Jack & Coke Read online

  And yet here it stood, the Tribune. Perhaps it was the product of momentum from two decades ago, or maybe it was nostalgia, but the institution itself was still a well-respected fixture in the public’s mind. Jack had met the Editor in Chief Pat Flaherty only a few times, but he had heard plenty of stories about him. Conventional wisdom had it that Flaherty was a shrewd businessman who kept the paper alive, first through the coming of the internet and secondly through the downturn of 2008. Some people revered him. Others feared him. As far as Jack could tell, Anton was somewhere in the middle. An uneasy partnership seemed to exist between the two men.

  Anton was a hard character to understand. He filled Jack with stories of the importance of journalism. He played the chords of idealism in Jack with his words and simultaneously crushed them with his assignments. It was as if Anton was purposely assigning the most mundane stories he could.

  Unannounced, Anton would take Jack out to grab a beer and talk or bring him into his office to discuss some sort of philosophy of life. But, just as often, Anton would disappear. He would go missing for days or weeks, and no one knew where he was or what he was doing. But, without fail, Anton would always return. He would come strolling back to the office as if he had never left.

  Once, after a six-day absence from the office, Jack asked him where he went.

  Anton smiled. “I was returning some videotapes.”

  That was the last time Jack asked.

  Jack dug into Anton’s past and decided that the man had earned his quirks. He walked with a limp. It was a slight hobble as if his right knee decided on which occasions it felt like fully bending. The knee and its troubles were frequently objects of Anton’s cursing, but the cause of the limp was never discussed.

  The rumor was that he had once worked for the FBI, but Jack could neither confirm nor deny its validity. What he did know was that Anton had broken some of the biggest stories the Tribune had ever done. Corruption, extortion, conspiracy, Anton was no stranger to the darker workings of this world. He had spent time at The New York Times and had worked as a foreign correspondent for a number of other outfits over the years.

  What Jack couldn’t understand was why exactly Anton was at the Tribune. Anton was certainly a man with choices, and Jack couldn’t imagine a world where the Tribune was the best choice. Of the quirks that Anton showed, this was one that Jack could least comprehend.

  CHAPTER 6

  Jack on the Rocks

  SENIOR YEAR OF COLLEGE

  It was a fall day. The trees lining campus danced with burnt orange and yellow. It was unfortunate that today needed to be spent inside. Jack was sitting in a chair opposite a desk, waiting for Professor Ray to return to his office.

  The professor walked into his office and smiled at the unexpected visitor.

  Professor Ray was tall, but not too tall, and distinguished without looking old. The man commanded a presence in a way that Jack had never seen in another professor.

  “Hey, Professor, how are you?”

  “Fine, Jack, how are you?”

  Jack started to respond but held back. It was uncomfortable to bring up what he wanted to talk about. If the professor noticed Jack’s unease, he didn’t show it. Instead, he filled the pause with his own question.

  “Say, how was your internship this summer? Did you like The Times? Did you meet Kristen?

  Jack nodded. “Yes, it was amazing. I loved it.”

  “Good to hear. It’s always helpful to know someone on the inside.”

  The two of them had shared many meetings in this office. They had collaborated as Jack cobbled together a resume and portfolio before searching for internships. It was Professor Ray’s connections that got Jack’s foot in the door to spend a summer at The New York Times.

  Jack added more to his statement. “I’m still waiting to hear about a full-time offer. But I’m feeling pretty good about it.”

  Professor Ray smiled. “I’m sure you knocked it out of the park.”

  Jack thought back to his internship. People at The Times remembered their colleague Malcolm Ray. He was still a legend in many circles. Jack hadn’t been surprised to hear the stories of his professor’s industry prowess. After all, the shelf in his office had enough awards on it to make Jack believe that the professor’s old colleagues weren’t exaggerating. Even on campus, Jack had seen the professor flex his clout. He ran successful fundraising for new facilities at the journalism school and routinely brought in guest speakers for free that would have demanded a five-figure speaking fee anywhere else.

  Jack had taken every class he could with the professor. He had even introduced him to Molly on several occasions. The three of them would grab coffee on campus and talk through life goals. He was a man who had accomplished much and was willing to share his advice to help others get there. Jack admired what Professor Ray had done with his life.

  But despite the internship and coffee chats, Jack’s most important memories of Professor Ray always seemed to be in his office. Yes, the golden clock, quasi-dark lighting, and framed pictures of front page articles that hung along the walls were a reoccurring back-drop in many of Jack’s memories.

  There was another pause between the two of them. Finally, Jack brought himself to say what he came to the office to ask. “Were you ever scared by what you published? I mean, were you ever afraid of what was going to happen?”

  The professor quickly lost his smile. “What do you mean—are you ok?”

  Jack feared that the conversation had escalated faster than social norms would dictate. “Yeah, Professor, I’m fine.”

  The professor raised an eyebrow. It was an expression that showed he didn’t think Jack was ‘fine.’ He ran his tongue over his bottom teeth as he thought through his next words. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Jack, but the biggest have been when I knew it wasn’t right and I did it anyway. I’ve done a lot of good, too. I also have a lot of regrets, but the biggest regrets aren’t the mistakes. They’re from the times when I was too scared to act.”

  Jack nodded with a blank expression.

  Professor Ray paused a moment before continuing. “When I was younger I was working on a piece about shady business dealings between two bigwigs at the state level. In my mind, I went back and forth and back and forth. I was going in circles until I finally brought it to my editor.”

  He lowered his voice and put his hand to the side of his mouth as if he didn’t want the bookshelves and picture frames to hear. “There were some people with the paper who weren’t going to look good if the story got out.”

  Professor Ray laughed like an old man reminiscing on the trouble that he and his buddies used to get into when they were younger. “You know what my editor did?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “The next day I was coming back to my desk, and he flipped my desk over—in front of everyone. And then he laid into me. It was something fierce. I was left with a flipped desk and 25 people laughing at me.”

  This was standard operating procedure for the professor. He answered questions with stories. Sometimes the stories were short, other times they were winding and confusing. Usually, they made sense.

  “You know what I did, Jack? I ate the story, and I regretted it. People should have known, but they didn’t. Just like that, the story became another notepad on the bottom of a forgotten drawer.”

  Jack wasn’t entirely sure of the message, but he nodded anyway.

  “But, you get over most of those things eventually, Jack.” The professor paused again. “Except the real big ones—you don’t ever get over those.”

  Jack suspected the professor was talking about more than writing news stories.

  Professor Ray’s eyes turned to catch Jack’s. “There are a lot of things in life people are too scared to do. The question you need to answer is, ‘will the world be better for what I’ve done?’ If the answer is yes—then don’t look back and Godspeed.”

  Silence enveloped the room. Jack took a deeper look at the professor. He always wore jeans and a blazer. Jack wasn’t sure if it was the immaculate white and gray speckled facial hair or his often-furrowed brow—but he made it looked distinguished. Not much seemed to bother him. The professor had already made his money, lived his experiences, and acquired his stories. What was left to worry about?

  Professor Ray was also his closest mentor, the one that Jack trusted the most. Jack ran the school newspaper and Professor Ray played no small part in his inspiration to do so. Each year the newspaper chose a new editor in chief. This year it was Jack’s turn.

  But something had come up, and Jack didn’t know the right course to take. “I want to publish something, and I think it could hurt me.”

  The professor offered a question. “And the paper will support it?”

  Jack shrugged. “I’m EIC. I can publish whatever I want.”

  Professor Ray tapped the first two fingers of his hand on his wrist as he thought. “Ah yes, the trump card. That will work.”

  He kept tapping his wrist and finished, “Although sometimes it only works once.”

  The two locked eyes for a moment. Jack shifted his stare to the desk in front of him and then moved his eyes to the bookshelves. He looked at the plaques and awards on the shelf. The professor had accumulated a large collection over the years. Jack’s mind slipped from his troubles for an indulgent moment. Jack’s collection would, one day, be better.

  The professor stood up. It was time to leave.

  Moving towards the door, Jack lingered for one last question.

  “So that story that never got published still gets to you?”

  “No, not that piece. They had their day of reckoning eventually. But I’ll tell you what nags at me every time I think about it. It’s what I would have done today.”
r />   His final sentence was delivered with a coy smile, “You see, Jack, kids today are lucky. If that happened to me now… I would have just published it on the internet.”

  Jack nodded. “Thanks, Professor.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “What exactly is pumpkin spice?”

  Jack lifted an eyebrow.

  Sean held out his cup of coffee at arm’s length. “It’s not pumpkin, and it’s not spicy… and I don’t even drink coffee.”

  Jack laughed. “Me neither.”

  They sat facing the Charles River. Today was the Head of the Charles boat race. It was as good an excuse as any to meet up and talk life.

  Blue in the sky, orange in the trees, and noticeable steam from their coffee cups.

  How long had it been since they talked? Weeks? Months? Too long.

  “Is this life, Jack? Wake up, go to work, eat dinner, go to sleep—that’s what I do five days a week. The other two days are the same, except I just don’t go into the office and I get less email. I don’t have time for anything.”

  Jack silently acknowledged the grind.

  Sean sighed. “But everyone does it, right? It’s the path.”

  The two had talked about life after school before. Sean was smart and Sean was a hard worker. He landed a consulting gig out of school. They paid him well, and they made him work hard for it.

  “But it’s crazy, Jack, I’m the lucky one. I work like a dog and can’t see my friends. But I’m lucky because I can actually afford to pay down my student loans AND not have to live at home.”

  It was true. Jack knew a handful of kids who couldn’t afford apartments and more who probably shouldn’t afford their apartments. He knew classmates who had declared bankruptcy. Jack thought about the people he knew. Sean was the cream of the crop. You didn’t have to worry about him. Some people have clothes that always fit just right, some people have perfect pitch, and others are natural athletes. Whatever combination of genetics, luck, and skill these people possessed Sean had it for life. Jack could tell when he’d first met him—Sean was always going to be all right.

  But maybe that was the most disturbing thing. Sean was the kid who was always going to win. He worked hard, got great grades, and got a great job out of school… and his life still sucked.

  If that was the best-case scenario, what hope did everyone else have?

  He took an elongated sip of the coffee. It was mildly sweet and hinted of a distant warmth. It was the chemical abstraction of fall.

  Of course, they both knew what the other was thinking. The amount of time they’d spent talking about the future was too lengthy not to have crossed this bridge of understanding before.

  Jack offered a bit more, “If life is a party, I feel like our generation is showing up late and all the booze is gone.”

  Sean looked at his coffee cup. “And the punch bowl has been filled with pumpkin spice latte.”

  CHAPTER 8

  If life needed to be grabbed by the balls then Jack would slap on a latex glove, reach out his hand, and tell the world to turn its head and cough.

  Jack sat across the table from Anton. He had more or less demanded a meeting with his boss. Day 127 of working at the Tribune and Jack was bored. Hard news and fluff pieces—that was the extent of Jack’s journalistic uses. He had felt more important when he was an intern.

  He was nervous about confronting his boss, but it had to be done. Without knocking, Jack walked into Anton’s office and closed the door.

  “I need something more.”

  Anton looked up from his work and stared at Jack. An unsettling silence filled the room.

  Jack’s mind flashed back to the words of his father only a day before.

  “Hey, Jack, what’s up?”

  Jack was on his way home from work and called his father.

  “I need some advice; I’m telling my boss that I need better work.”

  His father was never rash. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m dying here. How do I tell my boss that I can’t keep doing this grunt work?”

  “It’s simple, Jack. You don’t.”

  “What do you mean I don’t? I could be doing so much more. I’m better than this.”

  There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line. “Don’t be like that. You’re lucky to even have a job. Don’t be a diva.”

  “Ok, thanks, Dad. I gotta go.”

  Jack made direct eye contact with Anton. Jack held his stare even as his father’s advice scrolled through his head like the bottom-line of a cable-news channel.

  The formula for success in their America was simple. Hard work + Time = Success. Pay your dues and you get rewarded. It was a talk he and his father had many times. The words were often different, but the meaning was always the same. The problem, as far as Jack saw it, was that the equation was broken. Jack had watched the stock market crash from the insulated walls of college. It was a good time to be in school, a shelter from the crumbling world. It was an acceptable four years to learn as the world slowly rebuilt itself. But he had watched his friends’ parents get laid off at alarming rates. He saw people who bought into the equation get tossed to the curb. They dutifully followed the rules of the game, but the only prize was behind door number three… and it was an unemployment check.

  In the old world—his dad’s world—sheep could get rich. Sheep could have a house; sheep could have a family. Just do as you’re told, follow the shepherd and you will be rewarded with green pastures. But Jack knew that he worked too hard to let anyone except himself decide his fate. Getting kicked out of the herd was a risk Jack was willing to take, but getting fleeced was unacceptable.

  The silence held for another count of breaths. Which world did Anton live in, Jack’s or his father’s?

  Anton’s response to Jack’s words was different than what Jack expected. He was calm and not the least bit angry. Anton’s response was simple: “Please explain.”

  Jack laid out his case.

  “I didn’t have an internship at The New York Times, go $60,000 in debt, and bust my balls in school to cover town hall meetings.”

  Jack’s delivery was passionate, and he was having difficulty toeing the line between anger and diplomacy. He wanted Anton to know how he felt. But, he also didn’t want to get fired.

  Jack took a breath and opened his mouth to continue his argument.

  Anton held his right hand up in the air, signaling for Jack to stop. Anton smiled and clapped his hands. But he didn’t say anything.

  Instead, he opened his desk drawer and grabbed a USB drive. With the drive between his thumb and index finger, he dangled it in the air before tossing it to Jack. “I was told that this day would come, Jack. Why don’t you have a listen?”

  He waved his hand for Jack to leave his office. “Take the afternoon off.”

  The oddity of what was happening pressed on Jack’s mind.

  As Jack turned to leave, Anton offered one more piece of instruction. “Oh, and Jack, I’d suggest not listening to that at work. In fact, I wouldn’t use your work laptop if I were you.”

  Jack stared at the tiny device in his hand. How could something so innocuous feel so inherently dangerous? There was a disconnect somewhere between perception and reality. Jack closed his hands around the USB drive and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER 9

  Straight Up

  SOPHOMORE YEAR OF COLLEGE

  He sat, eyes closed, sitting on his couch with his head in his hands. The sounds of the apartment door jolted Jack back to the present. He looked up to see Molly walking into the living room.

  “You didn’t answer your phone, so I figured I would just…”

  Jack ruffled his hair, blinked, and stood up. But it was too late. Jack knew she had seen him.

  Molly stopped her sentence and tried to understand the Jack that she was looking at. She noticed him holding a single baseball card in his hands.

  She spoke. “That’s not yours, is it?”

  He loved how she could make leaps of understanding that others couldn’t. She was right. It wasn’t. It was his brother’s. His brother wasn’t particularly good at sports, especially baseball, but he loved Mark McGwire.