the best part of an interview unless I hated my subject. I discovered the beginnings of a major scandal in an alder- manic ward, but I sat on the story because I liked my source and I didn’t want him to get into trouble for talking to the press. Unfortunately for me, my source wanted his name in the papers, so he contacted someone else—and happened to inform the reporter that he had talked to me. And that reporter informed my editor who called me into his office for confirmation before he fired me. Iwent on to the Milwaukee Sentinel and did a major expose on construction fraud. I hated the man who headed the fraud and his partners weren’t much better. The deeper I dug, the angrier I got. My stories had enough well-documented information to put the leaders away for a number of years. The night that the Milwaukee Press Club honored me for the series, a teenager cornered me in an alley. He pointed to my award and said, “ I hope you realize that plaque destroyed three families.” He didn’t have to tell me that one of those families was his. The doctor said that with a little plastic surgery, the scars wouldn’t even be noticeable. But they’re my badges, a reminder of what my profession can and does do. I’ve had a few other good stories in my lifetime, but I’ve made sure that none of them have been on the backs of someone who wasn’t strong enough to take it. So I was glad that you kept me out of the investigation of the rape story. But I did some digging on my own. First I went back ten years and dug out all the clippings relating to Molly, the charming sa- lutatorian at Senior High. I learned that at the end of your senior year, you dropped out of everything, the debate squad, the model UN team, the drama club. You would have been valedictorian with no competition if you hadn’t stopped attending classes in the spring. The police records made reference to a case involving you, but the file was missing. Finally, I contacted every attorney in town until I found one who remembered you. That sweet, sweet little girl who claimed she had been raped by a cop. He said your parents were going to sue the department until one day in mid-June. They canceled the suit and left town, taking you with them. You waited another year before enrolling in college. It took you a year, but you recovered from your wounds. Now you were back in town, facing your demons. It made me think about facing mine. One morning you almost danced into the office, your perfume mingling nicely with the smell of freshly inked paper. You stopped at my desk and said in a low voice, “ I’ve talked to seven, and four are willing to talk to the authorities as well. I’ve got an interview with the chief tomorrow.” “ I thought you weren’t going to do this alone,” I said. You smiled, the innocent who-me? smile you had used on that first day. “ I’ve been a good girl. I contacted the District Attorney, so I’ll have back-up by then.” “You sure?” You dropped a piece of paper on my desk. “When he heard about this, he said he’d start work on this immediately.” I opened the paper. It was a photocopy of a letter composed of words clipped from the Sun-. If you know what is good for you, you will go back to Madison where you belong. “ Now, no one would write me that because of my coverage of the United Methodist Women’s Circle breakfast, would they?” “ No.” The paper rattled as I handed it back to you. “ But I wouldn’t be so flip about this if I were you.” You pulled up a chair beside my desk. “ I’m not being flip.” you said softly. “ I’m scared to death. But I also know I’m on to something, and that makes me-feel good.” I remembered that feeling, half-high and half-sick, so full of adrenalin that nothing could get in the way. The kind of feeling that made you careless. “ B i l l.” Your fingers had somehow found mine. “ I have a favor to ask.” You pulled into the parking lot of one of those bars that changed ownership every time someone was knifed on the premises. The night was warm, and the lake smelled like dead fish. I could feel the excitement throbbing in your fingertips. For a journalist like you, sneaking up on a story like this one meant more than falling in love. “What, Molly?” “There’s a bar near the docks I want you to take me to tonight.” My entire body became rigid. "Why?” You’ ll have real help tomorrow.” “One of the waitresses says she wants to talk to me. She won’t meet me anywhere else.” , “ I can’t give you any protection down there.” My throat had gone dry. I found it difficult to swallow. " I ’m not athletic at all. I spend the entire damn day sitting at this stupid desk.” “ I just need company. You don’t have to do anything except watch.” I shook my head slightly. “ I’ ll go down there alone if I have to, Bill.” It was probably an idle threat. You had never willingly put yourself into any danger. But when I looked up at your face, all I saw was determination. The last thing I wanted you to do was head down to the waterfront alone. “All right,” I said, “ but only for an hour or so. If things get the least bit uncomfortable, we leave.” You picked up my hand and kissed it. “You’ re a marvelous man,” you said and then you got up and almost skipped to your desk. You spent the entire day humming as you worked, but I worried. The stories I rewrote lacked sparkle and my column was so insipid that Knudson used it. You dragged me out of the office about a half an hour early. It was nearing 10 p.m., and rather than go home to change, you drove immediately to First Street. You pulled into the parking lot of one of those bars th a t changed ownership every time someone was knifed on the premises. The night was warm, and the lake smelled like dead fish. “One drinlf,” I said as we got out of the car. “ I promise,” you said. I took your arm as we walked across the gravel. Most of the cars in the parking lot were mechanics’ specials. Fuzzy dice and playboy bunnies hung from rearview mirrors. Beer bottles and condom wrappers littered the parking lot, and more than one bumper sticker read, I came, I saw, I kicked ass. ” As I pushed open the door, the smell of sweat and stale beer assailed me. I put my hand on your back and led you to a booth in the corner. I didn’t know if they had table service, but I wasn’t going to leave you sitting at the booth alone. It was quite clear from your lack of make-up and neatly pressed jeans that you d idn ’t belong. When the waitress approached, I ordered two beers. You scanned the crowd. A lot of the men were staring at you and more than one commented on your appearance as he passed the table. After a few minutes your eyes met mine. Your adrenalin high was gone. .AQaUery ot UJomerv'< A r t Nov 4 -Dec 31 TEMPLE EARTH Mon, Wed, Thurs, Fri 12-7pm Sat, Sun 12-6pm Closed Tuesdays 233 NE 28th Portland 231-3726 MURPHYS SEAFOOD PRINTING DESIGN CALLIGRAPHY 7740 SW CAPITOL HWY IN MULTNOMAH 246-1942 The finest seafood we wm available seafood Special orders gladly 10:306:30 taken. Tuesday-Saturday . N .W . 2108 N.W. Glisan Portland, Oregon 97210 227-7800 OUR TIME IS FREE IF WE DON T WIN YOUR PERSONAL INJURY CASE □ Don’t settle for less than you deserve. □ Confident and Experienced. DIXON & FRIEDMAN 1020 SWTaylor-Suite 430 2 4 2 - 1 4 4 0 Hamburgers featured on Sundays Light Meals Evenings 2601 Northwest Vaughn Street Portland, Oregon 97210 223-3302 < 42 Clinton St. Quarterly— Fall/Winter 1988
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