Escapade

He sat down in his study and reached for the telephone. It might be a good idea, he thought, to find out how things were going with the newspaper back in San Antonio. If, as Amanda had said, Ward Johnson was paying less attention to management than he should, it didn’t bode well for the paper’s financial future—or that job press she was so worried about saving. He could at least insure that Amanda had a reasonably secure future.

* * *

WARD JOHNSON WAS making up the front page when he was called to the telephone. Down the long wooden makeup board from him, Dora Jackson was making up a grocery ad while one of the part-time people wrote cutlines for the photographs and headlines for stories as they were pasted up with hot wax on the ruled sheets.

Putting down his scissors Ward walked to the extension phone behind him. As he spoke, he couldn’t help staring at Dora. It was inconvenient having a woman who looked as good as she did in the office with him. Once they had been high school sweethearts. Now they were both married and trying to keep up happy facades. It had been impulsive and crazy of him to hire her when she’d come looking for something to keep her busy.

“Johnson,” he spoke into the receiver.

“Lawson,” came the terse reply. “I want an update on the paper’s finances.”

It took Ward a long moment to realize that his caller was Joshua Lawson. He hesitated. “Mr. Lawson,” he stammered, caught off guard. “The finances...oh, you mean the quarterly report.”

“That’s right. I need you to fax it to me today.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“Include an update on the job press, could you?”

“Well, I told you about that,” Ward reminded him. “It’s a waste of capital. The newspaper will carry us along.”

“I’ve heard rumors that the Morrison group is in the planning stages of producing a throwaway to go in competition with the Gazette.” That was something Josh hadn’t mentioned to Amanda. She’d had enough stress for the past two weeks. The publication he was talking about was a free newspaper that contained mostly advertising with only a modicum of news. It was a handout, and no weekly newspaper with a subscription list could compete with one. It would rob them of advertisers in no time at all. There was a pause. “Do you know how to cope with competition from a shopper?” he added dryly.

Ward cursed under his breath. “I know all right. If you haven’t got an efficient operation, you might as well close the place down. You can’t compete with a shopper. It attracts advertisers like glue, and you don’t even have to charge for it.”

“That being the case, our revenues will have to be pretty good to stand the competition.”

“I’ll get the figures for you. How’s Amanda?”

“Healing. She’ll be back to work on Monday.”

“Nice girl. Hard worker. A little too involved sometimes. She’s full of ideas that won’t really work.”

“Really?”

Ward smiled to himself. So much for taking the wind out of Miss Todd’s sails. He’d felt threatened for the first time in years when she’d walked in the door. He knew that her family had owned the paper and that she stood to inherit a half interest or so at some point. But he’d been running the operation for fifteen years, answering only to Harrison Todd. For the past few years no one had interfered with his methods. Then Amanda had come to work for him. He wasn’t amenable to having a girl fresh out of college trying to give him orders. It was just as well that Joshua Lawson knew that, right off the bat. After all, Lawson owned the majority of the paper’s stock.

“She’s a good accountant,” Ward added to soften his criticism. It wouldn’t do to sound as if he were threatened, even if he was. “Nice head for figures.”

“So I’ve been told. Are your advertising rates up?”

“No need to raise them,” Ward argued. “We’re undercutting the dailies. We get enough without driving away old customers.”

Josh was too cagey to question that without seeing the figures. He had his finger in too many pies to keep a close check on any of his side interests. For Amanda’s sake, he was going to have to get a closer look at the Gazette.

“What’s the problem about the job press?”

“There are three other print shops with more people and more modern equipment than we have. We’ve lost a lot of customers to the quick-print place that just opened in San Antonio. It does photocopies.”

“I thought Harrison bought you a high-quality copier?”

“The girl who knew how to operate it quit. The new girl just sets type. She doesn’t know much about printing, and Tim, who runs the presses, doesn’t have time to run out and make copies when he’s got negatives and plates to make.”

Josh wanted to argue with that. Just as well he’d asked for those figures. He’d keep his counsel until then.

“All right. Get me those figures.”

“Late this afternoon, for sure. I’ll have to wait until after we put the paper to bed.”

“That’s fine.”

The line went dead.

Josh wondered how much of what Johnson had said was true. Amanda was an eager beaver, but she was sharp, too. There were plenty of holes in Johnson’s management theory. It was possible that Amanda was right about the job press. But the competition could be killing their business. It had happened to other print shops. Now that he had access to the entire operation—something he hadn’t had while Harrison was still alive—he could keep Johnson on his toes and hopefully keep Amanda’s inheritance solvent. He had a feeling the figures weren’t going to be particularly pleasing.

Back in San Antonio, Ward Johnson was certain of it. He ran a hand through his sandy hair and stared with unhappy resignation at the figures as he produced them from the computer. He knew how to run the machine, although Amanda was a whiz at it. But he hadn’t bothered to analyze its performance. He just plugged along from day to day, secure in the knowledge that old advertisers would stay with him and a few new ones would come along. The paper was paying for itself. Barely. He’d had so much turmoil in his private life that he hadn’t wanted complications or problems on the job. He hadn’t wanted to rock the boat and upset people by offering a new price list.

But after he’d studied the spreadsheet, he wished he’d listened when Amanda had first mentioned that things were getting out of hand in the revenue column. Prices had gone up everywhere else, she’d said, and needed to go up here. Ward had laughed at her and said that people would go elsewhere if he raised his prices now, for newspaper ads or job work in the print shop.

But, looking at the figures, he realized that she was right. He was operating in the red because he’d been too involved with his own problems at home to go over the books regularly. Prices would have to be raised, for a certainty. That meant he’d have to put in some late hours working on them.

In addition he had to send this proof of ineptitude to Joshua Lawson. He grimaced. No. He didn’t dare. He was thirty-four years old. He wasn’t in his dotage, but it would be difficult to get another job at his age, even if he wasn’t proven incompetent. Gladys would love it if they fired him. She’d laugh. His wife always laughed at his failures. She enjoyed them. She always had, even before she’d climbed too deep into her bottle of gin to get out again. He didn’t know which was worse, Gladys or his son. Sometimes he felt as if he were carrying the world on his broad shoulders. He couldn’t make enough to keep Gladys in gin and his son in drugs. The boy wouldn’t work. He wasn’t lucid enough to work.

Ward carefully changed a few key figures. With any luck at all, before the next quarter’s figures went out, he’d have boosted them to this altered sum. It wasn’t dishonest. He was only buying a little time.

“I need to ask a question, Ward,” Dora said, interrupting his thoughts.

He looked up. She was so sweet, he thought. Pleasantly voluptuous, with a sweet smile and freckles and reddish-gold hair framing her very blue eyes. He wondered why she looked so sad. She had a successful husband, an educator, and two sons in grammar school.

“Ward?” she prompted, flushing a little at his pointed stare.

“Oh. Sorry.” He smiled, his brown eyes twinkling. “What can I do for you, honey?”

The endearment made her flush even more, and he felt his chest swell. He still had an effect on her. Leaning back in his chair, he looked at her, a faint arrogance creeping over his face. He felt eighteen again, bristling with predatory masculine instincts. Although they’d never been really intimate in high school, they had spent a lot of time together.

“I wondered if you needed me for anything else?” Dora asked. “I only work mornings, you know.” She smiled, seeing Ward as he had been at eighteen when he was captain of the football squad and she’d led the cheerleading team. In her eyes, he’d never aged.

He looked at the computer and grimaced. “I could certainly use some help with this,” he said. “Can you operate a fax machine?”

“Why, yes,” she said. “I did a little part-time work for an insurance company last year, and they had this same model,” she added, moving toward the machine.

“Thank God,” he said. “Amanda Todd always works this one, and she won’t be back until Monday.”

“Is she all right?” Dora asked. “I like Amanda. She’s always been so nice to me.”

“It’s easy to be nice to you, Dora,” he replied quietly. “Yes, she’s fine. Sad, I imagine, but she’s got the Lawsons to pamper her for a week and a luxury island in the Bahamas to lounge on. She’ll manage.”

“Mr. Lawson is very good to her,” she remarked.