Dead Politician Society

Chapter 7: Annabel

“‘And if you so much as breathe a word to anyone…’” Annabel Davis mimicked the smug, throaty voice of her boss. Her eyes scanned the busy bar to make sure none of her colleagues were in earshot. Part of her didn’t care if Penny herself heard. The other part was considerate of her mortgage. “‘…your promising little career will take a major nosedive.’ Ugh, I just want off that nowhere-bound obituary desk.”

Her sister, Katherine, tilted her empty martini glass, plucked out the oversized olive, and popped it into her mouth. “I thought you liked your job.”

“I liked it when I thought it might lead to some real journalism.” Annabel touched her head, conscious of her new chin-length haircut. The stylist had blow-dried it too straight—it made her look like a housewife—but she could play with styles after she washed it in the morning. “I’ve held the same position for a year. I feel like I’m doomed to write about dead people forever.”

“Can you apply for a job in another section of the paper?” Practical Katherine; every problem always had a solution.

“I have applied. Every time something in fashion comes up—from entry level to editorial. I even forwarded Penny Craig my portfolio a few months ago to ask for her help finding a more challenging position.”

“Your portfolio?”

Annabel stroked the stem of her wine glass. “I know. I’ve only done obituaries professionally. But I had articles in the university paper. Lots of them. I covered entertainment, news, even politics the odd time.”

Katherine snickered. “You sent your undergrad newspaper articles to the editor-in-chief of the Star? Did you include your grade three poetry, too?”

Annabel rolled her eyes. “Yeah. ‘Ode to My Smelly Big Sister.’”

“Point taken. Did you get a response?”

“Nothing. I don’t think she knew what my face looked like until I showed her the Hayden Pritchard email this morning.”

Katherine motioned to the waiter for another drink. “Why don’t you look for a scoop no one else has? Get an inside angle on something so great that your editor has no choice but to see you.”

“That’s what this was supposed to be. It’s why I called Penny Craig personally to show her the email instead of going to my direct boss.”

“Yeah, but this was just sent to you. What if you got your own lead on something you love? Like fashion.”

“Please. I’d never get a fashion scoop before the paper. They’re in the loop at trend and design shows. I’m in the lineup at the retail counter.” Annabel began furiously folding the cocktail napkin she’d been given as a coaster. With each fold, she muttered, “I hate her, I hate her, I hate her…”

Katherine laughed. “So Penny’s a bitch. What’s the big deal? She’s the one who has to go home with herself at night.”

“I want to show her that she can’t push me around.”

“She’s your boss. Of course she can push you around. Unless you’re planning to quit. But that would be crazy without another job lined up.”

Annabel tore a strip from her napkin and let it drift down to the hardwood floor below them. It felt good, so she did it again. “No,” she said. “You’ve just given me an idea.”

“Oh no. Do I want to hear it?”

“Probably not. The way I see it, I have two choices: play nice and get nowhere, or take this morning’s scoop and drive my career high into the executive floor. Maybe of another paper, but still…”