Sweet Dreams, Irene Read Online Free PDF

you’re clamming up on me, Brady. I thought by now—well, call me if you change your mind, okay?”
    I hung up. So some kind of hit piece was planned. But they were definitely keeping it under wraps. I tried calling a couple of other people who were close to the campaign. Nothing.
    I started plowing through the mass of paper that had accumulated on my desk since yesterday. I was making some headway when I noticed a shadow across my desk. I looked up to see who was darkening my reading light. It was Stacee.
    “It’s not polite to read over people’s shoulders,” I said.
    She blushed and said, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to. I guess I’m just curious.”
    “Not bad to be curious. Just practice reading things on people’s desks when you’re outside the newsroom, and you’ll make more friends here.”
    “I don’t seem to have many.”
    My heart was breaking. Gee, Stacee, I thought to myself, don’t you wonder why? But aloud I said, “Sit down. I was going to try to talk to you later today anyway.”
    She sat there dutifully, mooning at me. Christ Almighty, I thought—it won’t work with me, kid. I tapped my pencil. What was I going to do with Wrigley’s little princess?
    “I understand you want to work on political stories.”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “What makes you think you can cover politics? Have you done it before?”
    “In college, I covered student elections.”
    I looked up at the little holes in the ceiling tile above me. The answer to my prayer for patience was not there.
    “I mean,” she said, in a meek voice that made me want to kick her, “I know it’s not the same thing.”
    “No,” I said. “Just tell me why. Why political stories?”
    Why me? I thought, but I didn’t say it.
    “I really want to work on something that’s important.”
    I looked over to the City Desk, where a group of general assignment reporters were gathered around Lydia Ames, assistant city editor and a friend of mine since grade school. She was busily handing out the day’s less glorious assignments.
    “Who do you know around here who doesn’t want to work on something important?” I said.
    “I know I haven’t had much experience. But how am I going to get any experience if somebody doesn’t give me a chance?”
    “Same way the rest of us got it—pay some dues.”
    She looked crestfallen. I felt a little twinge—I refused to believe it might be guilt.
    “Look, if you expect me to hand over a major story to someone who’s as green as—”
    “I don’t expect that,” she protested. “I don’t mind hard work. It’s an honor just to be helping you. I’ve always admired your writing, Miss Kelly. I want to be like you.”
    Where are the hip-waders when you need them? On second thought, she was laying it on so thick, it was more than hip-deep. I needed a steam shovel. She must have seen my doubts, because she grew very serious and said quietly, “I mean that.”
    That twinge again. “Well, if you mean it,” I said, “then thanks. But understand that I’m doing this as a favor to John. I don’t know you well enough to have picked you out to work with me.”
    “I understand. But I still appreciate the chance.”
    “We’ll see. Here’s what you can do for starters. Go down to the morgue and read issues from June on—anything you can find related to local politics. When you’ve got at least that much background, we’ll go from there. And tonight there’s a meeting of the Las Piernas Coalition for Justice. All the major candidates will be speaking there. Go to it.”
    “Tonight?” she said, looking uncomfortable.
    “Yes, tonight. You do want to cover politics, don’t you?”
    “The Coalition for Justice will be meeting on Halloween?”
    “Yes,” I said, and I pulled out a flyer to prove it to her. “You weren’t expecting nine-to-five hours when you got your degree in journalism, were you?”
    “Oh, no.”
    “Well, I can see this isn’t going to work out,” I said, trying to keep the