Her Secret Fling

“You asked,” he said.

“Actually, you offered—to the whole office.”

“If you think some of them haven’t thought the same thing.” He shrugged.

She glanced at the other journalists who were all eavesdropping shamelessly. Was it possible some of them shared Jake’s opinion?

“Leonard came knocking on my door, not the other way around.” She sounded defensive, but she couldn’t help it.

“You accepted the offer,” he said. “You could have said no.”

“So I’m not allowed to have a career outside of swimming?” she asked.

“Sure you are. You’re even allowed to have this career, since we all know the Australian public is so in love with its sporting heroes they’ll probably eat up anything you write with a spoon, even if you can’t string two words together. Just don’t expect me to like it,” he said. “I worked long hours on tin-pot newspapers across the country to get where I am. So has everyone else on this team. I’m not going to give Leonard a standing ovation for valuing my skills so lightly he’s slotted a high school graduate into a leading commentator’s role just because she looks good in Lycra and happens to swim a mean hundred-meter freestyle. Never going to happen.”

Poppy stared at him. He stared back, no longer bored or cool.

“You might have come to this job by working your way through the ranks, but I’ve earned my chance, too.” She hated that her voice quavered, but she wasn’t about to retreat. “I’m not going to apologize for the fact that I have a public profile. I’ve represented this country. I’ve swum knowing that I’m holding other people’s dreams in my hands, not just my own. You don’t know what that’s like, the kind of pressure that comes with it. And while you’re on your high horse judging me, you might want to think about the fact that you wouldn’t even have a job if it wasn’t for people like me sweating it out every day, daring to dream and daring to try to make those dreams a reality. You’d just be a commentator with nothing to say.”

She turned her back on him and walked away.

The other journalists were suddenly very busy, tapping away at their keyboards or shuffling through their papers. She sat at her desk and stared hard at her computer screen, hoping it looked as though she was reading, when in fact, she was trying very, very hard not to cry.

Not because she was upset but because she was furious. Her tear ducts always wanted to get involved when she got angry, but she would rather staple something to her forehead than give Jake the Snake the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Ten minutes later, Macca approached.

“I was just in, speaking to Leonard. I’m going to work with you on your first few articles, until you find your feet,” he said.

She stared at him, chin high. “What did he bribe you with?”

“Actually, I volunteered.”

She blinked.

“What can I say? I’ve always had a thing for water sports.”

She gave him a doubtful look.

“And I think Jake was out of line,” he added. “So what if you haven’t earned your stripes in the trenches? Welcome to the real world, pal. People get lucky breaks all the time for a bunch of different reasons. And even if he disagrees with Leonard’s decision, being an asshole to you is not the way to deal with it.”

“Hear, hear,” she said under her breath.

He smiled at her. “So, we cool? You want to show me what you’ve got so far?”

“Thank you.” She was more grateful for his offer—and support—than she cared to admit.

He pulled up a chair beside her. She shifted the computer screen so he could read her article more easily and sat in tense, twitchy silence while he did so. She’d spent a lot of time working on it—all of last night and most of this morning. She knew it wasn’t great, but she hoped it was passable.

“Hey, this is pretty good,” he said.

She tried not to show how much his opinion meant to her. She’d already been nervous enough before The Snake had aired his feelings. Now she knew all eyes would be on her maiden effort.

“You can be honest. I’d rather know what’s wrong so I can fix it than have you worry about my feelings,” she said.

“Relax. Ask anyone, I’m a hard bastard. Open beer bottles with my teeth and everything,” Macca said. “If this was utter crap, I’d tell you. I think we can work on a few things, make some of the language less formal and stiff, but otherwise there’s not much that needs doing.”

Poppy sank back in her seat and let her breath out slowly.

“And if you’re free for lunch, I’ll give you the lowdown on the office politics,” Macca said.

She smiled. Maybe there was an upside to being savaged by an arrogant, know-it-all smart-ass after all—she’d just made her first new friend at the Herald.

THAT NIGHT POPPY HAD her second Factual Writing for the Media class at night school. She’d enrolled when Leonard had offered her the job. So far, she’d learned enough to know she had a lot to learn. But that was why she was there, after all.

There was a message from Uncle Charlie when she finally got home. She phoned him on his cell, knowing he’d be up till all hours since he was a notorious insomniac.

“Hey there, Poppy darlin’,” he said when he picked up the phone. “I’ve been waiting for you to call and fill me in on your first day at work.”

“Sorry. To be honest, it was a little sucky, and day two was both worse and better. I was kind of holding off on calling until I had something nice to report.”

She filled him in on Jake and their argument and the way Macca had come to her aid.

“Bet this Jake idiot didn’t know who he was taking on when he took on you,” Uncle Charlie said.

She laughed ruefully. “I don’t know. I don’t think he was exactly cowed by my eloquence. It makes swimming look pretty tame, doesn’t it, even with all the egos and rivalries?” she said a little wistfully.

“Missing it, Poppy girl?”

She swung her feet up onto the arm of her couch.

“I miss knowing what I’m good at,” she said quietly, thinking over her day at work and how lost she’d felt in class tonight.

“You’re good at lots of things.”

“Oh, I know—eating, sleeping…”

“You forgot showering and breathing.”

They both laughed.

“Just remember you’re a champion.” He was suddenly very serious. “The best of the best. Don’t let some jumped-up pen pusher bring you down. You can do anything you put your mind to.”

Uncle Charlie was her biggest fan, her greatest supporter, the only member of her family who’d watched every one of her races, cheered her wins and commiserated her losses.

“You still haven’t told me what you want for your birthday,” she said.

He turned seventy in a few weeks’ time. She already had his present, but asking him what he wanted had become a bit of a ritual for the two of them.