Revision

“So, Mr. Schwimmah,” Jovie announced with a girlish giggle, shifting in her chair so that it spun her around to meet her boss. “I finished the article for the front page.”

“Oh, which one?” David Schwimmer asked without interest, facing his computer and typing away at the front page of the New York Herald. He was a balding man with naturally red hair that curled by his tiny ears. A scraggly beard of the same hue littered his pale jawline in such a way that it looked as though he had been stroking his chin in thought and that the sparse, red, curly locks had merely sprung from his fingertips and planted themselves there. It was awkward and sporadic; it was homage to his personality.

His shoulders raised with tension at her apparent interruption, and Jovie simply understood it to be because he had an eleven AM deadline and he hadn’t started on the layout at his usual 8:30 AM time slot because he had been late to work. She had heard he was having marital issues, but she wasn’t so sure, nor did she have enough nerve to ask him. Journalists had to be willing to ask the big questions, but there were some questions that just seemed a little too large for such a small, cramped newsroom. Jovie didn’t want to be the one to open that can of worms, she would let it slide to one of the older, more experienced reporters. 

“It’s the feature story about the couple down in SoHo who opened the completely organic veterinarian clinic!” Jovie exclaimed excitedly, fighting the urge to physically clap her hands together with glee. She had been working for nearly a week on this story, having traveled to the clinic and interviewed the two owners and various workers, as well as pleased customers who said it was the only place they would take their four-legged friends. 

“How can a building be organic?” Mr. Schwimmer asked roughly. Jovie’s face dropped, and had she not been so upset at his reaction it would have been comical. “I’ll tell you how, Jody— It can’t be.”

“It’s Jovie.” The young woman mumbled softly. “And that’s what they told me.”

“Are you going to believe everything you heard, child?” Mr. Schwimmer sighed languidly and allowed his fingers to momentarily rest from the clicking and clacking of his characteristically droning writing. “Part of being a reporter is learning how to ask questions and receive answers— real answers. You have to have common sense in there to be able to fudge up what people say, make it newsworthy.”

“But won’t people read it if it says it’s organic?” Jovie continued, hiding her tears behind a set and sturdy jawline. “You told me that it’s all about cutlines, kid.” She did her best interpretation of his deep voice that was usually littered with sarcasm. “Strange cutlines will get people reading, and if people are reading, they’re talking— they’ll breach out on social media, they’ll get their friends to read it, we’ll sell papers— badda bing, Mr. Schwimmah! So, you see—“

“I do see.” He stated in such a tone that it brought about an instant conclusion to the conversation. “I see that you’re simply not reporter material.”

The bustling room filled with papers, computers and lengthy telephone calls suddenly fell silent. You could feel the tension, and the boss’s voice was slowly slicing into the young intern’s malleable form and feelings.“Mr. Schwimmah, excuse me?” Jovie breathed out in a quiet, shocked voice. 

“You simply lack what we desire here at the New York Herald.”

“Well, what can I do to improve?” Jovie asked, forcing a lipsticked smile to grace her lips. She took out her reporter’s pad and pen, plucking it from her ear and hovering the ballpoint just above the paper, ready. 

“Jovie, this isn’t just something you can… How should I put it?” The boss looked around the cramped newsroom and ignored a call on line one. He clicked his tongue softly, searching for the word as the young woman slowly began to sweat and melt into her seat. “Revise!” He exclaimed suddenly, causing her to emit a nervous giggle. “Revise, dear, no— you are beyond revision.” He fixed a beady stare on her and smiled sadly, beginning to turn away from her and back to what he deemed more important than a plucky intern.