Westlake, Donald E - Sara and Jack 01 by Trust Me on This (v1.1)

Author:Trust Me on This (v1.1) [This, Trust Me on]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

What a way to start the day, Jack thought in no little satisfaction. Nine yesses from Massa and his red pencil, six stories from the mighty Jack Ingersoll team in this week’s brand-new Galaxy just arrived here on his desk, and an actual smile from Jacob Harsch this morning as the man murmured, “Well done,” in connection with the John Michael Mercer/Felicia Nelson meeting-and- romance story. Back in his squaricle, basking in unfamiliar contentment, Jack dictated a letter to the rapid and nearly cheerful Mary Kate: “I have reassured myself that there is no reporter by that name at the Weekly Galaxy. We of the Galaxy maintain the highest standards of journalistic integrity, and would never stoop to the . . .”

Jack trailed off and looked up as Binx entered the squaricle, holding the new Galaxy in his hand and looking troubled. “Hello,” Binx said.

“Morning, Binx,” Jack said. “Rough this morning.” Only three of Binx’s story ideas had survived Massa’s red pencil.

“Well, that’s what happens,” Binx said, shrugging it off with uncharacteristic calm. Had Binx given in at last to his despair? It would certainly be restful for him.

“Next week,” Jack promised him, and moved a hand vaguely.

“Sure.” Binx held up the new Galaxy. “Jack,” he said, “this romance story about John Michael Mercer and Felicia Nelson.”

“Isn’t it nice? The Harsch smiled upon me, it was quite an experience.”

“It’s a real coup,” Binx agreed. “But when I was reading it, something kept bothering me.”

“It went through the fact checkers like prune juice,” Jack assured him. “I’ve got a best friend on tape.”

“Sure you do. But I was reading it, you know,” Binx said, holding the paper up, frowning at it as though he might read it again in Jack’s presence, to show him what the process looked like, “I was reading it, and I kept thinking, this is familiar, I know this story. And then I got it.”

Jack gave him a careful look. “Yeah?”

“It’s me” Binx said, staring at Jack wideeyed, like the steer in the stockyard just after it’s been given the stunning blow. “This is my meeting with Marcy,” Binx said, rattling the paper, “the mix-up with the car keys, and getting the street wrong, and all the rest of it. Jack, you sold the paper my life story!”

Jack took a deep breath and faced Binx honestly and squarely. He was aware, in the periphery of his vision, of Mary Kate, not looking at him. “Binx,” he said, “ask yourself this question: Would my best friend do a tiling like that to me?”

Binx nodded. “I have, Jack,” he said. “I have asked myself that question.” Poker-faced, he dropped the Galaxy on Jack’s desk and left the squaricle.

Jack watched him go. He sighed. This too will pass. Turning to Mary Kate, he said, “Where were we?”

Mary Kate leaned forward over her typewriter and read: “We of the Galaxy maintain the highest standards of journalistic integrity, and would never stoop to the.” She settled back into her chair and looked at Jack.

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