Page 138 of Ten Years and Then…
Nora, a few minutes later
Julia stood in front of the bathroom mirror, smoothing over the same fall of blonde hair over and over again, as though she was on autopilot. Nora walked up to her slowly, expecting the girl to notice her approaching in the mirror, but it wasn’t until she put a hand on Julia’s shoulder that she got a reaction.
“What?” She whirled around at the touch, her face dissolving into a mix of shame and terror when she realized who was there. “Ms. Langley! I’m sorry, I’m heading back to my desk right now!”
“Hey, relax. Whatever they told you about me, I’m not an ogre.” She said it with what she hoped was a disarming grin, but it didn’t have the desired effect.
“Nobody said that! You’re great! Everyone says so! And I’m—I’m sorry I…”
Nora grabbed both of her shoulders, trying to project calm to the girl. “Julia, please. Relax. I just wanted to talk for a minute.” But where? An answer came to her immediately. “You know what, there’s a really good coffee shop around the corner. McDuffy’s?” The girl gave the slightest of nods. “I was about to head over there, and I’d really appreciate it if you kept me company for a few minutes.”
Julia didn’t say anything, but she did let Nora steer her out of the bathroom and down the hall to the elevators. Her face was still frozen in terror; God knew what she expected Nora to say or do. But she got in the elevator when it arrived anyway.
“I’ve been meaning to set aside time to just chat with everyone on the team,” Nora told her once they stepped out into the unseasonable chill of the afternoon. It was mostly true, but meaning to do something and actually making the time to do it were two very different things. “I was thinking about lunches with everyone, but afternoon coffee will work just fine. And obviously it’s my treat.”
When they got to McDuffy’s, there was a line, and Julia didn’t speak beyond answering “yes” or “no” to Nora’s questions as they made their way to the barista. She supposed that she wouldn’t have reacted any differently seven years ago. If her boss’ boss had found her nearly catatonic in the restroom, and then dragged her out for a talk, she would have been equally unresponsive. But it was just too much when they finally got to the front of the line and Julia ordered a small black coffee, the cheapest, dullest thing on the menu short of a bottled water.
Nora shook her head at the barista, and turned to the girl. “I refuse to believe that’s what you drink, Julia. Now I want you to get whatever it is that you really get, and you can consider that an order. Okay?”
For the first time, Julia almost smiled. It wasn’t much of one, but it was better than nothing. Then she turned to the barista. “Instead of the black coffee, I’d like a double half-caf, no-foam vanilla soy latte, with a caramel swirl, and a cinnamon dusting, extra hot.”
“That’s your regular order?” Julia nodded. Nora hadn’t figured the girl for something quite that involved. “No judgment from me. But I have to say, back when I started they didn’t pay us enough to be ordering caramel swirls with our coffee.”
She ordered her own regular drink, a medium skim latte, no sugar, and five minutes later they were seated at a table by the window, looking out on the constant stream of passers-by. Julia was sipping her coffee, occasionally glancing up to not quite meet Nora’s eyes. “Okay,” Nora said, when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “I wanted to actually talk with you. Because I can see you’ve got a lot on your mind, and I can tell you from experience that it’s going to come out one way or another.”
“I don’t—I mean, I just had a moment, you know? That’s all it is.” Julia was looking up at her now, and Nora could see her desire to end this conversation before it began. Which was exactly why she couldn’t let it go. Because she remembered days like this, when her own ambition ran into a brick wall just like Julia’s obviously had.
“Julia, you do know I’m only twenty-eight, right? I haven’t forgotten what it was like, my first job right out of college, and I thought I was going to conquer the world until life knocked me down. I know what you’re feeling because I lived it, not all that long ago.” Julia was still looking at her, still listening. “And I want to help you because I wouldn’t be on the other side of the table from you if somebody hadn’t helped me. So will you, please, please talk to me?”
It took another ten minutes of prompting and, honestly, badgering, before Julia really began to open up. “I was—well, I was sort of okay. And then Mr. Elliott called me into his office. He just—I know I’m supposed to take feedback, and I know I have a ton to learn. But he—he said I write like somebody trying out for the high school newspaper.”
Nora tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help herself. “Classic Jack Elliott. You’d think he’d come up with new material once in a while.” Julia’s eyes said she didn’t believe her. “I take that back. He did tell me once that I wrote like somebody who’d never had her heart broken. Which, first of all, what does that even mean? And second, I’ve had mine broken enough times that I could give lessons, so he didn’t know what he was talking about anyway.”
Julia sort-of smiled. “He really said that?”
“He did. And I just sat there and took it, and did my best to hold it together the rest of the day.”
Nora wondered for an instant if she should tell the rest of it, but what was the point of this conversation if she wasn’t going to be honest? “And then, when I got home I drank a bottle of wine and complained to my Aunt Rachel for two hours.”
Now it was a real, honest-to-goodness smile on Julia’s face. That was an improvement; the girl was really hearing her. “The next day, I came into work, and I looked at the article he was talking about, I mean, really looked at it, and—well, to this day I don’t know how he got that nonsense about a broken heart from an article about new discoveries in quantum gravity, but he was right that it needed a hell of a lot of work.”
Julia considered that. “I get it. I’m sure my article was a mess, too, and I just—I let my pride get in the way, I guess. But he didn’t have to be such a—a jackass.” Julia looked down as she heard her own words. She probably expected Nora to fire her on the spot for it.
“I’ve called him worse,” Nora said, patting Julia’s arm in what she hoped the girl took as a companionable gesture. “Never in the office, obviously. But that’s the thing. If you’re going to make it here, or anywhere else, you need to learn how to deal with people like him. First, you have to be honest with yourself. No matter how obnoxious the delivery is, listen to the criticism, and ask yourself if it’s right. And if it is, learn from it.” Nora laughed at herself. How many people had to tell her that before it finally sunk in? “I know, easier said than done. But there’s no way around it.”
“What if it’s not right?”
Nora had asked the same thing seven years ago. “Then you reread your article again. And again. As many times as it takes until you’re sure—I mean, bet your life on it sure—that they’re wrong. And then you push back. Respectfully and professionally.”
“And if they still don’t agree with you, what do you do then?”
This was the hardest lesson of all, and Nora remembered pushing her luck well past the point of no return before she learned it herself. “Then you make the edits they’re asking for, and get started on the next article.”
Julia looked horrified.
“I almost got fired more than once before I accepted that myself. But it’s just life. I was a new staff writer, just like you are now. I wasn’t going to win an argument against an editor who’s been here fifteen or twenty years, even if I was right.” Julia didn’t like that, but Nora held up a hand before she could object. “I know, that’s probably not what they taught you in college.” There was a lot she hadn’t been taught in her journalism classes, either. “Call it on the job training. Lesson one. You stick it out anyway. Make the changes, learn whatever you can from it, make the next article better. Lather, rinse, repeat. Keep it up, and you’ll get noticed. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
God, had she actually used that stupid cliché? It was one of her least favorite expressions, and not only for professional purposes. It hit far too close to home personally, too. She shook her head to clear thoughts of Daniel away. “I know that’s overused, but it’s true. And, heck, you’re talking to the editor-in-chief right now, so you’re already ahead of the game.”
