Lily surveyed the newsroom from her desk, ensuring discretion before lifting the receiver of her upright phone.
Ever since she declined Ellis’s invite that morning, the notion of reconsidering had nagged at her. And why wouldn’t it, given the meal scheduled at her boardinghouse? Every Tuesday without fail, supper featured steak and kidney pudding with extra onions, a favorite dish of no resident but her British landlady.
In all honesty, the appeal of an outing was less about the food than the company, as the rest of Lily’s night would entail reading a book in the sparseness of her bedroom. Still, anything resembling a date wasn’t an option with anyone but Samuel. The recollection of this made her miss him even more, spurring her to sneak in a quick call.
The female operator came on the line.
“Yes, hello,” Lily replied. “I’d like to place a long-distance call, please.”
“Could you speak up, ma’am?”
The commotion of the room buzzed about her, a steady rise toward the daily deadline. Holding the neck of the phone, she brought the mouthpiece closer. “I said, I’d like to make a call.”
“The number?”
Before the details could tumble out, a man appeared in Lily’s periphery. She swiveled in her chair to find Clayton Brauer with a page in hand.
Lily’s grip on the phone tightened, her chance to connect with Samuel vanishing.
“Ma’am?” the operator pressed.
A cigarette plumed at the corner of Clayton’s mouth. He flicked her a nod in greeting. His eyes, light brown like his close-cropped hair, held the same self-assuredness woven into everything about him—from his broad stature and smooth voice to his snappy suits and polished wingtips.
“I’ll ring back shortly, Operator. Thank you.” Lily replaced the earpiece on the cradle as Clayton removed his cigarette and exhaled.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt, Miss Palmer.”
“Oh, no. It wasn’t you.” She pretended to search through paperwork on her desk. “I swore I had the number right here, but now I’m just not seeing it.”
In the uneasy pause that followed, she imagined his reporter’s gaze, inquisitive and doubtful, studying her every move. Yet when she looked up, his focus was aimed at the chief’s closed door. Its glass pane provided a clear view of the meeting inside. Why was he being so snoopy?
“Mr. Brauer?” Her tone came out sharper than intended, a lingering effect of the interruption.
Not that it rattled him a whit. His gaze still on the door, he tilted his head. “Looks like old Schiller’s packing up his ink,” he mused.
“Retirement?” Thrown off, Lily turned toward the office. She strained her neck to see the exchange for herself. But the back of Mr. Schiller’s shiny scalp, visible through his thin white hair, blocked the chief’s face, revealing nothing. “Why do you think that?”
“Have you read his column lately?” Clayton faced her with an amused look. “All about travel, seeing the world. Safaris and deep-sea fishing. Schiller’s definitely got the itch. I’d put money on it.”
The range of topics alone wasn’t unusual, as Mr. Schiller essentially ruled his own column, having worked at the Examiner since the paper began. In fact, with such seniority, he was rarely subjected to discussions with the chief, and certainly not in person.
Like now.
“Anyhow…here.” Clayton set a paper on Lily’s desk. “The sources the chief asked for.” If he said anything more before walking away, Lily missed it. She was too consumed by the revelation, the possibilities congealing in her mind.
She slid open her bottom drawer. From beneath her supplies of pencils, stamps, and staples, she retrieved her forest-green folder. Its corners were bent, its edges tattered from years of storing the essays and columns she had crafted in school. She hadn’t saved them all, only her level best.
When first arriving in the city, she had brought such foolish aspirations, all neatly tucked between those pages. A slew of interviews soon revealed her low odds, like the majority of other women, of becoming the next Nellie Bly. The daring adventures of the late columnist—from her record-breaking race around the world to her deliberate arrest for a report on jail conditions—were begrudgingly admired by even the staunchest of newsmen, but as a rare exception. By the time Lily had wandered into the Examiner, she wasn’t ignorant enough to turn down a secretarial position. The reality of a regular wage had outweighed her pride.
If Clayton was right, however, a fresh opportunity loomed. And what better timing? She had just helped propel Ellis Reed’s career. Perhaps, at last, she could make real headway with her own future plans. And in doing so, she could fulfill a long-held promise to more than just herself.
