As soon as Ken dropped the deadbolt that morning, it had been clear it going to be one of those days. New York city is hot, sticky and the people are on edge, few like the heat here in the summer and all rushing from one air-conditioned space to the next. Ken saw two fights break out on the way from home in Greenwich Village to the office on the West Side. Ken wasn't normally the type to hang head or to look down the nose, but it was a head-hanging day today. No matter where you go, you feel like the cops pulled you over when you swear you weren't speeding, like the teacher standing behind you during that crucial test, like the group of girls giggling after you just asked one of them out. It was just one of those days. Ken felt that instead of a suit and tie, wearing a noose might have been more appropriate. Jenny had discretely stuck a collapsible fabric box in Ken's bookcase in case of the worst.
Five stories up Ken was sweating in the hot seat. Editor and chief Leela Rosen sat at her desk, not the familiar warm face that Ken knew, but the pursed lips and rapping red fingernails that everyone secretly feared. She made her reputation not only as an amazing reporter and editor with an uncanny ability to be generous in even the toughest of circumstance, but also with the fact that she could rip your heart out and feed it to you still beating. It just depended on what mood she was in. Somehow she pulled it off in heels and a pencil shirt. They had been partners for two years when Ken first started, and that made the red chair that she pulled out just for serious talks all that more painful to be in.
“So you know why you’re here,” she said, more stating than questioning, “just because we're friends doesn't mean I can let this pass unchecked.”
“Yes you can,” Ken said failing an attempt to fake a smile, “I know I'm your favorite.”
“Ha!” she laughed leaning back in her chair, “Sure you’re my favorite but not because we're so close, you're my favorite because you're a good writer and your keep your nose clean. Nose is dirty now. Filthy in fact.”
“Okay, so I lost my temper.”
“No,” she interrupted, “losing your temper is raising your voice to a CEO or slamming your coffee cup down on your desk. You punched Craig! That's more than just a slip of the temperament. That's an utter lapse in judgment.”
“You're right,” Ken said sighing, head lowering low in genuine shame.
“I know what he said was cruel, and totally uncalled for, but I'm dealing with that separately. As for you, I don't care for this whole he-said-she-said game you two are playing. I don't care what disgusting thing he said. You are both adults, and if you feel you have some macho thing to prove, then you need to do so outside of this office. Is that clear?”
“Yes ma'am,” Ken said breathing deep, waiting for her verdict.
“I should fire you both.”
“Yes ma'am.”
“But,” she said leaning back in across the desk relaxing her clenched fists and intertwining them, “And listen to me closely Ken.”
Ken looked back up at her.
“I am not going to fire either one of you.”
Ken’s heart seemed to skip a beat, “What?”
“You and Craig are two of my best writers, and he may be a cocky bastard, and you may be hot headed, but that doesn't mean you're not good at your jobs. You are both on sabbatical, and if either one of you pulls another stunt like this, then that's it. I can't stop him from pressing charges again. He wanted to and I told him that if you two couldn't drop the matter on my terms, then you both are out on the unemployment line. Do they still have those?”
“Sadly.”
“Huh,” She said leaning back slightly again, “Remind me about that after I finish. Anyway, so both of you are no longer picking and choosing what you do around here. All privileges are revoked. You both are now partnered up with research partners. You need to learn some people skills.”
“I have people skills!”
“Ken?”
“Yes ma'am.”
“Shut up.”
Ken nodded and for the first time in years tried not to cry, looking down, and stared instead and the sinking red cushion that secured one from any form of squirming. The hot seat held you just as securely as Leela’s no nonsense glare.
“Until I am satisfied, you are both suspended from your columns and will be doing the more basic news stories. I'm assigning you Edmund. Now I am not putting you both in the doghouse forever. Either one of you can get back into my good graces and get your column back, by helping me out with a new project. The powers that be around here want some more Rockwell, P.C., puff piece stuff in the Family and Entertainment section. I need independent, stand alone pieces that are all about that time our generation grew up in, you know, how life was better twenty or thirty years ago in the beginning of this century, golden Age crap. There seems to be this growing nostalgia in our readership, which is crap but, whatever. If that's the target audience then I have to hit it. I'm assigning this to you, Craig, to all my columnists. Whoever comes up with the best stuff every week gets the spot. Starts next month. If one of you two wants to prove what I think, that you're worth keeping around, then that will help your cases. I can't fire writers that are popular. Well, I can, but that just doesn't make too much sense. The guys upstairs think I might be a little nuts for doing things this way, but I want to give you both a chance.”
“Thank you.”
“Just prove me right Ken. Don't make me look stupid. You make me look stupid, and I’ll make you watch the sunset from between your butt cheeks. Now get out. Edmund is waiting for you.”
She leaned forward extending her hand to pull Ken out of the hot seat, its red leather squeaking loudly at the friction. It had been so long since she had had to use it that Ken looked silly brushing all the lint and dust off that had emerged from the cracks and folds. She felt a little guilty being so tough. She could see Ken's lower lip bleeding slightly. Ken only did that to fight tears. She knew she had saved Ken's job though, so, what must be must be.
“Oh, and Lee?” Ken said with one shined shoe out the door, “The existence of unemployment lines?”
“Yes,” she said standing a little taller, remembering that she was the boss, and not just one of Ken's buddies anymore, “That will be Edmund and your first assignment. Two thousand words on the situation of our city's unemployment rate and the options open for those now verses before.”
“Yes Ma'am.”
“And Ken. Don't forget about that special column. I know it’s not quite your cup of tea, but it would help your case.”
“Yes Ma'am.”
Ken closed the door and tasted just a little more blood. The day wasn't done sucking yet. Edmund was waiting.
Edmund and Ken had worked together before, and after every assignment Ken felt the need to slam someone's head into a wall. Maybe Lee was right about that people skills thing. Not that Edmund was a bad person, just impossibly dull. Ken liked to be around vibrant, deep people like Jenny. Jenny was an artist who was always saying the strangest most intelligent things, and Edmund collected sweater vests. Jenny sang as she worked, and Edmund squinted. Sadly Edmund was one of the best researchers to be paired with and Ken had to respect the man. At least he wasn't a bigoted, close-minded loud mouth like Craig. There was good riddance to that last partnership. Ken didn't care if you didn't like one group of people or another just don't impose your beliefs on others, especially the people of the group you hated. Edmund may be bland, but with blandness seemed to come an oblivious acceptance. That at least was refreshing.
“So,” Ken said plopping down in the chair across from Edmund's desk in the maze of cubicles that was their department. At least this chair offered some flexibility and Ken took liberty of that stretching out to full length with feet on Edmund's desk, “Did the Queen Bee tell you what was up?”
“Yep,” Edmund said pushing his glasses up his nose with his right middle finger and smiling wide, “I am your baby sitter. Don't worry though! It'll be fun.”
Edmund seemed genuinely excited, and that just made Ken's head shake back and forth with a Kermit lip tuck, “If you say so buddy. Start the basic bullet points of the topic and we can go over them tomorrow? Figure out an outline to make this snooze-fest of a space filler readable?”
“Sure thing. Why don't you stick around though? I'll only be an hour or so.”
“Actually, I have to get home. The wife needs me. Big drum roll sounds off today and she wants me there. We finally find out if it all worked or not.”
They stood up and Ken shook Edmund's hand. This had to work, writing was life, and Ken couldn't give up this place. “Actually, email me your research and I'll just do the first bit of brainstorming and writing from home.”
“Yeah,” Edmund laughed, “You. Work from home? If I need to find you I know where to call.”
Ken raised a brow questionably at Edmund but realized there was no malice in his words, just social awkwardness. Anyone else might have been taking a stab at Ken, but with Edmund it was just the obvious trust. That was okay. Edmund would work Ken decided. Saying their goodbyes, Ken headed off for home trying to get prepared for the answer to months of questions.
....
Ken paced the floors in the living room, the constant rhythmic clacking of heels on the wood floor echoed throughout the apartment, bouncing off the walls drowning out the sound of midday crazed chaos out in the city beyond their little world. It seemed that everything could be summed up in that sound, Ken's heartbeat pounding to its rhythm, the sound and sensation of as one's suit moves across the skin, the little noise that drifted up to their apartment from the street below, even how often Ken felt the need to reach up and squeeze the face's tense flesh.
“Quiet down out there Babe!” came Jenny’s voice from the bathroom, “I’m trying to concentrate.”
“On what exactly? Just relax and release,” Ken said, demonstrating with sweeping hand gestures to no one in particular, “Relax. And release.”
“That’s easy for you to say Sir Paces-A-Lot. Why don’t you relax? Or, try cramming three thousand dollars worth of hopes, dreams, sperm and eggs into your who-ha and see how well you can pee on a stick. It’s a very tiny target.”
Ken headed for the kitchen knowing this just wasn't doable without a drink. So what if it was a bad example? The kid wasn’t here yet, and if a drink was wanted then Ken could damn well have a scotch. Ken took comfort in the fact that if nothing else, some things never disappointed. Sure you could be disappointed in yourself, but scotch, always right on the money.
“Third shelf to the right of the fridge,” came Jenny’s voice along with the sink starting to gush on full blast.
“So you are nervous,” Ken said racing for said shelf, grasping the prize with trembling hands, “You’ve rearranged our whole kitchen.”
“Well, yeah, it’s hard to concentrate without you home sometimes. I couldn’t get any work done. Just put some ice in it okay? At least water it down a bit.”
Ken headed over to the glasses, grabbing two pouring the first tumbler to the brim with the scotch, and started to fill the other with ice from the dispenser on the fridge door, “Sure thing.”
Ken had been cutting down, but didn’t have patience for that right now, and emptied the first glass while filling up the second over ice, “What Jenny doesn’t know, won’t make her nag me,” Ken said quietly.
Back to pacing, one hand deep in pocket, the other trembling as it brought the glass to mouth. Ken waited trying to filter the sounds of possibly peeing from that of water flowing from the tap, the clinking of the ice the tumbler, and the rustle of the people outside their window too busy to know that right now, a miracle could be happening.
Ken was going for a refill when the water turned off, but the familiar squeak of the bathroom door did not follow.
“Oh hell,” Ken said filling tumbler with a few more ice cubes, “Maybe she does have a point. This shit makes me too God damn jumpy.”
“I always have a point,” Jenny said, her hands appearing out of nowhere and wrapping around Ken’s waist.
Ken tried not to jump, but couldn’t help it a little, “Damn! You are seriously a ninja. Did you know that?”
Jenny pressed her head into the groove between Ken’s shoulders, “Well I have to keep you on your toes Babe. It’s what you love about me.”
“True,” Ken said, turning around and wrapping Jenny up, squeezing her tight, rocking her just a little bit, “So?”
“So,” she said, her sweet pixie face hidden from Ken’s view, her skin strangely cool through Ken's suit. All Ken could see was the puffy coarse mess of brown-red hair that was never quite tamed, no matter how many conditioners clogged up the shelves of their bathroom claiming to do just that.
“So?” Ken said just a little more emphatically, “So are we waiting on results or are we….?”
Ken just didn’t know how to finish that sentence, the word felt heavy and taboo, the way swear words had in high school.
Jenny looked up into Ken's eyes, “Yes. Yes, we're pregnant.”
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