Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

So instead of dealing with the uncertain combination of hair and humidity, I tucked it into a sleek roll and wrapped it into a well-behaved prisoner of pins and elastics. Then I slipped on my Payless pumps and headed out the door.

Sports Today was part of a whole family of papers and websites that made up Today Media. The organization had started out as a monthly magazine fifty-odd years ago, but was one of the first to jump from the print ship to the digital bandwagon when magazines started tanking. Back then, Today Media had been only three magazines, but now they’d broken out into six different specific brands. Each maintained an extensive website and released an expensive, shiny magazine every quarter, which collected their best online stories as well as including special in-depth features and interviews.

Today Media owned a very large and intimidating building bordering Madison Square Park and when I reached it, I paused for a moment and stared up. It was giant and glossy and terrifying and beautiful.

Someone clipped my shoulder as they passed me on the sidewalk and shot me a dirty look.

I took a deep breath and went inside.

The lobby was shiny and sleek and filled with professionals in black and white and gray. I started toward the elevator bank, and then a large woman sped into my purview. “Hey. Hey!”

I stopped, terrified that I had somehow messed up before I even started. “Hello?”

She nodded at a black box on the wall I’d barely noticed. “You have to sign in.” When I looked at her blankly, she asked, “Are you an employee?”

“This is my first day. I—I don’t have an ID yet.”

She waved me over to the fro

nt desk. “You’ll have to sign in there.”

Taking a deep breath and trying to calm my heart, I headed over to the desk and presented my driver’s license, which a second security woman studied for an unduly long time before handing it back. “Who are you here to see?”

“Tanya Jones. Sports Today.”

The security woman made a call, nodded and then typed furiously on her computer. A moment later she handed me a sticker printed with my name and Sports Today. “You’ll have to wear this until you have an employee ID.”

I nodded, plastered the pass against my cardigan and then walked a little nervously past the first guard. At least the people now waiting for the elevator hadn’t seen her accost me. We all loaded inside and pressed various buttons. The seven was already lit, so I faced forward like everyone else and looked at the little screen in the corner that announced it was 77 degrees out and 8:53 in the morning. My little mess-up had put me back three minutes from my planned arrival time.

The elevator let me out into an open lobby. I faced a guy not much older than me, who sat behind a long desk. To the left, windows let in orange autumn light, while behind him blocky red letters printed SPORTS TODAY on a black wall.

“Hi,” I said when the guy looked up. He wore the collar of his sweater-vest almost as high as Regency gentlemen. “My name’s Tamar Rosenfeld? I’m new. I’m here to see Tanya Jones?”

Dammit, I hated using upspeak. It meant I felt uncomfortable or nervous.

“Yeah, all right.”

Yeah, all right? I swallowed. “Okay. I’ll just stand here.”

He looked at me funny for a second, and then turned back to his computer.

Cool.

After a few excruciatingly awkward minutes, a guy rounded the corner. He was tall and skinny as a beanstalk, and his black hair rose in uncombed tufts in all directions. “Hi. Tamar?”

“That’s me.” I shook his extended hand.

“Carlos Fernandez, assistant editor. Come on, I’ll show you your desk.”

He brought me past the wall and into the open floor of the newsroom. I paused for one overwhelmed second to let it sink in. During the interview, I’d only seen meeting rooms on another floor, so this was my first real look. Desks and computers and people filled the entire space, messily organized into streamlined chaos. Tables, maybe three and a half feet long each, were pushed together in clumps of four or five. Half the people wore brightly colored headphones; others laughed with their neighbors. Computers covered every surface; small laptops and extra monitors and tablets. Large screens were mounted to the walls, interspersed with enlarged photos from some of Sports Today’s covers.

“Hey! Hey, everyone!”

Every occupant swiveled to stare like they’d been primed for the invitation, even those with headphones. Carlos gestured widely at me. “This is Tamar. She’s joining editorial, covering football.”

The room chorused a welcome back at me, which was slightly terrifying. I raised a hand. “Hi.”

Near fifty people worked here, which was absolutely massive compared to the small weekly newspaper I’d worked at before. Editorial numbered over a dozen, and covered not just different sports but different teams. I’d probably be spending most of my time with them, and in my interview I’d learned that we also had several columnists who didn’t work in the office.