Pages of Promise by Gilbert Morris Page B

feeling vastly intimidated, she began to examine the scribbling. For over two hours she worked, having difficulty interpreting some of Taylor’s notes, and she typed several drafts before she was satisfied. She pulled the last sheet of paper out of the typewriter and stood up. Her back ached, and she had the feeling that what she had done was worthless. Nevertheless, she marched out of her new office, knocked on Taylor’s door, and entered when he commanded. “Here it is, Mr. Taylor.”
    “First names go better around here. You’re Stephanie and I’m Jake.”
    “All right. That suits me fine.” Stephanie watched as he scanned the pages and she waited with dread for his verdict. She fully expected him to tear to shreds what she had written and was surprised when he looked up smiling.
    “This is pretty good,” he nodded. “Sit down, and I’ll show you a few things that the paper demands from everybody. Basically you’ve done a good job. I didn’t think anyone could read my scribbling. I can’t read it myself half the time.”
    A wave of relief swept through Stephanie, and she sat down, her knees weak. She listened as he pointed out some of the standard policies of the paper, and when he handed the article back, marked up carelessly, she took it and said, “I’ll make these changes right away—Jake.”
    “We’ll be leaving right after lunch,” he said pleasantly. “We’re going to cover a ball game. You follow baseball?”
    “Not very much.”
    “You will. Game starts at one, but we can be a little bit late.”
    She completed the changes and excitedly showed Amos what she’d been doing. He showed her around the building some and had sandwiches and Cokes brought in from a place across the street. They were still eating them in his office when Jake appeared and motioned to Stephanie from the far side of the newsroom that it was time to go.
    She went outside with Jake and got into his battered Pontiac, which started reluctantly. They reached Wrigley Field and entered. She had only been to two or three ball games in her life, and none of them were major league. Both Bobby and Richard were avid baseball fans, and she had picked up a little from them, but all she could remember were some stars of the game, names like Jackie Robinson, Ted Williams, and Stan Musial. She did not know a single Cub player and wondered if she could deceive Taylor into thinking she knew more than she did.
    He led her to the press box and snapped out the names of the reporters—all men—who grinned at her. One of them asked Stephanie, “How does a nice lady like you get to run around with a thug like Taylor?”
    “Just lucky, I guess,” Stephanie answered, and a laugh went up from the reporters.
    “We’ll watch the game from up here,” Taylor said, finding a chair and pulling it up to the table. “Best seats in the house.”
    Stephanie watched the game, speaking only when spoken to and desperately trying to pick up as much as she could. The Cubs lost by a score of eight to one, and the reporters all groaned as they got up to leave. “Come on, Steph,” said Jake, “I’ll take you down to meet some of the players.”
    She followed him through the crowd fighting its way out at the exit, and they came to a sign that said Dressing Room. Jake opened the door and waited, but Stephanie stood staring at him.
    “What’s the matter? Come on!”
    “I–I can’t go into the locker room!”
    Taylor cocked his head to one side. “How am I going to introduce you to the players if you won’t go into the locker room?”
    “Well,” she said firmly, “you bring one of them out here.”
    Taylor laughed abruptly. “I was hoping I could get you inside. It’d be quite a treat for the boys. All right. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll get the losing pitcher out here, and you can write a story on how it feels to be a loser.”
    “Thanks, Jake,” Stephanie said. She waited outside, and soon the pitcher came out looking dejected. His eyes