“I’m not judging at all. Just making an observation. But for the record, I haven’t slept with any supervisor. They don’t exactly have the charm of the Hollywood types.”
“Yes, I’ve seen pictures of your John Talbot. Quite the little troll, isn’t he?”
“I think of him more like a hobbit, actually.”
Both women laughed again, and then the guard knocked at the door and entered.
“Alas,” Natasha said. “Just when it was getting interesting.”
They parted ways, and Celia followed Keith down the hallway.
“She’s a pistol, isn’t she?” He remarked.
“That she is. I feel a little sorry for the new guard.”
Keith laughed. “Oh, he could use a little humbling, trust me. And she’ll get the job done.”
“So has she been this way since she got here?”
“She was kind of quiet at first. She observed everything closely. Some of the guards were either star-struck or determined to take her down a peg because she was famous. You know how that goes.”
“Oh really?” Celia’s reporter senses went up. “Did anyone mistreat her?”
“Oh, nothing like that,” Keith answered quickly. “Just sarcasm and trying to make sure she knew who was boss.” He chuckled a bit. “Of course, one guy asked her for an autograph.”
“How did that go over?”
“She gave him some creative ideas about what he could do to himself.”
Celia laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? So she adjusted, then what?”
“Honestly, she’s pretty calm most of the time. She meets with her attorney. She occasionally asks for papers or magazines. She asks for your paper a lot.”
That explained how Natasha had followed her career. “I’m flattered... I think.”
“Yeah, she likes the way you write. She showed me a couple. You’re pretty talented.”
“Thanks. So she seems to be pretty calm about the execution. Is that an act?”
“It probably is, but it’s one she keeps up 24/7. If she’s afraid, she’s not showing anybody. In fact, the only emotion I’ve seen her show lately is the obvious dislike she has for that new guard.”
“Yeah, that was obvious. Poor guy.”
“Eh, he’ll be fine.” He pushed a button and the last door slid open. “Have a nice afternoon Ms. Brockwell.”
“It’s Celia and thanks. You too.”
After a full afternoon, Celia headed home and called a local Asian place for delivery. Bart had called, but she decided to turn off her phone for the night. She needed a little space after his overnight earlier in the week. Solitude was calling her name, along with a bottle of wine she’d picked up at an upscale little shop. After a long shower and dinner, she took the bottle of wine with her to her desk and got out the recorder. As her voice and Natasha’s droned on through the small speaker, Celia’s mind drifted away from the interview to her days in graduate school.
“I saw that you were up for the Abbot Award, Celia. Congrats. I am too!” Paul said.
“Thanks, Paul. Have you decided what you’re going to submit?”
“I think so. I have a piece about the issues at the recycling center that Dr. Ross complimented.”
Celia tilted her head purposefully. “Really? You’re submitting an opinion piece? That’s gutsy.”
“You think? I mean, the guy the award is named after was an editor, right? He was best known for his byline.”
“Oh yeah, he was. I’m just impressed you aren’t worried it will come off as a cliché. Good for you,” said Celia. “I wouldn’t have the courage.”
“Hmm, maybe I should rethink...”
“No, no, go with your gut. I’ll probably just play it safe with a straight fact piece.”
Paul looked less enthusiastic. “Thanks, Celia. I guess I’ll see you later.”
Celia shook her head and rewound the microcassette, annoyed with herself for getting distracted. What had made her think about that? It was so long ago. She’d end up submitting a pointed and opinionated piece about campus safety and double standards against women, and she’d won the award. Paul’s piece about the upcoming city elections didn’t even make the top three. Oh well, was it her fault he second-guessed himself? He’d been a year ahead of her and several years older. He should have trusted himself. It also wasn’t Celia’s fault the award got her a great internship that turned into her first job.
After finishing her notes, Celia turned on her phone. It was almost 10:00, and she had three text messages from Bart. He was at a bar around the corner listening to some live music and invited her to join him. The wine was beginning to wear off, and Celia decided a little music might be fun. Besides, she felt energized, and maybe she and Bart could work up a sweat. At his place this time, though. She didn’t want him spending the night again. Celia put on something sexy, grabbed her purse, and headed to the bar.
Chapter 7
On Monday, Celia did something she rarely did. She called in sick. The weekend had been frustrating, and she’d overindulged for the first time in almost a decade. She knew she could work from home once her headache subsided, and she was getting tired of John lurking around trying to get some nugget from her about the prison interviews. If he was going to persist for the entire three months, she was going to have to sit him down and set him straight. To hell with his temper and control issues. She couldn’t deal with that after the weekend she’d had.
For starters, it had been a mistake to join Bart at the bar. He was already a bit drunk once she got there, and he was handsy. Celia hated PDA, and she had to get firm with him to make him stop. Of course, by this time, she was drunk and needy, so she went ahead to his place to blow off some steam. He’d gotten angry when she wouldn’t stay, and they’d fought. She’d called him pathetic and clingy, and he’d called her an ice queen. Once she left, Celia stopped by a store and bought some more wine.
On Saturday
