Look Again

Chapter Eight

Fifteen minutes later, Ellen had hung up the phone, and Marcelo was motioning to her from his office doorway.

"May I see you for a minute?" he called out, and she nodded, seeing through his glass wall that Sarah was still sitting in one of the chairs across from his desk.

"Sure." She rose and walked to his office, which was lined with colorful photographs that he had taken in his native Sao Paulo. One was a series of exotic stone arches in warm gold and tan hues, and another of weathered doors painted germanium red, vivid orange, and chrome yellow, with a pot of magenta petunias on one threshold. Ellen realized she had a crush on Marcelo's office, too.

"Please, take a seat." He gestured her into a chair, and Sarah smiled quickly at her. He took his seat behind his desk, uncluttered except for stacked screen shots beside his laptop and a pencils-and-pens mug with a soccer ball on it that read Palmeiras. He sighed. "First let me say, I know it's hard on you both, losing Courtney. If I could have avoided it, I would have. Now, Sarah just told me a great story idea." Marcelo brightened, nodding at Sarah. "You wish to explain or shall I?"

"You can."

"Fine." Marcelo faced Ellen directly. "We all know that Philly's homicide rate is among the highest in the country, we cover some angle of it every day. Sarah's idea is that we do a major think piece on the issue, not treat it as episodic news. Sarah, this is where your editor steals your idea." Marcelo flashed Sarah a grin, and she laughed.

Ellen, confused, couldn't even fake a smile. Sarah had told her she was going to Marcelo with an embezzlement piece, but that wasn't true. She had gone to him with a think piece, which was a much bigger deal. With one layoff to go at the end of the month, Sarah was making damn sure it wasn't her.

Marcelo continued, "We need to explain why this is happening here, as opposed to other big cities in the States. What's more important? It's life or death."

"Exactly," Sarah said, and Ellen felt a half step behind, like a middle schooler during a pop quiz.

Marcelo nodded. "I see this as a cause-and-effects story. A thoughtful, in-depth examination. I will assign Larry and Sal to analyze the causes. Talk to social scientists and historians."

Ellen blinked. Larry Goodman and Sal Natane were the A-team, finalists for the Pulitzer for their investigative series on municipal bonds. All of a sudden, she was playing in the hard-news bigs.

"I'd like to get you two started on the effects, and it has to be good, new work. Sarah, I want you to look at the effects from the perspective of costs. How much does violent crime cost the city in law enforcement, cop and court time, lawyer time? How about in tourism, lost business, and prestige, if you can quantify that. Crunch the numbers, as they say, but make it understandable."

"Will do." Sarah took notes, her glossy head down.

"Ellen." Marcelo turned to her again, and she guessed that if he had a crush on her, either he hid it well or the murder rate had killed the mood. "I want you to put a human face on it. The homicide rate has to be more than a number. Don't be politically correct about it. We can't fix it if we don't tell the truth."

Sarah interjected, "I have good stats on the race issue, and that's the part I already wrote. Maybe I should take that angle, too."

Marcelo dismissed her with a wave. "No, please give your notes to Ellen. As far as deadlines, today is Tuesday. Let's talk on Friday, before the weekend. Can you both do that?"

"No problem," Sarah answered, then rose, papers in hand.

"Okay by me." Ellen may not have studied for the quiz, but she was a fast learner. "By the way, can I ask you about another story?"

"Sure. Go ahead." Marcelo leaned back in his chair, and Ellen became aware that Sarah was lingering behind her in the threshold. Marcelo seemed to read her mind because he raised his gaze. "Thank you very much, Sarah. You don't have to stay around."

"Thanks," Sarah said, and left.

"Okay, what is it?" Marcelo asked, his voice almost imperceptibly gentler, and Ellen wondered if he really did like her.

"I did a story once on the Sulaman family, a wife whose kids were taken by her ex-husband. I just got off the phone with Susan and I'd like to do a follow-up."

"Why? Did she get the children back?"

"No, not yet."

"Then what happened?"

"They're still gone, and I thought it would be interesting to let Susan tell us how it feels, as a mother."

Marcelo frowned, with sympathy. "It feels horrible, I assume."

"Right."

"Well." Marcelo opened his palms on the desk. "A mother who grieves the loss of her children, still. It's terrible for her, but there's no story there."

"It's more than that." Ellen couldn't explain the pull of the story, but then again, she never could with any of her stories. She sensed that the idea was connected to the Braverman baby, but she wasn't about to tell that to Marcelo. "Why don't I go see Susan, then write it up and see what you think? It might pay off."

"I don't understand you." Marcelo shifted forward on his chair, an incredulous smile playing around his lips. "I just asked you to make our readers feel the tragedy of murder. Isn't that enough to keep you busy, Ellen?"

She laughed. Humor was as strong an aphrodisiac as power, and the man had both. Also that accent, with the soft esses like a whisper in her ear.

Marcelo leaned further forward. "I know you're feeling unhappy about me today."

"What do you mean, unhappy?"

"Sarah told me you were no longer a fan of mine, because I let Courtney go. I made the best decision I could." Marcelo's expression darkened. "Please, try to understand that."

"I do understand." Ellen didn't get it. Why would Sarah tell him such a thing? Time to change the subject. "So what do you say, about the Sulamans? Gimme a chance?"

"No. Sorry."

"Okay." Ellen rose, hiding her disappointment. It wouldn't do to give him a hard time. She had to get out of the office before she got herself fired.

"Good luck with the homicide piece."

"Thanks," Ellen said, leaving to talk to Sarah.

She felt a catfight coming on.