Copy Desk

Levity sauntered past hushed cubicles, tracking their copy editor to his lair.

Murph was exactly the sort of man you'd expect to find at the Perspective 's copy desk. Knowledgeable. Meticulous. Dedicated. He worked out of one of the few actual offices in their section, partly out of respect for his seniority. Murph had been here just as long as Becca. But also because he couldn't stand all the noise the rest of them made. He groused about focus and distractions and unnecessary prattle.

Levity thought his grumping was cute. Maybe it was the accent?

She tapped on his door, which swung open on well-oiled hinges. Leaning against the frame, she softly scolded, "Give it a rest, Murph. We can't celebrate the highlights of the old year without our Tellridge award winner."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Your award. The one you accepted last night. What've you done with it?"

He snorted, which was no kind of answer.

She prowled into the room, which he'd turned into a kind of sanctuary. Personal touches abounded, the sorts of little things that accumulated slowly over time. They layered the room, hinting at the man's life outside the office. Except he was here more than he ever went home, so maybe this room really was the true essence of Murph.

Along one wall, he'd set up an antique pew, all straight back and silken wood. Her butt had been on its stiff, green velvet cushions enough times to know that it was murder on one's tail. Murph had flat-out refused to explain why it was even here, but she knew he used it to catch naps. Maybe that was the old piece's appeal. It was long enough to accommodate a man of Murph's considerable height. But it could have been some kind of family heirloom, carried all the way from Ireland.

"Found you," she murmured, extricating a gleaming hunk of acrylic and gold that was partially lodged under a plaid blanket. She moved his award to the ledge that surrounded his desk. "You worked hard for this. Give it a better home!"

"I never worked a day for that bit of cheap or for the patter of disinterested applause that accompanied its bestowal. My ideals are incentive enough and impetus aplenty." Murph peered at her over the blue light glasses he used whenever he was working. "Don't take an editor's lot lightly, Levity Jones."

"It's a holiday!" she protested. "There's a party."

"There's a deadline, and it's my unenviable job to haul you lot safely across it. Also, I'm changing your headline. Again."

"What? Whyyy? Wait. Only one of them?"

Murph shot her an exasperated look, then tapped his screen with a capped red pen. "This one sets the right tone. It's a light piece, so the pun stands. But this one? No."

"I could try again," she offered.

"Don't bother. I fixed it." Waving at the wall above his desk, he blandly added, "It's what I do."

While the office walls of many professionals displayed their credentials and commendations, Murph tacked up assorted magazine clippings, obscure words, completed crossword puzzles, and headlines for which he was especially proud. There were also typos he'd found, printed columns he'd gone over in red ink, and a top-down list of Levity's most ridiculous headlines. She was pretty proud of them.

"What did you go with?"

He tossed a piece of scratch paper her way. He'd written her headline in block letters before slashing through it. Three other options were similarly dismissed, with the replacement circled twice. She could see that he'd also been working on anagrams at some point during the evening. And jotted a short grocery list in the corner.

"Come eat pizza," she coaxed.

"I ate." He gestured vaguely at a paper plate with a couple of abandoned crusts on it.

"Come have a drink. It'll be midnight before you know it. Welcome the new year with us."

"I hate parties, Levity. Leave me in peace."

But his tone held traces of fondness, and she could tell by scent that his reluctance was mostly for show. Murph would let her have her way.

So Levity circled the desk and took his arm, and he let her pull him up and along, back toward the lights and laughter. Then she pressed a cup topped by spice-flecked foam into his hand. "You can raise a glass for me."

"You don't need me toasting you. You're the toast of the city. Of the whole damned coast."

"What a sweet thing to say." She nudged him toward the other boys. "Help Mick and Angelo eat the new pizzas."

Murph balked. "What about you? You love food."

"I do. But I love you guys more, which is why I'm giving you a head start."

"Don't hold back on my account," he grumbled.

Levity blew him a kiss and shooed him off.