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“I see. Well, I think—” Maggie starts, but before she can finish, I hear a yell from down the hall.
“ELISE!”
“Oh, great, what’s he want?” I mutter, looking at Maggie. “Any ideas?”
“Maybe Donnie wants to say great job and give you a raise?” Maggie asks, then grins. “It’d be a first, but hey, miracles do happen.”
“We’ll see,” I answer as I get up. “See you later.”
I head down the hall to Donnie’s office, where I find him behind his desk, popping jellybeans into his mouth. “What can I do for you, Donnie?”
“Have a seat,” he says, pointing as if I don’t know where the chair is. “I wanted to talk about your third article.”
“What?” I ask, surprised. “Donnie, I barely got the outline done and sent in to you.”
It’s company policy that all articles other than editorials need to be outlined and sent in to Donnie after the website got burned to the tune of a half-million dollars for not verifying a claim. It could have been worse.
“I know, I checked it over,” Donnie says, popping another jellybean, this one black licorice by the looks of it. “And while I normally let you just run with your gut, you always back up your shit. I’m worried this time.”
A compliment and a concern in one sentence. That’s a first. “What’re you worried about? There’s nothing that’ll get us a lawsuit in there.”
“That’s exactly it!” Donnie exclaims. “Elise, we won’t get sued, but we won’t get read either! This article . . . it’s boring as fuck. My God, a story about the Pope’s diet would have more sizzle than this! This is just . . . listen, if I wanted to read this type of fawning bullshit, I’d buy People!”
“What can I say, Donnie?” I ask, ignoring his dig. “This series is different. It’s good, I think. More in-depth and driving readers with a real insight into Keith. His music, his life, let them really get to know the man. I’ve included some interview snippets from some calls I made to his manager and some of the club owners from Boise and Nashville that he used to play in, to give the readers a sense of how much he’s grown.”
“Growth . . . now you sound like Reader’s Digest,” Donnie gripes. “Come on, Elise! We run on dirt, smut, and knowing who’s fucking who! Not how Keith Perkins learned to play guitar at the age of six and what might be next for him with this summer’s tour!”
I’m trying to keep my cool. I’m walking into deep waters now with Donnie, and while I’m not technically lying yet . . . I’m not being honest and frank either. “I’ve gone through everything in his background, online searches, criminal record, everything available. And when I talk to Keith, he seems to be real. He was pissed about the record company springing the all-access interviews on him initially, but he’s been forthcoming. I’m telling you, Donnie, there’s just nothing salacious. The man’s just an All-American sort of dude.”
I hope it’s enough, that he believes me and doesn’t pry any further. Donnie may have questionable morals when it comes to Francesca, but he’s a crack reporter and can smell a story long before anyone else does.
“Dammit, Elise. There’s something!” he yells, slamming his hand down on his desk and sending jellybeans rolling everywhere. “Nobody is this fucking whitebread. Nobody can become as famous as he is without having at least a fucking parking ticket in his background. There has to be something. I don’t want this to be a big waste of fucking time. Find me something, or I’ll get someone who can.”
“What?” I gasp, my face paling. “Donnie, this is my story—”
“I know it is! So do your damn job!” he yells, his face getting redder as his voice carries. I know the people out in the office can hear him reaming me out. “Even Pollyanna Maggie out there has more dirt in her life than you’ve written about Keith. Now, I’ll let you write part three the way you want, but end it with a teaser about some legit dirt for part four.” His voice drops dangerously. “And you’d better get it, one way or another. Am I clear?”
“Clear. I’ll find something.” I say as I nod, but my gut churns.
“Then get the fuck out of here and finish up part three. What are you going to do for the next interview?”
“I convinced him to get out of his house. I’m hoping that the change of scenery will get him to open up more. If I thought there was anything worth reporting on in the house, I’d have stayed, but he’s shown me every room . . . the only person who’d find it interesting might be the Style section.”
Slightly placated, Donnie starts scooping up his jellybeans and putting them back in his bowl. “Where are you doing the interview?”
