, she had asked a number of
provocative questions about our boss and had agreed to trade one of her CDs for
a copy of his new book, just as she had with me.
Perhaps part of her mating ritual. Or not. Though I suspect
she’s made plans for him, he might not yet be aware of.
Her emails to me, I think, were a mere formality.
She’s not the kind of gal that has need of men once she’s
through with them. Ex-friends become useful as stalkers, but not as friends.
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