(1982) The Almighty by Irving Wallace Read Free Book Online Page B

personal interest in you. But tomorrow, no assignments. I want you to spend the day with Nick Ramsey. He’ll show you around and break you in.’
    At the entrance to the conference room, Armstead stopped her.
    ‘I’m curious about something,’ Armstead said. ‘Did Nellie Bly carry a gun?’
    Victoria was startled. ‘I - I don’t know.’
    ‘Considering the business she was in, she should have. Ask Nick Ramsey when you meet him tomorrow. He’ll know. He probably carries one, and if you’re going to be an investigative reporter, you’ll probably carry one, too.’
    For Victoria Weston, her excitement the following morning was dampened only by the initiation formalities of a new job. She had sat a long time with Mrs. Crowe going through everything from salary to health insurance forms to social security. It was twenty minutes before noon when she reached the office of Ollie McAllister, the managing editor. He was a dour, lanky Scot in his middle fifties. When she had met him the day before, she had worried that he did not like her, until she realized that his frown was a permanent one and carried no judgment.
    He was concentrating on some teleprinter strips when she entered, and he waved her to a chair.
    In a minute or two he was through. ‘All squared away, Miss Weston?’ he inquired.
    ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘I’m told I’m to be turned over to Nick Ramsey. He’s going to show me around and he’s supposed to break me in, whatever that means.’
    ‘It means he’s going to show you where the toilets are and tell you why you shouldn’t waste your time working on a newspaper.’ He reached for his phone. ‘Let me get him.’
    McAllister spent a vain minute trying to locate Ramsey. Failing to do so, he glanced at the clock on his wall and shook his head.
    ‘Almost a quarter to twelve. I should have known he’d be out. He’s always off for P. J. Clarke’s early, to be sure he beats the lunch crowd to the bar. Then he usually goes on to several other wateringholes. That means you won’t see him until three o’clock.’
    ‘Isn’t he on assignment?’ Victoria asked with wonder. ‘Not at the moment. When he works, he works hard. When he doesn’t work, he does nothing at all.’
    ‘Is there anything special you’d like me to do until then, Mr. McAllister?’
    ‘Have lunch. It’s lunchtime, so have lunch. After that, if you have free time - you’re new to New York, aren’t you, Victoria? If that’s true, you’ll have plenty to do.’
    ‘As a matter of fact,’ said Victoria, ‘I talked to some friends last night, and one of them knew of an apartment that’s just become available. I should go see it.’
    ‘See it,’ said McAllister. ‘You don’t have to be back until three o’clock.’
    Victoria came to her feet. ‘I’m supposed to be assigned a desk.’
    ‘Yes, of course,’ said the managing editor. He joined her at his door, opened it, and surveyed the vast hangar of the
    newsroom. There were endless desks, half of them occupied.
    ‘I’ve never seen so many desks,’ Victoria said, excitement returned and mounting.
    ‘Two hundred of them,’ said McAllister, ‘and the newsroom is over an acre.’ He scanned the room. He pointed. ‘Look down this row to the left. About the tenth one down. You can’t miss it - it’s the only clean desk on the floor. That’s the metropolitan section, where we’ll probably start you, where you can drop anchor. Now go to lunch, Victoria.’
    Feeling that she belonged, she clutched the strap of her shoulder bag and strolled along the nearest row of desks, boldly meeting the stares and smiles of young male reporters along the way, until she arrived at her desk. It was a brown metal desk bearing a telephone, some phone directories, an ‘In’ and ‘Out’ paper tray, and a word processor on a stand beside it.
    Satisfied that she had found her place, she was ready for lunch, for an apartment, and for the elusive Nick Ramsey.
    Victoria was back at