The Imperfectionists Read Online Free

see why 'an official' isn't good enough."

    "On the meat of the story, you have a single unnamed source. It's too vague for page one."

    "How is it vague? You run this sort of stuff all the time."

    "I thought you said the foreign ministry confirmed it."
    "They
    did."

    "Can't we say that?"

    "I'm not gonna burn my source."

    "We're near deadline here."

    "I don't even want you writing 'French' anything. Just say 'an official.'"

    "If you can't agree to more exact wording, we won't be able to run it. I'm sorry--I've got Kathleen right here telling me so. And that'd mean tearing up page one. Which means hell on earth this close to deadline, as you know. We need to decide now. Can you budge on this?" He waits. "Lloyd?"

    "A source at the foreign ministry. Say that."

    "And it's solid?"
    "Yes."

    "Good enough for me."

    But not for Kathleen, it turns out. She calls a contact in Paris who scoffs at the piece. Menzies phones back. "Kathleen's source is some top ministry flack. Is yours better than that?"
    "Yes."

    "How much better?"

    "They just are. I can't get into who."

    "I'm battling Kathleen on this. I don't doubt your source. But for my state of mind, give me a clue. Not for publication."
    "I
    can't."

    "Then that's it. I'm sorry."

    Lloyd pauses. "Someone in the Mideast directorate, okay? My source is good: policy side, not press side."

    Menzies conveys this to Kathleen, who puts Lloyd on speakerphone. "And this guy is bankable?" she asks.
    "Very."

    "So you've used him before?"
    "No."

    "But we can trust him?"
    "Yes."

    "Off the record, who is it?"

    He hesitates. "I don't see why you need to know." But he does see, of course. "It's my son."

    Their chuckles are audible over the speakerphone. "Are you serious?"

    "He works at the ministry."

    "I'm not too enthused about quoting your family members," Kathleen says.
    "Though at this hour it's either that or we run wire copy on Bush's plunging approval ratings, which frankly is no longer page-one material at this stage."

    Menzies suggests, "We could plug in the Five-Years-After-9/11 setup, which is pretty much done."

    "No, the anniversary is Monday, so I want to save that for the weekend." She pauses. "Okay, let's go with Lloyd."

    He's drunk by the time Eileen returns home. She left Didier with his friends at a jazz club and knocks at the front door. Why doesn't she just walk in? But he won't bring that up now. He hurries for another tumbler and pours her a gin before she can decline.

    "Make sure you buy the paper tomorrow," he says. "Page one."

    She rubs his knee. "Congrats, babe. When was your last of those?"

    "The Roosevelt administration, probably."

    "Franklin or Teddy Roosevelt?"

    "Definitely Teddy." He pulls her closer, a little roughly, and kisses her--not one of their normal soft pecks but an ardent embrace.

    She shifts back. "Enough."

    "Right--what if your husband turned up."

    "Don't make me feel lousy."

    "I'm only kidding. Don't feel bad--I don't." He pinches her cheek. "I love you."

    Without a word, she returns across the hall. He flops onto his bed, mumbling drunkenly--"Goddamn page fucking one!"

    Eileen wakes him gently the next morning and places the paper on the bed. "It's freezing in here," she says. "I put the coffee on."

    He sits up in bed.

    "I didn't see your story, babe," she says. "Not running today?"

    He scans the page-one headlines: "Blair to Step Down in 12 Months;" "Pentagon Forbids Cruelty in Terror Interrogations;" "Gay Marriages Roil America;" "Australia Mourns 'Crocodile Hunter';" and finally, "Bush Slumps to New Low in Polls."

    His Gaza story didn't make the front. He flips through the inside pages. It's nowhere. Cursing, he dials Rome. It's early, but Menzies is already at his desk. "What happened to my piece?" Lloyd demands.

    "I'm sorry. We couldn't use it. That French flack friend of Kathleen's called back and denied it all. Said we'd be screwed if we went with it. They'd issue an official protest."

    "A flack friend of