It is What it Is

Chapter 7

           “Drinks tonight?”        

            Ava looked up from her desk to see Libby standing in the doorway of her office. “It’s ten a.m. and you’re already talking about alcohol. Have you ever considered that you might have a problem.” Ava smiled.

            “You need to get out.”

            “Thanks for reminding me,” Ava said. “I’m always so thankful when my married friends point out all of my shortcomings.”

            “I’m buying.”

            “Then I’ll be there,” Ava said. “We’ll leave from here?”

            “Works for me.”

            “Our usual spot?”

            “But, of course,” Libby said. “I wouldn’t want dear Francis the bartender to think we’d been swallowed by a black hole. We haven’t hit him up for obnoxious amounts of extra olives in almost two weeks.”

            “Do I hear something about a girls’ night?” Much like an early period or a tax audit, Harriet appeared unexpectedly behind Libby in the hallway. It wasn’t until Ava saw that Harriet was wearing bright blue Capri pants, a bright blue turtleneck and a blue turban that she realized it was only Wednesday. Wednesday was Harriet’s blue day.

            “Just making time for a little girl talk, Harriet,” Libby said.

            “That sure sounds like fun.”

            “Would you like to join us?” Libby said. Ava would have pinched Libby if she weren’t so far away.

            “Thanks for the invite, but I can’t,” Harriet said. “I’ll be working late.”

            “That’s really too bad,” Ava said and Libby shot her a look that said she wasn’t doing the best job of keeping the glee out of her voice.”

            “I don’t know where you girls find the time,” Harriet said, and she tsk-ed a bit. “You must not have enough on your plate, Ava. Why don’t you send me some ideas for the holiday issue then?”

            “No problem,” Ava said. “What were you thinking?”

            “Oh, five pages or so should be sufficient.”

            “I’ll have it in your inbox by the end of the day.”

            “Lovely,” Harriet said. “Single-spaced, please.” Then she turned and walked back down the hallway. Ava bent over her desk and began banging her forehead against the keyboard over and over again.

            “At least we’re having drinks later?” Libby said.

            “At least.”

            “I’ll meet you in the parking lot at 5:30.” Libby said, and she scooted the other way down the hall towards her office.

            With a new assignment on her plate, Ava abandoned her pity party (and head banging) and decided to start thinking of holiday story ideas: Makeup to Give and Receive, Holiday Parties With a Purpose, Glossy Gastronomy …

            At least there was the promise of that drink – or three – or five.

 

            “You notice Harriet didn’t feel like loading you down with work as a punishment for having a life,” Ava said. She and Libby were at their usual spot, Sparky’s. It was a terrible bar with a terrible name, but it was close enough to the office to provide easy access after work and the low-brow establishment also had the bonus of being a spot neither Harriet or any of their other co-workers would be willing to be caught dead in. Plus, the liquor was cheap, there was an air hockey table if the women needed to blow off some steam and Francis the bartender waited on them hand and foot. (It helped that Ava and Libby were the only women and the only patrons under the age of 50 who ever visited Sparky’s.)

            “She’s jealous of you. She could care less about me.”

            “I’m sure,” Ava said.

            “I’m a writer by trade. You’re one by vocation,” Libby said. “Harriet is just like me. She can put words together, but she doesn’t move people. She’s just like me, but she’s always wanted to be like you.”

“So, in her admiration she decides to make me miserable,” Ava said. “Awesome.”

“And you make it look easy, and she hates you for it. So, she punishes you. Sorry O Gifted One, but you do have a sensibility most writers like me would kill for.”

“Talent or no, we’re still all working for the same magazine.”

“Harriet and I work there because we have to. You work there because you’re scared.”

“Right,” Ava said.

“You’re scared to fail, and you know it,” Libby said. “As soon as you decide to believe in yourself, you’re out of there.”

“It’s funny you should bring that up,” Ava said. “I’ve wanted to tell you more about that meeting I took for you on Monday.”

“Is this where you kill me?”

“No, I actually learned a lot from your contact,” Ava said. “I think I might spend some more time with her.”

Libby almost spit out her drink. “You can joke around all you want Ava Carson, but at least have the decency to wait until I’ve swallowed. I refuse to waste perfectly good vodka because you’re pulling my leg.”

“I mean it,” Ava said. “She had some really interesting stuff to say. I may even want to write about it.”

“Really? What would you write?”

“Well, we started talking about the family court here in town …” Ava was just about to share the finer points of what she’d learned in the past few days when Libby’s eyes went wide and Ava could tell she was no longer listening. She followed Libby’s gaze to the front door of Sparky’s and saw two young, attractive men in business suits enter the bar. “Shit,” she said, under her breath.

“Do you know them?” Libby asked.

“Not exactly,” Ava said.

“Well, I think you should then,” she said. “Good-looking men never walk into this bar. It’s a sign.”

“It’s a strange, random occurrence,” Ava said as she turned her back to the door and put her head down.

“It’s a sign,” Libby said. “And the single cannot afford to ignore the signs.”

“Really, Libby,” Ava said, but Libby had already begun waving frantically at the two young professionals. “What are you doing?”

“I’m married. I can make a complete fool of myself. Besides, complaining about your embarrassing friend is a great ice breaker.”

            Ava saw the men approaching and slunk even lower in her seat.

            “What brings you two to Sparky’s?” Libby said. “And, by the way, I’m Libby, and this is my incredibly talented and available friend Ava.”

            “Hi,” Ava said.

            Both men wore dark suits. The shorter one was  blond with brown eyes, and the other was a brunette with incredibly piercing blue eyes.

            “I’m Mark,” the blond said. “And we came to Sparky’s because we never thought we’d be discovered here.”

            “What a coincidence,” Libby said. “We like this little bar for the very same reason. Do you work around here?”

            “Not really,” Mark said. “But finding an old school air hockey machine isn’t as easy as it used to be.”

            “I had no idea,” Libby said. “And who’s your friend?”

            “I’m sorry,” the brunette said to Ava. “But do we know each other?’

            “I don’t think so,” Ava said, avoiding eye contact – which was pretty damn hard with the baby blues on that one.

            “Do you read Gloss magazine?” Libby said.

            “Sometimes,” the brunette said.

            “Ava here is the features editor, and I’m the beauty editor. Maybe you’ve seen our photos in the magazine.”

            “I don’t think that’s it,” the brunette said, and he continued to study Ava’s face.

            “Are you an animal lover? Ava’s always volunteering at some sort of Humane Society event or other.”

            “I do like animals, but that’s not it either.”

            “Where’d you go to school?” Libby said.

            “Geez, Libby,” Ava said. “Give it a rest already.”

            “That’s it,” the brunette said, “Now I know how I know you – you’re the one who called me a jackass in open court.”

            Libby turned to Ava, mouth open wide. Mark wore a similar facial expression.

            “Guilty as charged,” Ava said.

            “You called him a jackass?” Libby said. “In court?”

            “It’s a long story,” Ava said. “And, in fairness, you know it is one of my favorite words.”

            “I’m Eric, the jackass, by the way,” he said, extending his hand to Libby.

            “Nice to meet you,” Libby said.

            Eric turned and extended his hand to Ava. “Eric – in case you’d like to know how my friends usually refer to me.”

            “We like jackass, too,” Mark said.

            “Ava. Ava who can’t keep her mouth shut.”

            “It’s nice to meet you, Ava,” Eric said.

            “Is it too late for an apology?” Ava said.

            “It’s never too late for an apology, but I might mull it over a bit before accepting.”

            “Fair enough.” Ava couldn't help but think that this was just her luck. Not only did the stranger she insulted show up at her favorite bar -- making it forever again uninhabitable -- but he also had to be attractive, wedding ring-less and accompanied by an equally attractive friend.

            Mark and Libby seemed to think this exchange was just a hysterical and delightful way to begin a conversation, but Ava couldn’t get over her humiliation. And from the very little that Eric added to the group conversation, Ava was pretty sure that Eric didn’t think the incident from the day before was quite so funny either. Libby and Mark continued to talk about the upcoming college football season, city council elections and the latest in reality TV, but Ava found the first possible excuse to leave when she finished her drink.

            “Why such an early night?” Francis said as she paid her tab.

            “I just think it’s time to go before I do or say something I’ll regret,” Ava said. She left off the “else.”

            “Have a good night, sweetheart,” Francis said.

            “You too.”

            Ava felt Eric’s eyes boring a hole into the back of her head all the way out the door.

           

Chapter 6

“I miss my babies so much.” A woman with cropped brown hair was speaking from the head of long linoleum table. She wore a purple blouse and small, gold hoop earrings. As she continued speaking, tears sprang to her eyes. ‘I don’t even know how this happened. I’ve never done a thing wrong, but there has to be someone in the room when I spend time with my own children.”

            “I haven’t seen my kids since September,” a woman across the table with shoulder-length blonde hair said. “My ex keeps cancelling my visits, and no one does a damn thing about it.”

            Ava sat on the opposite end of the table from the brunette. Mexico Lindo 2 looked like any other Mexican restaurant you’d find in a strip mall. The décor was very red and green and horse-y (as in carved horses and painted horses covered every spare inch of wall space). While it wasn’t the best food Ava had ever had, she could see why this particular group liked the restaurant. Anonymity was a given. No one seemed to take any note of who came and went or what business was being conducted at the dining tables.

            “I know you’re all frustrated,” Rachel said. “There are plenty of reasons to be sad and angry about what’s happened, but if we want to do something about it, we’ve got to stay focused. How have you all helped your cases this week?”

            Ava wanted to take notes, but thought that might make her less approachable to the women of Divorce Busters, so she had decided just to listen this first time around. She had been anxious all day waiting for this meeting and this opportunity to pursue a real story, but now that she was here, Ava felt both a little sad and a little let down. These women were in real pain, and she felt for them. At the same time, a table of women at a Mexican Restaurant hardly seemed like the group to bring down corrupt judicial officials.

            “I’m looking into getting a new attorney,” a curvy brunette said. “Mine still hasn’t filed the appeal I requested nearly six months ago.”

            “And how are you looking for a new lawyer?” Rachel asked.

            “Well, I started by scratching off the names of any lawyer this group has.”

            The whole table laughed. “What’s most important right now is to stay the course,” Rachel said. “We are fighting an uphill battle, and this won’t be easy, but I do believe that together, and with dedication, we’ll be able to prove that the family court system is not doing right by women.”

            The woman with cropped brown hair spoke again. “But how?” she said. “We’ve been meeting at this crappy restaurant for months, and it seems like all I’ve accomplished is finding a place to cry every week and risking my job by making so many personal photocopies of my court documents. If paper and frustration were commodities, I’d have enough money to buy my kids back.”

            “That’s one of the reasons I’ve tried to expand our resources,” Rachel said. “I’d like to introduce you all to Ava Carson. She’s a reporter.”

            Ava had been buried in her half-eaten burrito and had a mouth full of tortilla and cheese when all eyes at the table turned to her. She had not expected to be introduced to the group, and she certainly hadn’t expected to be introduced to the group as a reporter.

            “I don’t want to get you ladies too excited, and I’ve told Ava that we’re not ready to go public yet, but I’m just so happy to have a reporter on our team,” Rachel said. “With her sources and resources, I’m sure we’ll get somewhere. We will be heard!”

            The women at the table clapped.

            “I can’t believe we have an actual reporter on our side,” the curvy brunette said.

            “What paper are you with?” the blonde asked.

            “I’m actually with Gloss magazine,” Ava said as she struggled to swallow the last of the bite still in her mouth. “And I’m more of an editor than a reporter.”

            “What other big stories have you worked on? Would I know your work?” Geena said.

            “Actually ….” Ava started her sentence, but was pretty sure that credits like 10 Ways to Lure Your Lover and  How to Get Red Wine Out of Most Anything wouldn’t do much for her cause.

            “Now, Ladies,” Rachel said, “There’s no need to overwhelm Ava right now. I’m sure she wants to get her bearings. Observe first, right Ava?”

            Ava nodded. It sounded like a good excuse to her.

            “When she’s ready, I’m sure she’ll want to interview all of you and see your documentation, but let’s let her move at her pace. All reporters have their own method, I’m sure.

Until we know how she wants to proceed, let’s go back to talking about your individual cases and progress until we have to get out of here.”

 

            Ava sat in stunned silence for the next half hour listening as the women at the table shared more details about their skewed custody arrangements, ex-husband troubles and seemingly unjust judge’s orders. Were these women telling the truth? What was the other side of the story? And, perhaps most importantly, what did this group expect from her now that Rachel had outed her as an interested and respected “reporter” of all things?

            When the group broke up for the evening, Ava pulled Rachel aside. “I thought you said we were going to keep my involvement in all this quiet?”

            “I know that’s what I said,” Rachel said. “But these women needed hope. And I’m so happy to have you here. Do you have any idea how many journalists have turned me down when I’ve tried to get them to take interest in this story?”

            What a great sign, Ava thought. She wished she’d known this last part before. “But, I don’t even know if I’m going to write a story about this, and if I do, I certainly don’t know what the story will be yet.”

            “Allright, allright, I get it,” Rachel said, winking at Ava, “you’re just here to hang out for now. There might not be a story.”

            “Exactly,” Ava said. “I’m not making a commitment to you or this story just yet.”

            “Of course, of course,” Rachel said. “No promises.” She smiled. “I can’t help the fact that I just have a feeling this is all going to work out.”

            “You can have all the feelings you want,” Ava said, “but you just said it – no promises.”

            “See you next week then?”

            “See you next week then,” Ava said and headed towards the door. Realizing she’d left her cardigan on the back of her chair from dinner, she turned around to go back to the table. As she stooped to reclaim her sweater, Ava left a hand brush against her shoulder. She looked up to see the blonde woman from Divorce Busters at her side.

            “I’m glad you’re here,” the blonde said.

            “Thank you for saying that,” Ava said, “but I was just telling Rachel that I’m not comfortable making any promises about the resources or attention I can offer right now.”

            The blonde nodded. “I’ve been so alone since they took my kids, any news is good news right now. And it looks to me like you have an honest, kind face.” Before Ava could say another word, the blonde was out the door.

 

            At home later that night, Ava pulled out her laptop to jot down a few details on the meeting at Mexico Lindo 2. She also made a note to ask Rachel about the married and maiden names of the women present that night. She might as well start looking into more of the details on these cases.

            Ava was also pretty sure that “real” journalists were supposed to leave their emotions at the door when looking into stories, but Ava couldn’t help but think about the blonde who had found her at the close of the meeting and the pain in her eyes.

            Whether the allegations of Divorce Busters were founded or not, people were being hurt, and if she could do anything about that pain, hell, it’d be more than she’d accomplished in two years at Gloss.  

Chapter 5

            After an extra long lunch and lots of retail therapy – retail therapy that still didn’t manage to erase the embarrassment of cursing out loud in a court of law and being chastised by an actual judge -- Ava returned to the office around 4:00 that afternoon.

            With Libby at the dentist and Harriet still tending to her spiritual duties, the building was nearly deserted.  Ava kicked off her shoes under the desk and sighed with relief that at least she had an hour to herself before the meeting with Harriet that would cap off an already fabulous day.

            “Knock, knock.”

            Ava looked up. “Hi, Bill.”

            “How’s your day going?”

            “Swimmingly.”

            “I hear you,” Bill said. “We avoided yet another network crash today.”

            “Oh, no,” Ava said. “Did something happen to my computer while I was gone? Do you think I lost any work?”

            “Ava, Ava, Ava,” Bill chuckled. “My job is a lot like national security. If you knew how close we came to a network crash every single day, you’d stop storing any information on the computer. Your machine is just fine.”

            “Thanks, Bill.” A comparison to national security? Ava didn’t have a response for that one.

            “Yep, every day is a battle against the viruses and spyware.” Bill looked the part of an IT geek in every way, shape and form. He wore pleated khakis and one of three short-sleeved, striped, button-down shirts every single day. He also wore glasses and was so stick thin, Ava was pretty sure she had at least 10 pounds on him.

            “I’m glad it’s your job and not mine. If I was in charge of tech in this office, we’d all be out of the publishing business within days.”

            “And the user errors … Don’t even get me started on the user errors.”

            Bill was lingering. Ava didn’t like lingering. “

            “Ted in accounting loves to play around with the program settings …”

            “Bill, I hate to interrupt, but I have a big meeting coming up soon.”

            “Of course, of course,” Bill said. “I didn’t mean to bend your ear. I’ve been a little shaken up all day. My ex called. She says she needs some space again.”

            Ava pushed her computer keyboard to the side. Even though this was the same spiel she’d heard over and over again for nearly a year, and she found Bill to be mostly annoying, she still didn’t have the heart to throw him out of her office. If nothing else, at least this should stave off her boredom until Harriet got back.

            “She wasn’t saying she needed space when I slept over on Saturday.”

            Dear Lord, this was not going to be an easy conversation. Then again, Ava knew all too well that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

 

            After 45 minutes of coddling and comforting, during which Ava yet again learned way too much about the personal life of her co-worker, Bill finally stood to leave.

            “You’re a good listener, Ava.”

            “Any time.”

            “I don’t know why some man hasn’t snatched you up yet.”

            “That makes two of us,” Ava said.

            Bill walked out of the door to Ava’s office, but then turned around.

            “Bill, I really do have to get some work done this afternoon.”

            “No, all this talk about Alyssa made me forget the real reason I came in her in the first place. They brought me some of your mail, and I thought you might want it back.”

            “Thanks, Bill.”

            “No problem.”

            Ava began to sift through the pile of papers. There were a few submissions from freelance writers, notices about conferences in the area. But, it was the society page of a local magazine that really caught her eye. There was a very familiar face in a group of photos from some ribbon-cutting or other, even if she had only seen that face just a few hours before.

            Mr. Stuart Newson, CEO of Dexco Industries, steps out on the town with a business associate.

            It was always nice to have a name to go with a face. And Ava also thought that the stunning brunette standing next to Mr. Newson didn’t look like any of the business associates she’d want her not-yet-ex-husband to have.  

           

Knowing she had about 30 minutes to spare before fighting traffic, Ava turned to her computer and searched for the Dexco Industries company home page.

            “Dexco Industries specializes in urban renewal and development. We strive to uplift and maintain standards for the community befitting progressive, modern neighborhoods. Where others see failure, we see opportunity.”

            Ava was pretty sure that all of the Dexco jargon meant Mr. Newson snapped up low-income housing or foreclosures and turned everything he saw into condos. Whatever the specifics of his industry, it seemed to be working for him. The Dexco site was credited to the top graphic design firm in town, and Ava recognized at least three condo developments Dexco had built she knew were well out of her price range (or that of anyone earning a salary less than the high six figures). Moving away from the main page, Ava clicked on About Us.

            “Stuart Newson, M.B.A. Wharton University, founded Dexco in 1994 after a successful 10-year career in commercial real estate … Dexco was a family-run company for the first 15 years of its existence … In 2009, Mr. Newson decided to take Dexco public and Eleanor Franklin, M.B.A. Columbia University, joined the company as CFO …”

            A quick glance at the latest company portrait allowed Ava to confirm that Eleanor Franklin was indeed the attractive brunette socializing and working with Ryan Newson’s husband. Ava also couldn’t help but wonder about the switch from a “family-run company” to a public entity. She had a sneaking suspicion Ryan did a lot of uncredited work getting Dexco off the ground, and somehow managed to lose her marriage and much of her career to her husband’s ambitions.

            Ava would have loved to spend more time on the Internet, but a quick glance at the clock told her there was somewhere else she needed to be.   

Chapter 4

            The next morning, Ava walked into her office, sat down behind the desk, opened a Diet Coke and pulled up her e-mail inbox.

            Just a friendly reminder about Boss’ Day. – Harriet

            Lose belly fat fast!!! – skinnyminny465768

            Ava, my group gave me the OK. See you at Mexico Lindo 2 tomorrow night. – Rachel

            Ava leaned back in her chair. Could this really go somewhere? Would she actually be able to tell a real story?

“Oh, Ava!”

            Ava looked around her small office and realized, for the umpteenth time, that she still didn’t have a proper escape route. There were so many reasons to have an office with a window that had nothing to do with status or daylight.

            “Oh, Ava, there you are,” Harriet said. “I’ve been looking for you.” Harriet was dressed in a black pant suit. There was no silk scarf today, but there was a beret. When Harriet cocked her head after addressing Ava, the beret looked like it could slide off at any moment.

            “Well, you found me,” Ava said. “In my office.”

            “Now you’re in your office,” Harriet said. “I don’t think you were here 10 minutes ago.”

            “Sorry, I couldn’t find a thing to wear this morning,” Ava said, attempting to excuse her seven minutes of tardiness.

            Harriet looked Ava up and down from the waist up as Ava stayed seated behind her desk. “I can see how that would be a problem for you,” she said. “But it’s been a long morning without my number two you know.”

            She probably forgot where the power button was to her computer again, Ava thought. “I can’t apologize enough,” Ava said. “What did you need?”

            “I wanted to move our meeting up. The temple called and there’s no one to manage the office during today’s yoga retreat.” Harriet was an occasional Buddhist. “I’ve got to get out there, but since you weren’t around, I’ll guess we’ll have to move our meeting back. How does 5:30 work for you?”

            “Nothing like an end of the work day meeting,” Ava said. “I’ll see you then.”

            “Wonderful, I figured you didn’t have plans.”

            Ava forced a smile.

            “And plan on staying a little late, I’ve had some thoughts on cleaning solutions since we spoke last.’

            The forced smile became a grimace.

            “Toodles!”

            Without the go-ahead for any of her upcoming projects or stories and no idea what Harriet’s new ideas were, Ava soon realized her day would be emptier than most. She picked up the phone.

            “This is Libby.”

            “The cat’s away. How about a ridiculously long lunch followed by makeovers at the MAC counter?”

            “No can do,” Libby said. “Sorry to let you down kiddo, but I’ll be spending my lunch break and most of the afternoon in Dr. Dickson’s chair getting a new crown.”

            “No fair,” Ava said.

            “That’s me being selfish again. I planned my day around novacaine and drilling just to frustrate you.”

            “There’ll be gas involved. Don’t act like it’s all pain and suffering.”

            “Fair enough.”

            “OK, I’ll go back to being bored now.”

            “Sorry, Ava.”

            “I’ll make do.” She put down the phone and went back to her computer screen. Nine hours left until the meeting with Harriet, and Ava had no solitaire, no Libby and no Facebook access.

            Then she re-read the e-mail from Rachel. If these women really were losing their kids because of corruption in the judicial system, they deserved someone to tell their story. And they deserved someone to tell their story well. Ava was about as far removed from her days at journalism school as she thought she could be, but she still knew she owed this lead far more than a Google search. There had to be another way to find out more about Jack Shaw.

            The city courthouse was only a few blocks away. Ava grabbed her purse and locked her computer screen. It was time for a field trip.

 

            The courthouse was an attractive enough building. The façade was crafted of limestone that could use a good pressure wash, but the six-story structure seemed formidable. Once Ava was inside, surrounded by marble and the echo of footsteps down the long tiled hallways, she felt like someone was watching her and that every move was being scrutinized. This was not a building she’d ever try to escape.

            Ava was also intimidated by the metal detectors. While she knew that she had every right to be in this public building, she still expected someone to pull her out of line: “You’re the woman who wants to write bad, bad things about us,” she imagined the guard screaming. “Straight to lock-up!”

            Instead, Ava passed through the screening without even making eye contact with anyone and went on her way. She studied the directory and she learned that family court was on the 4^th floor. She boarded the elevator.

            Stepping out on the fourth floor, Ava felt another wave of intimidation. What was she doing here after all? She wasn’t a real reporter. She didn’t cover beats. And she was no good with confrontation or tough questions. She couldn’t even ask her ex-boyfriends where they saw the relationship going.

            Ava could pretend all she wanted that it was just circumstance that had landed her at Gloss magazine, but it was a case of fear, too. She went to the water fountain hoping that something cool to drink would calm her nerves and give her time to think.

            “You know what he’s up to, don’t you?” Ava heard a woman behind her raising his voice. “Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’ll say whatever it takes to hurt me.”

            “Ryan, you have to calm down.” It was a man’s voice this time. “If you lose your temper, you’re not going to help yourself or your kids. Let’s step back for a second.”

            Ava kept her head down but turned it slightly to get a better look at the two people in conversation. Both were standing just a few feet away by the window.

            “You heard what they said in there.” The woman was practically screaming now. Even with her face twisted in anger, she was very pretty. Her blonde hair was cut in a bob, her skin seemed flawless, and her tailored suit couldn’t have been anything over a size four.

            “It’s a custody trial, Ryan,” the man said. “I tried to warn you that a lot of nasty things were going to be said. But, we haven’t called a single witness yet. You have to trust my trial strategy.” The man, who Ava took to be an attorney, was quite nice looking as well. At just over six feet tall, he had a rounder face, broad shoulders and dark brown hair. Both wore the dark suits one expected to find inside a courthouse – or at a funeral.

            “This is about your kids, Ryan,” the man went on. “Take a couple of deep breaths, and we’ll get back in there. There are only two minutes left to this recess, and Judge Shaw watches the clock like a hawk.”

            “OK, Eric. I’m paying you the big bucks for a reason, I guess.”

            “Or, the not so big bucks, as the case may be.” The woman finally cracked a smile.

            Ava couldn’t believe her luck. Thank God for her anxiety attack – it had landed her in just the right spot for observing Jack Shaw. When she stood up completely, Ava saw a slightly older gentleman standing down the hall. He was graying and tall, but would still be able to turn plenty of heads. Next to him, was a label-clad blonde woman – Gucci bag, Chanel suit, Christian laboutin heels. Ava recognized the clothes from a fashion story she’d researched in the fall. At least a half dozen men in suits and well-dressed women stood nearby. She guessed that the soon to be ex-husband of agitated Ryan was somewhere in the crowd. Unlike Ryan and her attorney, the group down the hall smiled often and even let out the occasional giggle. 

            “Court will resume.” A bailiff had entered the hall, and the first two people Ava had eavesdropped on walked into the courtroom. Ava waited until the husband’s entourage made it down the hall, and then did her best to appear as if she was with the gaggle of friends and relatives. Sure, there was a clear difference in dress and socio-economic level, but maybe she could pass for their charity case of the week. She wandered in just behind the last label-clad woman and took a seat in the last row on the plaintiff’s side.

            “All rise. Court is now in session.”

            An attractive man in his mid-forties entered the room. “Judge Jack Shaw presiding.” Even 20 years after his college hey day, Ava could see why her sister had has such a crush on Mr. Shaw.  He was blond, blue-eyed and had the lean look of your typical Golden Boy. Ava flashed on Robert Redford’s character in The Way We Were almost immediately.

            “Now, where were we?” the judge said.

            “Your honor, for the sake of my client’s time and that of the court, I see no reason to go on with these proceedings,” the husband’s attorney said. “My client is an excellent parent, and the defendant, well, isn’t.”

            “Objection,” the wife’s attorney rose. “I hardly think it’s fair to assume anyone is an unfit parent at this point in the hearing.”

            “I think it’s unfair to allow these poor children to spend one more minute wondering if they’ll have to live with … with that.” The attorney pointed towards the mother.

            “So, it’s better to send them home with a drunk?”

            “Now, now Mr. Stevens, you are an officer of this court, and I expect you to behave as such,” Judge Shaw said.

             “Yes, your honor,” the defendant’s attorney said. “It’s just so hard to sit here and listen to the plaintiff’s near canonization of this man.”

            “Your honor,” the plaintiff’s attorney said.

            “I just can’t help but think that Mr. Newson didn’t attract all of those girlfriends by being a great father who was home every night with the kids.”

            “Objection!”

            “We could always ask the doc who prescribes all of his painkillers what he thinks.”

            Judge Shaw raised his gavel.

            “What a prick.”

            A hush fell over the court, and all eyes turned to the back of the room.

            “Is there something you’d like to add, young lady?”

            Ava turned around as well.

            “Young lady?” Judge Shaw stared directly at Ava. 

            “Was that out loud?” Ava tried to smile.

            “It was indeed,” he said. “Would you care to say something? I’m more than happy to give you the floor.”

            “I’m fine,” Ava said. “Really.”

            “Are you an attorney, Miss?”

            “No, sir.”

            “So, your business here would be?”

            “Observation.”

            “I see,” the judge said. “Well, then if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you could observe without commentary.’

            “Yes, sir.”

            “And I’d also like to get back to presiding over my court now, if that’s OK with you, of course.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Well, everyone, it looks like we can get back to the actual business at hand now. Maybe we could all focus on the law and the welfare of a family, here?”

            Everyone in the courtroom nodded.

            Ava gathered her things and moved as inconspicuously as possible towards the door. So much for her stealthy field work. Just before Ava slunk out of the room, she turned around and saw that Eric Stevens was staring at her.

            She guessed that calling someone a prick wasn’t exactly the best way to make friends. Oh well, at least there was one more piece of advice for her next relationship column.   

Chapter 3

            Back at the office, Ava decided to turn to her most-trusted research tool, the ace in the hole for any investigative journalist: Google.com.

            As she typed jack shaw’s name into the search field, she sipped her third Diet Coke of the day and kicked her shoes off under her desk.

            “Jack Shaw – technology specialist.”

            “Jack Shaw – Sculptor.”

            “Jack Shaw Ministries International.”

            Ava realized that she should have known better than to type such a common name into the world’s largest search engine. She tried again with “judge jack shaw,” “jack shaw family court” and “jack shaw springfield.” Finally, some results came through that seemed like they might be on the right track.

            “Judge Jack Shaw takes home state bar award ...”

            “Jack Shaw endorses Myers for Governor ...”

            “Former college tennis star finds success on another court ...”

            Now Ava knew why the name had sounded familiar when Rachel mentioned it over coffee. Jack Shaw wasn’t just a judge, he’s been a great tennis player. Ava had heard about him from her older sisters who were at the state university around the same time. Lily, her oldest sister, referred to him as “dashing” and even nursed a crush for some of her sophomore year. If Ava remembered correctly, Jack Shaw even played on the pro circuit for awhile, maybe even made it to the opening rounds of the U.S. Open.

            “Family Court Judge Jack Shaw knows that love can mean nothing ...”

            Ava groaned over the umpteenth cheesy tennis metaphor. These were the kinds of headlines she herself would have written and then hung her head in shame.

            From what she gathered, this Jack Shaw was the same local hero and golden boy she’d remembered. Scholar Athlete at State. A couple of respectable, but not stellar years trying to play pro. Law review. Family practice. Married to a former homecoming queen. Appointed to a judge’s seat three years prior. The perfect squeaky clean, everybody-loves-him politician type.

            “Are you going to kill me now or save the fate for later so you can torture me some more?”

            Ava looked up to see Libby standing in the door.

            “Kill you?”

            “For making you have coffee and listen to story ideas from some whacko?”

            “It wasn’t that bad.”

            “Not that bad?” Libby said. “Have you traded rage for making me feel guilty?”

            “No, really,” Ava said. “It wasn’t that bad. I actually kind of enjoyed it.”

            “You?” Libby said. “You enjoyed talking to a stranger? About the magazine?’

            “Yes, I did,” Ava said. “She had some interesting things to say.”

            “Hmph. Well, I guess I don’t owe you that bottle of wine after all.”

            “I wouldn’t go that far,” Ava said. “Any chance I can redeem that IOU tonight?”

            “No can do.” Ava heard a lower pitched voice coming from the hall. “My wife is mine tonight. You’ll have to pick another time for complaining about me and solving the world’s problems.’

            “Hi Jake,” Ava said. “I didn’t know you were back there.”

            “I decided to surprise Libby with dinner and a movie tonight,” Jake said. “I thought she might enjoy a little pampering.” Ava never thought musician-loving, late-night-partying Libby would ever fall for a balding accountant with two children from a previous marriage, but Jake and Libby had seemed to be the picture of happiness throughout their two-year union.

            “Aren’t you a little early for that?” Ava said. “Most people wait until the end of the work day for surprises. You two going to play hookey?”

            “Hardly, it’s 5:30 Ava,” Libby said. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

            “I didn’t realize,” she said. Ava looked at the clock on her computer’s monitor. She couldn’t believe she’d spent the past four hours looking up info on Jack Shaw.

            “I’d ask you to join us Ava,” Jake said. “But I have devious intentions for our date once the movie is done.”

            “Say no more,” Ava said. “You two love birds ought to get out of here. I’d hate to have to hear any more graphic details.”

            “I’ll get you that bottle of wine,” Libby said. “I promise. Maybe Wednesday?”

            “Maybe Wednesday,” Ava said. “Now go have fun.”

            Libby winked at Ava as Jake put his arm on the small of her back and guided her away from Ava’s office.

            “Yeah,” Jake called. “Maybe Wednesday.”

            Turning back to her screen, Ava book marked a few key pages that she wanted to re-visit in the morning. Then she checked her bank balance to make sure there was enough cash for a quick run to the Publix on the way home. Milo the wonder dog needed more dog chow, and his owner could use some red wine even if there was no one to share it with.

            Last but not least, Ava sent Harriet an e-mail to remind her of a Friday meeting. Ava couldn’t care less about the meeting, but she wanted Harriet to have an e-mail from her with a time stamp so close to 6:00 p.m. Harriet thought of that as dedication.

            Then she shut down the computer and headed home. 

 

“Hi Honey, I’m home.” Ava pushed the door shut behind her, dropped her purse and grocery bags on the entry table and bent down for all of the kisses Milo had to give.

            “Hello Mister Milo. Did you miss Mommy?” Milo, the ultimate mutt, sat happily at Ava’s feet and wagged his tail. “Mommy brought you something special from the grocery store.” Ava picked her grocery bags back up and proceeded down the hallway of her apartment to the kitchen in the back.

            Ava uncorked a bottle of cabernet, popped a Lean Cuisine in the microwave and put a new rawhide bone in front of Milo, after making him sit for it.

            “That’s my boy,” she said, rubbing the top of Milo’s head before her ran off to the living room, new bone in tow.

            “You’re all the man I need Milo Carson,” Ava said, in her usual custom of talking out loud to the dog. “Libby may have a husband, but I doubt he’s nearly as obedient as you.”

            Ava put the rest of her groceries away – cheese cubes, pretzels, Snackwell’s cookies and a 12-pack of Diet Coke – and grabbed her microwaved lasagna and glass of wine to join Milo on the couch.

            After an hour or so of VH1 programming, Ava grabbed her laptop. She couldn’t imagine that the Internet only had good things to say about Jack Shaw. The Internet didn’t only have good things to say about anyone. 

For 19 search pages, she read about Judge Shaw’s athletic past, his numerous honors and generous charity affiliations. “The golden boy shines again, Milo,” Ava said just before she took another sip of her wine. 

            It wasn’t until the 20^th Google search page that Ava stumbled upon a story sharing any different information about Judge Shaw. The article itself was no more than a few sentences, and it was buried in a slew of Metro briefs from two years ago.

Due to a family illness, Judge Jack Shaw of the 3^rd district family court plans to take a six week leave of absence from his seat. A replacement to handle his caseload in the mean time will be named within the week, court officials say.

            Ava thought about what kind of family illness would cause a man to take time away from a time-consuming and high profile career. Cancer? Was he sick? His wife?

            Ava kept reading and discovered that the paper’s online format allowed for comments on most all of the stories, no matter how mundane. And, there it was. The fourth comment on the story, after two spam messages and a seemingly unrelated plug for one of the state’s college football teams, was about Judge Jack Shaw.

DMP2642 wrote: I hope Jack Shaw’s vacation is permanent. That man needs to be removed from the bench. I never see my children. They’re always with their father. I worry that he hits them -- like he used to hit me.

            “Aha,” Ava said out loud to no one but Milo the Wonder Dog again. Maybe there was something to this story after all. As Ava read DMP2642’s last comments, she already knew that following this lead was about more than her off-course career.

No one will listen to me. I need help – for me and my children. Can’t anyone out there do something?

 

Chapter 2

“A grande non-fat latte please,” Ava said. She scanned the tables at Starbucks while she waited on her order. A guy with wire-rimmed glasses on his laptop in the corner. Two thirty-somethings in tennis skirts poring over a photo album by the window. Emo kids with purple hair in the back. So far, no one on in the coffee shop even remotely fit the bill of the contact Libby had described.

“So what am I looking for when I meet this coffee date of yours?”

            “I’ve never met her, but she’ll probably be a soccer mom, but not a soccer mom, if you know what I mean,” Libby had said. “Think corporate suit meets minivan. At least, that’s the impression I got from her e-mails.

            One she got her coffee, Ava took a seat by the sugar station and pulled a notebook from her purse. With one eye on the door, she scanned her to-do list to pass the time.

1. Research for Harriet: “Could separate bedrooms be the key to putting passion back in your marriage?”

2. Dog food.

3. Purpose.

            One and two were easy. Three was going to pose a problem. Especially for the features editor of Gloss magazine. Ava never could seem to find much purpose in writing about throw pillows or the perfect holiday cocktail.

            “Libby?”

            The spell of Ava’s ennui was broken, and she looked up to see an attractive woman in her early 40s. Slim, with shoulder-length brown hair and dark eyes, the woman before her looked both professional and stylish in a black pantsuit with a chunky green necklace and teardrop earrings.

            “Libby Weathers?”

            “I’m Ava, Libby’s colleague.”

            “You seemed like you were a reporter, but I wasn’t sure who to look for.”

            “Libby wanted to be here, but something came up,” Ava said. She never thought of herself as looking like a reporter. Actually, she didn’t even think of herself as a reporter. Lifestyles journalism seemed to put her far, far away from the Pulitzer she’d once dreamed of in college. “I’ll do my best to fill Libby’s shoes. If that’s OK with you, of course.”

            “I think that should be just fine. I’m Rachel. Rachel Merriweather.”

            “It’s very nice to meet you Rachel. I’m Ava Carson.”

            “And what do you do with the magazine, Ava?” Rachel said.

            “I’m the features editor.”

            “Features? Very nice.”

            “It’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds.”

            “Still. For a magazine, and at your age.”

            At 29, Ava was somewhat young for her position, but in truth, she just looked far younger than her age. With a round face and a disposition towards ponytails and lip gloss rather than coifed locks and eye liner, most people guessed her to be no more than a few years out of college.

            “I’m grateful to be where I am,” Ava said, cutting her eyes to avoid eye contact. “Would you like to sit down and we’ll talk about your situation?”

            “That sounds lovely,” Rachel said.

            “Libby didn’t give me too many details about this meeting.”

            “I wanted to talk about story ideas,” Rachel said. “I just discovered your magazine, and I have so many great ideas for articles.”

            “Wonderful,” Ava said. No wonder Libby had shirked this meeting off onto her. She was going to owe Ava far more than a bottle of wine. There was little Ava disliked more than listening to other people’s story ideas. She thought of it as the poor man’s version of being in the movie business. Everyone had the next big idea to share.

            “Safe food. That’s a good one. People want to know how not to get salmonella.” – her pharmacist.

            “What your dreams mean. I had this one about my third grace science teacher the other night ...” – a terrible first date.

            “What about a story on online dating for the overly picky?” – her mother.

            “Divorce,” Rachel said. Then she paused and Ava wasn’t sure whether or not she expected shock and awe from her or just needed a breath.

            “What about divorce?” Ava said.

            “Oh, anything and everything.”

            Ava sighed. The odds that this woman really had an angle for a story on divorce that no other woman’s magazine had covered? Slim to none.

            “I thought it might make for a good series.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “There could be profiles of divorced women. What happened to them. What their ex-husbands did. How they’re doing now.”

            “I see.”

            “There could even be more practical stories – how to file for divorce, what assets you’re entitled to, who the good lawyers are.”

            “Yep,” Ava said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you telling me what you do. Why are you son interested in this topic?”

            “Well, I’m a divorced woman myself,” Rachel said.

            Surprise, surprise, Ava thought.

            “I also council a lot of divorced women through my non-profit. I help women get back on their feet after divorce – find apartments, get property back in their names.”

            “A non-profit?”

            “We’re called Divorce Busters.”

            “And the money?”

            “Well, I do most of the funding myself. I’ve fared well in my divorces, but I thought that some greater exposure for the organization might mean I could expand, take on some more clients, get outside funding.”

“I see. And that’s where the magazine stories come in, right?”

            “Exactly.”

            Something else that Ava had learned during her time in magazines was that most people didn’t know the difference between “stories” and “free advertising.”

            “You would not believe some of the stuff going on in the court system around here. There are so many women in this town fighting tooth and nail just to see their own kids.”

            Probably the ones too busy dallying with the pool boy and taking too many prescriptions, Ava imagined. “I guess there are just as many unfit mothers here as there are elsewhere.”

            “Oh, it’s not unfit mothers,” Rachel said.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Men are getting more and more power in the courts.”

            “Isn’t that a good thing? We can’t ask for equal rights and then be upset when we see the downside of our own equality.”

            “It’s not a balanced power.”

            “I don’t think I see your point.”

            “Some of the divorced women I counsel haven’t done a thing wrong. They’ve stayed home for years. They make lunches, drive carpool and teach Sunday school. But for some reason, none of it matters when they get before the judge.”

            “There must be something else going on. Secret affairs? Addiction?”

            “Nope, none of that,” Rachel said. “One woman I met lost her kids because she was told it would be too traumatic to break the strong bond the kids had built with dad during baseball season.”

            “How can that be?”

            “That’s the same question I’ve been asking for the last six months.”

            Ava flipped to a new page in her notebook and began scribbling down notes: lost custody, local courts, not unfit. “What else do you know?” she said.

            “I’ve seen at least three or four mothers who lost primary custody of their children to their exes – men with full-time careers, some who even had affairs. The first woman I met without her kids, I was suspicious. I figured there was something she wasn’t telling me,” Rachel said. “But, by the time I met the fourth woman, I was more trusting.”

            “Is there anything these women share? The same attorney? Something from the past?”

            “I’m glad you asked that,” Rachel said. “They’ve all had to appear before Judge Jack Shaw.”

            Ava stopped writing. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

            “I’m saying that I believe there is corruption in the family court system. I haven’t figured out the specifics, but I know something isn’t right.”

            “What’s your next move?”

            “Off the record?”

            “Off the record.”

            “Every other week, these women and I get together. They bring their court documents. We’re trying to establish a paper trail. When we have proof that something is wrong, I want to go public.”

            “Media public?”

            “Media public,” Rachel said, her voice lowered. “But we’re not there yet, and I don’t want to risk giving anyone time to destroy evidence or cover their tracks.”

            Ava’s head was spinning. This could be an actual story. A story that would affect people’s lives, that would get people thinking, something that might matter. But what were the odds that an actual news-worthy story would just drop into her lap at a Starbucks on a Monday afternoon? And why was this woman so willing to spill her guts? She should be giving a real reporter these kinds of details

            “I’d love to meet these women, if you don’t mind,” Ava said. “I wouldn’t print anything before you said it was OK.”

            “If I can trust you,” Rachel said, “I think that might be a good idea. Let me talk to my partners in crime and see how they feel about it. If they give the go ahead, clear your calendar for this Wednesday at 6:30. I’ll tell you the location once I know it’s all kosher.”

            “That sounds great to me,” Ava said. Then she glanced at her watch and realized that an hour had passed since she left the office. Harriet didn’t like Ava to have too many lengthy excursions during the day, even if the intent was business. “I have to rush back to the office -- my editor will have my head if I don’t scoot on back.”

            “Of course, of course,” Rachel said. “I can’t believe you could take time out of your busy schedule on such short notice. Thank you so much.”

            Ava smiled. She wished she was as busy as everyone always assumed she was. “It’s been lovely to meet you.”

            “And you as well.”

            “Here’s my card. I’d really like to keep having this conversation with you. I hope we can help each other out.”

            “Me too,” Rachel said. She tucked Ava’s card in her purse. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to visit the restroom before I leave. I’ll be in touch.”

            Rachel walked to the back of the coffee shop while Ava headed for the door. She knew better than to get her hopes up, but Ava’s hopes had often been her Achilles Heel. Maybe that Pulitzer wasn’t such a pipe dream after all.

 

Chapter 1

            “Out of my way jackass,” Ava called as she honked and passed a silver Audi. She sailed through the intersection just as the light turned red.
            “Your rude gesture doesn’t scare me either.” Ava said. She could see the Audi’s irate driver flipping her off in her rear view mirror. “Learn to drive and we’ll talk,” she screamed. Then she took a quick look at her passenger side window to make sure that it wasn’t cracked open. 
            Five minutes later, Ava pulled into the parking lot outside of her office building. 8:58 a.m. If she sprinted up the stairs, she should have time to grab a cold Diet Coke before joining the rest of the staff in the conference room for Monday’s planning meeting.
            If she didn’t rush up the stairs, she’d have to skip the Diet Coke or endure Harriet’s interrogation as a punishment for tardiness. Harriet was a big fan of punctuality, and since Harriet lacked both an understanding of appropriate eye contact and a sense of humor, these grillings were the bane of Ava’s existence.
            “How would you romance a new lover, Ava?”
            “What do you think women most want to know about the cervix?”
            “Is douching really a generational issue?”
            As the features editor for the regional women’s magazine, Gloss, Ava’s working life revolved around women’s issues. Only, when she’d taken the job, she hoped for more women’s political causes, business advice and health concerns. What she’d gotten was terrible puns on that time of the month, too many headlines containing the word “diva” and many, many manuscripts on potty training.
            And Harriet.
            “Nice of you to join us, Ava,” Harriet said. She stood at the helm of the large conference table, a cup of herbal tea in hand. “Rolling out of bed at the last minute again?” Now Ava was stuck with Harriet’s attention and without a Diet Coke.
            “Sorry,” Ava said, “traffic was a nightmare.”
            “Well, as the last arrival, why don’t you jump start the meeting. Let’s have an Ava-led affirmation everyone.” Harriet kept her bleached hair in a bob that went just below her chin. Her skin was ivory and she often wore tapered pants, flats and a knit turtleneck with a silk scarf draped over one shoulder for some color.
            As Ava reached out to grab the hands of the co-workers to her right and left, she spotted Libby rolling her eyes across the room and stifled a laugh. “I want this week to be a positive one,” Ava said as she began the patented Harriet-enforced affirmations. “I strive to be the best features editor I can be. I will help my brothers and sisters as we work and live together.” Then she squeezed the hand of Steve on her right, signaling that it was his turn to add some work or personal goal to the group discussion.
            Ava couldn’t remember if Harriet had picked up this predisposition towards affirmations and anything that sounded like a Successory during her time at the ashram in India or on one of her “spiritual retreats” somewhere in California wine country. Regardless, she wasn’t a fan.
            Once everyone in the room had contributed to the circle of trust, Harriet resumed the meeting.
            “Wonderful,” she said. “Now what do we all think about the placenta this morning?”

            An hour later, the meeting was over, and Ava tried her hardest to be the first one out of the conference room, as per usual.
            “Oh, Ava,” Harriet said, calling her back into the room. “Since you were so relaxed about your arrival time this morning, I assume you’re not very stressed about that housekeeping story you’ve been working on.”
            “No, no, not stressed at all,” Ava said. “It’s coming right along.”
            “Wonderful. I’d like to see it in my inbox within the hour.”
            “Of course, Harriet.”
            Ava picked up her step and dashed down the hall to her office. The more time she spent in the hallway, the more time she had for Harriet to ask questions or for Bill the IT guy to corner her and ask for advice on his on and off girlfriend of eight years.
            “You know, Bill” she’d told him once. “Just because I write about dating doesn’t mean I know how to do it.”
            “But she keeps telling me she loves me, but isn’t in love with me,” he’d drone on. “Do you think she’s only in it for the sex?”
            “Again, Bill, in my case, those who can’t do, write.”
            Once she was tucked behind her desk, Ava switched on her monitor and stared at the half-finished story she’d been working on for a week.
            Spring Cleaning for the Sassy       
            Ava groaned at her own creation. She also died a little on the inside knowing how much Harriet would love this title.       
It's the time of year to throw open the windows and sweep beneath the rugs. Gloss brings you seven ways to instantly feel like you've conquered the mess and dirt in your home.
        1. Holiday Hangover
Holiday stress is tough, and we all have our excuses for not getting all of our chores done. However, if it's time for spring cleaning and you have the remaining vestige of any holiday other than Easter in your home, it's time for it to go. There should be no jack-o-lanterns, pilgrims, Christmas trees, Valentine's hearts or St. Patty's clovers evident in your home once it's April.
        2. Paper Pandemonium
From junk mail to the reminders you write yourself about picking up the dry cleaning or buying more milk, your house is probably a refuge for lost papers and publications. As you're spring cleaning, it's time to toss the old magazines, newspapers, catalogs, circulars and assorted scraps that amass on the counters and tabletops of your home. We promise you won't miss your November copies of "People" magazine come July.
        3. Pantry Peace
Surely you're all too familiar with the adage that if you haven't worn an article of clothing in a year, then it's time to toss it. The same is true of your pantry. Old foodstuffs are only taking up valuable space in your cupboards. Combine dry pastas and rice if you have too many half-empty boxes and bags, and feel free to toss food gifts you know you'll never consume. If you didn't like fruit cake this past Christmas, you're probably never going to enjoy it.
        4. A Rank Refrigerator
It's always a good idea to periodically check the fridge for old take-out or spoiled milk, but when you're spring cleaning, take special time to clean underneath and behind your refrigerator. Cleaning the coils behind your refrigerator actually saves energy and shaves dollars off your monthly utilities. And those of us who tend to snack standing up might see how crumbs and other bits of food could find themselves underneath the fridge, growing and rotting one day at a time …
            It wasn’t that Ava couldn’t finish the story. It’s just that she didn’t really want to. Every since she’d written “Cat Scratch Fever: Furry felines sure to bring fun to your life,” her will to live had been dwindling by the day. But the awkward eye contact and after-work meeting that would come along with not meeting a Harriet deadline were hardly worth this kind of pain.
            She began to type:
        5. Range Residue
        Ah, the rule of journalism no one taught her in school: when all else fails, turn to alliteration.
Have you ever started cooking dinner only to realize that some of the odors coming from your kitchen have nothing to do with what's on the evening's menu? Just as food can find its way underneath the fridge and cabinets, crumbs fall down into your burners as well. (Not to mention the sauce spills that happen there.) Cleaning your oven and your range is an absolute necessity for a clean and pleasant-smelling kitchen.
            “I only wish you had just rolled out of bed right before the meeting. Maybe that would have meant someone was sharing yours.”
            Ava looked up to see Libby leaning against the doorjamb. “Other than Milo the wonder dog, no, there has been no one in my bed,” Ava said.
            “A girl can dream, can’t she?” Libby moved inside Ava’s office and shut the door. “Sometimes I think you don’t date just so you won’t have to hear Harriet ask about ‘your lover.’”
            “Ha ha,” Ava said, tossing a balled up sticky note in Libby’s direction. “I thought best friends were supposed to be supportive, not snarky.”
            “Please,” Libby said, “like you could handle having a best friend who wasn’t at least half as cynical as you.” With her red hair and hazel eyes, Libby was a truly beautiful girl. Today, she’d worn a green dress with patterned hose and heels. Ava was in her standard twin set and slacks. Whether they were in the office or at happy hour, Ava often thought of Libby as the Ginger to her Mary Anne. Only, in their world, the Professor always wanted Libby, too.
            “True enough.”
            “Hard at work or hardly working?” Libby said.
            “The usual,” Ava said. “Hardly working.”
            “Hold on just a sec.” Ava went back to typing.
        6. Window Wipe-Downs
Let all the light of spring in by giving your windows the royal treatment. Clean them on the inside and the outside. Wipe down the sills. Get between the glass and the screen to clear out the cobwebs. Do it for summer's mosquitoes and houseflies – they want a clean place to die.
            A moment later, she erased the last sentence. Harriet rarely appreciated the macabre.
            “Still letting your existential crisis interfere with your ability to serve the women of Gloss magazine?” Libby said.
            “Just a little,” Ava said. “Trust me, I wish I could be happy only writing about this stuff. Life would be a lot simpler.”
            “One thing life isn’t is simple,” Libby said. “Plus, you’d find a way to make anything complicated and meaningful and tortured. It’s just in your nature.”
            “That’s what makes me a good writer,” Ava said.
            “Yeah, yeah, I know that your deep thinking makes your writing better. I just don’t think it helps you keep a boyfriend.”
            “The right boyfriend will like me for exactly who I am.”
            “Yes,” Libby said, “but when who you are keeps you home on the weekends reading and researching literary journals, it’s going to be really hard to meet that perfect boyfriend. Unless he’s a delivery guy for Amazon.com and literally knocks on your door, I don’t know how he’s going to find you.”
            “Enough already,” Ava said. “Did you come in here only to harass me about my love life?”
            “That and I wanted to say how meaningful your Monday morning affirmation was to me.”
            Ava glared.
            “But seriously, I’ve got a favor to ask. There’s some woman who I made a coffee date with, something about divorced women, potential stories, blah, blah. Anyway, I said I could meet her at lunch today, but this list of summer camp tips isn’t going to write itself.
            “Why me? You know I don’t like people.”
            “Yeah, I know. No people, no small talk, no Republicans ... But, if I know you, you’ll finish your story for this week and the next by noon. I think you can tear yourself away from celebrity gossip and dreaming of better jobs for an hour or so. Some of us have to work for our ideas. For some of us, this is a struggle.”
            Ava looked at her nearly complete housekeeping story and knew that “Color Your Mood: An in-depth look at your wardrobe and how it affects your happiness and success” wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.
            “Please.”
            “Oh, Libby.”
            “Pretty please.”
            “Fine,” Ava said. “Send me the details, and I’ll take care of the meet and greet.”
            “You’re the best.”
            “Yeah, yeah. You owe me.”
            “Agreed. Our next bottle of wine is on me.”   
            Libby opened the door and left Ava’s office. “I don’t want you to have time to change your mind,” she called from the hallway. “Thanks again.”
            Ava went back to her computer screen.
        7. Product Pile-up
Unfortunately, all of the elements and tools meant to keep our houses clean can actually cause too much clutter and mess themselves. Pare down to one mop and one broom. Get rid of cleaning supplies that only have a few drops left in the bottle and combine same cleaners if you have multiples. Also, unless you have an army of help, there's no need for bags and bags of rags when a few hearty cloths will do.
            Her 600 words finished for the week, Ava looked over the story one last time, attached it in an e-mail to Harriet and hit send.