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IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT by the time Jenna Richardson finished her column for Wednesday’s Herald. Her day started at eight o’clock that morning with the first of a handful of visits she made to polling places in and around Providence to interview workers for each of the underdog candidates in the election. Jenna wanted to know who they were and how they felt about holding signs or passing out campaign flyers for office seekers who were already written off on the basis of polls taken by the various media.

After dinner she attended Bruce Singer’s victory celebration at the Marriott and was able to ask him a few questions while in the receiving line that formed to congratulate him. When Carol Singer was introduced to her, Richardson wondered why such a charming woman didn’t make any earlier appearances in the campaign. Then she recalled Mrs. Singer’s reply, “I hope not,” when Jenna inquired six months earlier whether her husband would be a candidate for governor. Maybe she hates politics as much as I do, she thought.

Jenna took a taxi from the Marriott to the recently opened Westin Hotel. She arrived just in time to hear John Sacco thank his exuberant campaign workers for helping him defeat David Whitley in the Senate race. Afterwards, Sacco shook hands with her as he mingled with the crowd and invited her to call for an interview toward the end of the month.

“I’ll need a little time off first,” he said.

“So won’t I, Senator,” she answered.

He gave her a big smile and turned away.

Richardson returned to the newsroom and wrote several drafts of her column before she was satisfied with it. She left room for some facts and figures to be added when the final election results were known, but complemented the necessary coverage with several human-interest features. She took the copy out of the printer and brought it to Dan McMurphy’s office. The shades were drawn on all three of his picture windows, surprising her. The office was dark when she entered but she could see her way to his desk.

“So what do you think?” Dan’s voice came from one of the sofas to the right of his desk. “It’s okay, you can put on the light,” he said. “I just needed a short nap.”

Jenna was flustered for an instant but recovered quickly. “What are you still doing here?” she asked. “I thought Barry Parker was sitting in for you tonight.”

“He is, but I figured I ought to be around when your temporary assignment on the political desk came to an end. Otherwise you wouldn’t know what to do tomorrow when you got out of bed.”

She chuckled. “It wouldn’t have been a problem. I was planning to sack out all day.”

“In that case I’d have to dock you for the time. Of course, you could withdraw that statement and give me the chance to tell you to take the day off.”

“Easiest decision I’ve had all week. Tomorrow’s on you.”

McMurphy sat up on the couch. “Drag a chair over here, Jenna, and sit down.” He waited for her to get comfortable. “Well, it was some election year, wasn’t it?”

“Do I hear an ‘I-told-you-so’ coming, Dan?”

“Yeah, I guess so, but I think I deserve it. Ten months ago the call on this one was a real long shot.”

“You don’t have to remind me. I didn’t exactly agree with you at the time.”

He smiled. “No, you didn’t, that’s for sure. But you went out and worked your tail off anyway. Your instincts for the things that were happening out there were incredible. You weren’t always right on the money, but you gave the people of Rhode Island facts they probably otherwise wouldn’t have known and you made them think hard about who they were going to put in office. In short, you did a hell of a job and I’m proud of you.”

She thought about being flip and asking if that translated into more money, but held off. “Thanks, Dan,” she said.

“Which brings us to your next assignment. Did I mention to you that Butch Concannon was leaving us after Thanksgiving? The Daily World hired him to work in Boston. That’s a real plum for him.”

Jenna knew that Concannon worked in the sports department under Al Silvano. She was quite certain he covered all the games of the State’s two major professional teams, the Pawtucket Red Sox and the Providence Bruins. “You tried getting me into the men’s locker room once before,” she said. “It’s still not funny.”

“I’m dead serious,” he answered, and looked the part. “Al Silvano’s predicting that the Bruins will go to the Calder Cup finals and the Red Sox will play in the International League World Series. There’s going to be tremendous fan interest in hockey this winter and baseball next summer. Silvano wants someone with imagination who can come up with unusual stories, keep the hype going all the time and sell papers. That’s you he’s describing.”

Jenna suddenly realized what was at stake. McMurphy was talking about a year in the sports department. That meant days and nights covering mostly boring games. It required travel to any number of dull cities and being stuck there for days at a time. Worst of all, it called for constant interaction with rich, spoiled athletes who would mumble the same inanities about how fortunate they were to have done well and led their team to victory. She could still enjoy watching a game at Fenway Park now and then, but that was it. Hockey and baseball reporting weren’t going to become part of her resume. She wouldn’t do it even if it meant having to leave the Herald.

“There’s no way I’ll agree to that, Dan. Politics was one thing, and I’m up to here with it, but I’ll never do sports.” She paused a second before adding, as deliberately as she could, “Under no circumstances.” She looked him in the eye, knowing the axe could fall at any moment if he felt she was being disloyal. What began with his raving about her work was in danger of ending with her having no work at all.

“I knew you’d had enough of the political arena,” he said. “Then the managing editor sent word he wanted an in-depth follow-up on what you wrote about whole families making campaign contributions to the same candidate. He’s excited about it. Thinks it may have gone beyond the Tarantinos and that it could be a blockbuster story. But I didn’t dare assign it to you. Something like that could take months to investigate and break. More politicians and campaign managers to interview and check up on. All those John Q. Publics who’d be afraid to talk to you or tell you the truth, worried about what could happen to them. You’d be back in that whole scene all over again. I wasn’t about to punish you for the good job you did. The next day Silvano came in and talked to me about the help he needs in sports. We’re shorthanded here already, Jenna. For now, my hands are tied.”

Her reputation for being quick at separating truth from bullshit didn’t come undeserved. She saw through McMurphy’s ploy at once. “You old bastard,” she said, pronouncing each word slowly and distinctly.

His repute was earned also and took in a lot of territory. He knew she understood everything he said. “Then it’s a deal,” he shot back. Her eyes gave him the answer, and he kept talking. “I made notes about a few campaign treasurers you might want to talk to, starting with Lester Karp who handled contributions for Fiore, and some things to look for. They’re under the paperweight on my desk. This story could really be a candidate for a Pulitzer. In fact, I’m ready to bet you’ll get one.”

What Jenna didn’t tell McMurphy was that she intended to speak to him about investigating the very same story. Now she could use her willingness to take the assignment as a bargaining chip for some other story down the road.

“How much money are we talking on that bet?” she asked.

“I’ll put up ten dollars,” he said.

“It’s a longer shot than the one you hit on. Tell you what, Dan. I’ll owe you fifty if it happens.”

“That’s a deal, too.” He paused. “But you know what, sucker? I’d have taken even money.” He gave her an exaggerated wink.

As Jenna left his office, they were both hoping he’d win.