The Mourning Mail (final release candidate #7)

Chapter 7

JANUARY, 2016

We were now into the second week of 2016. After several days of cleaning up loose ends left over from leaving the paper, I began picking up freelance work from Internet free-agent websites. I finally sold my Fat Leonard piece to Gannett, and it would eventually appear in USA Today. But the Washington Post's national military bribery story would break before they published my article. As a result, my work didn't look to the casual observer like what would, and should, have been a seminal exposé. Instead, it seemed like a piece leveraging the national scandal to ride its coattails.

Six weeks after the fateful day I exited the Union-Tribune, I visited my friend of many years. Lindsay stood behind me, a hand on each shoulder as I considered my options in her chair at the hair salon.

"I think I want something different today," I said as we peered into the mirror behind her station. "The gods seem to favor change, and I shall give it to them."

"Okay, I can see you're in a strange mood today. But I am here to serve m'Lady," Lindsay said. She cocked her head and sized up the possibilities, her creative wheels spinning.

"How far do you want to go? I have weaves, I can do extensions, and I can always cut and color," Lindsay said. She began setting up the camera for her hairstyle visualization software.

"I don't want to go too crazy," I said. "Maybe try a different color and a more modern style. Something easier to care for, maybe not so long?"

"How about a tousled look with some highlights?" Lindsay asked. "I can do a textured short bob. How about deepening your natural color to more of an auburn for the base? I could layer over some ginger and strawberry blonde highlights...."

"Oh, that sounds great," I said, intrigued by the possibilities. "Can you show me what it would look like in your 'try-it-on' app?"

As the 3D rotating image of my head popped up on the screen, I had to admit I liked the look. "Can we make the base color a tad darker?" I asked.

Lindsay changed one of the app's settings and glanced back at me to see my reaction.

"Perfect," I said, "Let's do that!"

"So, what's motivating the 'new you'? Is there a romantic development I must hear about in your life?" Lindsay asked as she prepped her station for her work, her voice teasing.

"Oh, no, nothing like that. I quit the Union-Tribune, and I'm going to freelance for a while."

"To be honest," Lindsay said as she snipped away, "I never understood why you went to work for such a stick-in-the-mud paper, anyway. And then, after you'd been there so long, I didn't think you'd ever leave."

After relaying the basic story of my departure from the newsroom, I began reflecting on why I'd left.

"I think I create and inflict some of these challenges upon myself. It may stem from genetic traits deep within my bones. From time to time, I have been called 'incorrigible,' occasionally by those who love me," I said, waxing introspective.

"Oh, no! Say it isn't so!" Lindsay said in her falsetto voice as she stopped cutting so she could laugh without giving me a crewcut.

"Hey, it's not so much that I can't change. It's more that I have to do it at my pace," I said, mounting a weak defense.

"Still, I know much of it is on me. I have this hardheaded idea about not compromising my core beliefs. Or shortchanging certain reporting standards. I like to think it's my brand of professionalism."

"It's worked pretty well for you. Come on, you're respected, and I've read some excellent stories you wrote," Lindsay said as she began placing towels to do the color.