Daring Do and the Ring of Fire

2

Interview with a Muckraker

The entirety of the back wall of the Editor-in-Chief’s office was made of glass. The mid afternoon sun cautiously crept through the gaps in the blinds, and sparingly illuminated random sections of writing on the papers covering the desk. As she took her first steps into the office, Daring again found herself scanning the room, drinking in every last detail with stars in her eyes. Mr. Roland shut the door behind her once she had entered. The sharp snap it made called Daring back to earth somewhat harshly. Coming to a stop in the middle of the room, Daring gripped her bag’s shoulder strap and felt all of her earlier confidence drain from her.

Slowly, she turned her head to look at him. John Devon Roland had been a part of Daring’s life since the day she’d first picked up a newspaper. He was one of the reporters responsible for exposing the abysmal conditions of both the meat packing factories, and of the actual meat itself, and a damn good journalist to boot. Daring loved reading every one of his articles and editorials, forming a sort of one-sided mentor/mentee relationship with this young, intrepid commentator.

This now sixty-three year old intrepid commentator, in whose office she now stood frozen, walked past her silently and looked wearily at a photo on his desk.

The two stood there in awkward, intimidating silence as Daring attempted to collect herself. It had taken some effort not to salute and beg for an autograph when she’d first laid eyes on him. Recognizing that this man held the key to her landing her dream job and the importance of impressing him were now of a massive importance.

“...So which one of your parents was it?”

Daring was somewhat taken aback at the question. She didn’t fully understand what he meant, but she immediately assumed it was somehow relevant.

“I’m sorry?”

Roland grunted quietly and scratched his mustache with his thumb.

“You’re a little darker than most people who come to visit me, Ms. Do. Not much, but enough to stand out against the rest.”

He turned around and looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“Either you’ve just come back from a sun heavy vacation in the caribbean, or one of your parents contributed a drop of genetic ink to your skin tone. So I ask again:

Which one of your parents was it?”

Daring shifted slightly. It wasn’t so much the question that stood out to her, the ‘issue’ of her complexion had often come up before in college. But rather the way it was asked. It was true, she hadn’t seen any non-whites working in the building on her way in, and even the slightest inclination of black relatives was still a cause for alarm amongst the more closed minded individuals.

She had been prepared for the topic to come up, even prepared a little argument for why it wasn’t an issue even in the slightest, but the way he had immediately brought it up and the maddening lack of inclination of which side of that argument he was on threw her off spectacularly.

Roland was waiting for an answer, and Daring wasn’t about to let something as superfluous as an old man’s prejudice stop her.

“My father, sir. He met my mom in London during the Great War.”

“Did he stick around when you came into the picture?”

“He moved to Ballymena to be with her.”

“English?”

“American.”

“Mother?”

“English.”

“Yourself?”

“Born during a vacation in Bruges, raised in Ireland.”

“You a citizen?”

“I have three separate passports in my bag.”

“When did you immigrate?”

“The day after I graduated high school.”

“Where’s your accent?”

“Back home with my parents.”

It was coming easy now. Daring was answering his questions as quickly as he was asking them.

“Good grades?”

“I flunked chemistry in 11th grade. Knocked my GPA down to a 4.2.”

“What college did you go to?”

“Auburn University. BA in Journalism.”

“When’d you graduate?”

“Last week.”

Mr. Roland smirked and stood up straight, a satisfied expression on his face. It had been a while since he had such a rapid interview with someone, but never before with a potential applicant.

“You aren’t much for wasting time getting things done, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I sleep in every Sunday.”

Daring found herself straightening up some as well. The atmosphere in the room had shifted. Some sort of mutual respect was beginning to form between the two of them. Or at least, that’s what Daring hoped was going on. It certainly was on her end.

Mr. Roland lit up a cigarette and took a short, well-practiced drag.

“I’d offer you one, but you don’t seem the type.”

Daring nodded.

“And what sort of type do I seem like, Mr. Roland?”

“You seem like the first interesting person I’ve met in a very long time. I do admire your dedication to getting the job. Even more the fact that you’re succeeding.”

A little fireworks display exploded for a millisecond in Daring’s brain.

“What set you on this path in the first place? Thinking about all the people who must’ve been trying to stop you going anywhere sets my teeth on edge.”

There was a flash of something dangerous in his eyes as he continued working on his cigarette.

With her renewed confidence settling her nerves, Daring told him everything. When her love of news and adventures began, how she’d managed to find an American newspaper in Ireland, how she’d managed to accidentally immigrate into Spain when she was ten, everything.

Roland had noticeably softened to her as Daring’s stories went on. Despite his new, slightly friendlier demeanor, he still managed to remain an imposing and  intimidating man. Daring couldn’t help but admire how His decades of experience had shaped him.

Eventually, as he took his seat behind his desk and offered her the chair opposite.

“Alright kid. You’ve impressed me. Lord knows we need journalists with a modicum of talent.”

Daring couldn’t stop herself from smirking triumphantly.

“You think I have potential, then?”

She knew the answer, but hearing him say it would be a massive ego stroke.

Roland clearly picked up on this and, smirking, ignored her. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he was cut off by the sharp, sudden ring of his desk phone.

Roland frowned at it, as if mentally willing it to burst into flame. Even with Daring’s help, for she was doing the exact same thing, the phone remained unmelted, and just as loud as before.

Scowling, he picked it up.

“Roland.”

He answered, curtly.

This was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

His brow furrowed, and his jaw set so quickly and so firmly, it could have stopped a train.

Daring noted both, and began to stand up to leave. Roland, not looking in her direction, held up a hand to halt her, then pointed back down at the chair.

Daring had to stop herself from letting out a “Yes sir, sorry sir.” as she sat back down.

The editor’s expression darkened as the person on the other line continued. They seemed to have reached their point for calling in the first place, because Mr. Roland quickly stood up from his chair.

“WHAT?!”

He barked into the receiver.

The voice on the other end was audible now, and there was a new, high-pitched edge to it.

“It’s good for me! Having the people see that I can follow through on my promises could be the difference between me getting re-elected or not!”

“Wrong! Publicity is the difference! Gene, you’ve been a pain in my ass ever since you took office, then you go and flood my security staff with your little project convicts-”

“It is vital to establish a sense of unity amongst th-”

“Shut up, Gene.”

He casually said to the Mayor.

“Your little assimilation platform made sense before all the damn gangs started popping up, but keeping it going after-”

“What was I supposed to do?! You’ve been digging up everything on me you can find! You’re so hell bent on getting me out of office I-”

The Mayor let out an exasperated gag-like sound, which translated as a glitch of static over the phone.

“I’m desperate! It isn’t my fault they all think security jobs are their last resort!”

Roland growled.

“I’ll bet that wasn’t planned...”

“Jon, I’m sorry. I am. But the next dozen are being released on Friday, and I would appreciate it if you could run a story on it.”

“Why should I? Like you said, I’m out to get you.”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll be directing them to your paper.”

Daring raised her eyebrows at this.

American politics at work.

She thought, smiling softly to herself.

Roland gripped the phone and sighed mightily.

“If a single one of them even fish one of my papers out of the trash, the city will suddenly become very aware of the nature of your nocturnal proclivities.”

“You have my word.”

“Let’s hope it’s still worth something come November.”

An impressed silence followed the click of the phone on the receiver.

Daring watched Roland carefully, biting her tongue to stop herself from bombarding him with questions and praise.

“Knock it off.”

He said, pointing at her, his gaze still fixed on the phone.

“Knock what off, sir?”

“Holding back your questions. You’re a journalist now. Unless someone’s giving their full confession very, very quietly, you never stop asking questions.”

Daring grinned.

Mr. Roland ran a hand through his white hair.

“He’ll get a story. He’s just traded his next term for it. Ms. Do?”

He said, the ambitious glint of a much younger man flashing in his eyes.

“Sir.”

“I want you find out everything you can about the convict re assimilation policy. I tried to gather info on it when he first introduced it, but his people memorized the faces of all of my journalists and barred them from his office.”

Daring grinned and straightened up.

“This might be huge, sir. Are you sure a neophyte such as myself c-”

“You’re my new start student, and the only person I’ve interacted with who knows what the word ‘neophyte’ even means.”

They both smiled at each other as if they’d known each other for years.

Daring stood up from her chair, and Roland did the same.

She extended her hand.

“I’ll try not to let you down, sir.”

Roland grasped her hand firmly and shook, smirking.

“Drop the modesty act, it doesn’t suit you.”

A symphony of pride and accomplishment swelled in her brain as Daring confidently replied:

“Never has.”