The Girl Next Door by Brad Parks

himself. He was embarrassing all of us.
    “About as subtle as a car alarm,” I said. “It just makes me … Oh, would you look at that!”
    At that moment, Jackman was in the midst of spilling his drink on the unsuspecting woman standing next to him. She was wearing a red cocktail dress, which immediately acquired a dark stain down the front. The woman was mortified, but it was about to get worse: Jackman removed his pocket square and started attempting to dry her off, essentially groping her breasts in the process. The woman twisted away to free herself from molestation, but he didn’t seem to understand and clumsily pursued her for several steps until she finally got away.
    The entire group around Jackman was politely pretending nothing had happened. For his part, Jackman was too oblivious to know how ridiculous he looked. In the meantime, a waiter had supplied him with a fresh drink. I noticed everyone was now giving him a wider berth.
    “What a fool,” I said.
    “Oh, give Jackass a break,” Tina said. “He’s under a lot of pressure these days. He’s just blowing off some steam.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I guess ruining a perfectly good newspaper can be tough on a guy.”
    “Say what you want. I know he’s not exactly beloved in the newsroom, but he’s doing everything in his power to save our paper right now. It’s got to be a strain.”
    “Yeah, why don’t you run over and give him a backrub to relieve the tension?”
    “I’m serious,” Tina said. “Those negotiations can’t be easy.”
    “What negotiations?”
    Tina was about to answer when she was interrupted by a chiming sound being piped in from somewhere above us. The show was about to start.
    “Drink up,” she said. “Let’s go find our seats.”
    *   *   *
    I drained my beer as Tina finished her wine, then she grabbed my arm and escorted me into the concert hall, where she made for the front of the orchestra section.
    “Not exactly the cheap seats, huh?” I said.
    “My best reporter is worth every penny I paid for these,” she replied.
    “I thought you said they were free.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Ouch. Now you’re hurting my feelings.”
    “If you’re nice, I’ll make it up to you later.”
    She gave me a flirty smile and a quick peck on the cheek. Tina had a long history of being all bark, no bite. So I mostly just dismissed the comment as the wine talking. Still, as we made our way to our seats, she pulled more of her body against my arm, bringing me in close enough that I fell under the spell of her perfume. Before I could exert any control over my brain, I began wondering what she might or might not be wearing under her dress and, more to the point, how I could get myself in a position to find out.
    We had to break contact when we made it to our row, which snapped me out of it. I reminded myself Tina was, essentially, my boss. And as nice as it might be to temporarily ignore the prohibition on reporter-editor fraternization, we both knew it would make things too weird in the long run.
    Or at least I think we did.
    “Anyway, you were asking about the union negotiations,” Tina said as we settled into our seats. “Have you really not heard about them?”
    “Sorry, I don’t sit in meetings all day where these sorts of things are discussed, remember? You’ll have to enlighten me.”
    Tina stared straight ahead for a second, as if she needed to summon the strength to explain it all.
    “Gosh, I don’t even know where to start,” she said. “You know we’re losing money, right?”
    “Buckets of it, yes.”
    “Well, one of the reasons is that a lot of the contracts we signed with our unions date back to better days,” Tina said. “So, for example, even though our revenues have plummeted, the guys who drive our distribution trucks are still working under a collective bargaining agreement that guarantees them a three percent raise.”
    “No kidding. Damn, where do I sign up for that ?”
    Our newsroom