Famous Last Words by Jennifer Salvato Doktorski Read Free Book Online Page B

mailboxes are behind the obit desk, adjacent to the Nerf court. I’m good at the mail. I sort an entire plastic container without stopping to read the names on each mailbox. I’m completely absorbed in the Zen of sorting and about to throw a rather thick press package into Jack’s box when a male voice startles me.
    “Hi. I don’t think we’ve met.”
    I turn around to find myself staring at a guy who could very well be the star of some seductive, subtitled film. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Olive skin. Hello, Rob-McGinty-in-a-few-years.
    “I’m Tony Roma,” he says. “The features intern.”
    Tony Roma? I should be picturing this guy in a powder blue tuxedo with a ruffled shirt singing old Italian songs in a Vegas lounge. At the very least, I should be imagining him plugging his pizzeria chain on local television. And I would be picturing those scenarios, if not for the fact that he’s so incredibly hot in a universal, People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive kind of way. Shelby says some guys just ooze sex, which always sounded gross to me. But that’s only because I didn’t know what she meant until this exact moment. My body is talking to me. It’s telling me things I’ve never heard it say before—things that warrant a listener-advisory sticker for explicit lyrics.
    “Samantha,” I say. “Sam I am.” I am a total dork.
    “Are you the new intern?”
    I nod.
    “I haven’t been around lately. I took time off to cram in an intensive summer class,” he says. “Three credits in three weeks.”
    “Oh,” I say. Oh?
    “Welcome, Sam-I-am,” he says, laying a hand on my shoulder. I swear my heart jumps so far, it lands in my inner ear, rendering me off balance. Feeling somewhat light-headed, I return to the obit desk and find AJ already sitting there with a big grin.
    “I do not like green eggs and ham,” he says.
    “Shut up, eavesdropper. You’re like an old lady.”
    “I walked right by you and said hello. You didn’t hear me.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    He scowls. “Yeah, well, I see yet another female has fallen victim to the charms of Coma Boy.”
    “What?! I don’t—Coma Boy? What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Oh, you know. He’s one of these brain-dead guys who wants to be on TV.”
    “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Isn’t TV where most people get their news?
    “He’s a drama major. TV news wouldn’t be a bad thing if guys like him would go into acting and leave the news to real reporters.”
    “I didn’t know you felt so passionately about news coverage.”
    “I don’t. I just think he’s a dick.”
    I decide to change the subject. “Michael was here. He asked me to go to city hall with him, but Bernie wouldn’t let me. He’s going to confront the mayor with what we found out at Bargain Books & Beans.”
    “You mean what you found out, Nancy Drew. Maybe you can invite Coma Boy along on your next fact-finding adventure.”
    I stick my tongue out at AJ, but his tone stings. I thought our night got better after we left the coffee shop. We walked around town for a while, and as promised, I pointed out everything from Annie Oakley’s house to my old dancing school. When he dropped me off at home, AJ told me he’d had fun.
    But I don’t dwell too much on AJ’s dig, because for the rest of the day, I’m completely preoccupied by Tony’s mere presence in the newsroom. I search online for articles he’s written for the Herald Tribune , and I’m slightly disappointed to discover they’re all sort of blah. AJ is a much better writer. Oh, well. Tony’s an intern too, right? He’s bound to improve.
    I’d never admit this to anyone, but my lack of focus may be why it’s already after nine o’clock (I called my dad two hours ago to tell him I’d be late), we have no feature obit written, and we’re totally screwed. I thought AJ made the call; he thought I made the call. Now I’m stuck on the phone with the recently widowed Mrs. Spitaleri, and she just won’t