less than she’d spent on petrol to get the story…
Apart from the feature article about Tim, but that was no more than a half-promise, a dropped hint that
he
might be able to include it in the new glossy magazine which had just hit the bookstalls.
He
being the editor, the one with the power of yea or nay. All she had to do was set it up, convince them she could produce the right kind of material, in which case they would arrange for a photographer to spend a day with her.
Once glance was sufficient to show her what kind of magazine it was.
This month – the Frankest, Most Revealing and Intimate Story of… X! His loves, his hates, the women in his life!
All that crap. Bill would have told her bluntly not to do it, which was one very good reason why she was accepting the challenge.
Fuck Bill!
The magazine paid the highest rates in London.
She could count on them including a picture of herself, as well as her name in bold type.
It would mean a breakthrough for her, and that could lead to other assignments, other magazines, maybe even a column in one of the popular dailies, or a paperback commission.
Naturally she hated the whole idea of probing into Tim’s private life – or anyone else’s for that matter – trying to uncover murky secrets in dark corners, but that one article alone would bring in enough to wipe out her overdraft, make the down-payment on central heating for her flat and put her car back on the road. But she didn’t yet have enough to go on. That jellyfish episode was an absolute gift – the only reason she’d telephoned Jocelyn was to make certain she got the details right – but she needed more on the girlfriend front, something that hadn’t yet reached the press cuttings libraries, even if she had to sleep with him herself.
The thought amused her. That would be a scoop the magazine would be sure to buy.
The Pillow Secrets of Tim Ewing, by One Who Knows!
At least the research might be fun. She could send a copy to Bill to help his insomnia.
Oh shit, none of this was what she’d set out to do when she’d decided to go into journalism, but what else was there? Somehow she had to earn a living. Of course she’d dreamed of seeing her name in the heavies, or writing political commentary for the weeklies, with some TV perhaps, or the occasional radio talk – but then, who hadn’t? All that was well out of her reach. It was the tightest closed shop in British journalism.
No, to get her chance she’d do whatever was necessary, however distasteful. She was not going to fail. Nor did she intend to finish up like poor Bill – underpaid, worrying about his mortgage, wasting his genuine talents on alocal paper that might any day go into liquidation. She was aiming at the top.
Jellyfish or no jellyfish.
If the nationals didn’t want the jellyfish story – well, that was that. End of chapter.
As for getting a specimen for Jocelyn, she might take a stroll along the beach later on to see what she could find; if it didn’t rain, that was. Those dark storm clouds were gathering in fast, though with any luck they might pass over. In any case, she’d certainly not try to net one out of the harbour as Jocelyn had suggested. Use a shrimp net, she’d said! The mere sight of the rotting garbage those gulls were fishing out was enough to turn anyone’s stomach.
‘Thinking of jumping in? Things can’t be that bad!’
‘Tim!’ Startled, she swung around to see him approaching along the harbour wall, his arm in a sling. ‘But you’re in hospital!’
‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’ He grinned at her. ‘I was wondering if it was you standing here. It’s getting so dark, I could hardly see. It’s going to pour down; we’ll get soaked if we stay here.’
He put his free arm around her shoulders and they began to walk back. A keen wind was whipping up the water of the harbour, causing the halliards on the moored yachts to slap sharply against the metal masts.
‘I was coming to visit you
Apart from the feature article about Tim, but that was no more than a half-promise, a dropped hint that
he
might be able to include it in the new glossy magazine which had just hit the bookstalls.
He
being the editor, the one with the power of yea or nay. All she had to do was set it up, convince them she could produce the right kind of material, in which case they would arrange for a photographer to spend a day with her.
Once glance was sufficient to show her what kind of magazine it was.
This month – the Frankest, Most Revealing and Intimate Story of… X! His loves, his hates, the women in his life!
All that crap. Bill would have told her bluntly not to do it, which was one very good reason why she was accepting the challenge.
Fuck Bill!
The magazine paid the highest rates in London.
She could count on them including a picture of herself, as well as her name in bold type.
It would mean a breakthrough for her, and that could lead to other assignments, other magazines, maybe even a column in one of the popular dailies, or a paperback commission.
Naturally she hated the whole idea of probing into Tim’s private life – or anyone else’s for that matter – trying to uncover murky secrets in dark corners, but that one article alone would bring in enough to wipe out her overdraft, make the down-payment on central heating for her flat and put her car back on the road. But she didn’t yet have enough to go on. That jellyfish episode was an absolute gift – the only reason she’d telephoned Jocelyn was to make certain she got the details right – but she needed more on the girlfriend front, something that hadn’t yet reached the press cuttings libraries, even if she had to sleep with him herself.
The thought amused her. That would be a scoop the magazine would be sure to buy.
The Pillow Secrets of Tim Ewing, by One Who Knows!
At least the research might be fun. She could send a copy to Bill to help his insomnia.
Oh shit, none of this was what she’d set out to do when she’d decided to go into journalism, but what else was there? Somehow she had to earn a living. Of course she’d dreamed of seeing her name in the heavies, or writing political commentary for the weeklies, with some TV perhaps, or the occasional radio talk – but then, who hadn’t? All that was well out of her reach. It was the tightest closed shop in British journalism.
No, to get her chance she’d do whatever was necessary, however distasteful. She was not going to fail. Nor did she intend to finish up like poor Bill – underpaid, worrying about his mortgage, wasting his genuine talents on alocal paper that might any day go into liquidation. She was aiming at the top.
Jellyfish or no jellyfish.
If the nationals didn’t want the jellyfish story – well, that was that. End of chapter.
As for getting a specimen for Jocelyn, she might take a stroll along the beach later on to see what she could find; if it didn’t rain, that was. Those dark storm clouds were gathering in fast, though with any luck they might pass over. In any case, she’d certainly not try to net one out of the harbour as Jocelyn had suggested. Use a shrimp net, she’d said! The mere sight of the rotting garbage those gulls were fishing out was enough to turn anyone’s stomach.
‘Thinking of jumping in? Things can’t be that bad!’
‘Tim!’ Startled, she swung around to see him approaching along the harbour wall, his arm in a sling. ‘But you’re in hospital!’
‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’ He grinned at her. ‘I was wondering if it was you standing here. It’s getting so dark, I could hardly see. It’s going to pour down; we’ll get soaked if we stay here.’
He put his free arm around her shoulders and they began to walk back. A keen wind was whipping up the water of the harbour, causing the halliards on the moored yachts to slap sharply against the metal masts.
‘I was coming to visit you
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