“The Sultan’s wife?” Greenlee queried upon my return to the office. “My dear, how did you scam that one?”

Her exaggerated Bryn Mawr accent lingered in the air, where I fancied it intertwining with the languid smoke that curled from the end of her Virginia Slims cigarette. She paused for effect, then drew the elegant, cream-coloured holder to her lips. It was a dramatic, yet seemingly effortless movement that I was sure she must have practised in the mirror for hours.

I rolled my eyes and brushed past her, trying not to appear stung by her words.

“Just lucky I guess,” I replied.

She snorted derisively and turned back to her work. I was glad to reach the refuge of my own desk, where I could do some research on my subject in peace. Switching on my computer, I picked up the phone and called the EA, Maggie. She soon appeared, looking harried, as usual.

“What’s up?” she queried. “Wanna coffee?”

“That would be great,” I responded. “And could you pull all the files on the Sultan and his new wife, please.”

I noticed a slight hesitation in her demeanour, before she arched a brow in curiosity.

“The Sultan? Why?” she asked. “You get a scoop?”

“I’m doing an interview,” I replied. “With his wife.”

“Oh, OK.”

She returned a while later with several file folders. I was glad to have them since my online research had turned up very little. The Sultan was fond of his privacy, it seemed, and his new wife was even more enigmatic. I exhaled loudly and scratched my head.

“Where the heck did she come from anyway? There’s nothing on her anywhere,” I complained, hoping Maggie might have already gleaned some information during her search.

“Beats me,” she replied with a tight smile. “When’s the interview?”

“Tomorrow,” I sighed.

“Well, good luck with that,” she said, hurrying off.

“Hey, what happened to my coffee?” I called after her. But she was gone.

The next few hours were spent scouring the files for any tidbits of information I could find. I discovered that the Sultan had lived an adventurous life. He had been educated at the finest schools in Europe where he excelled academically and athletically, and he had a distinguished military career as a young man. He had married in his mid-20s but his first wife had died. He waited a good 10 years before remarrying. His new wife was younger, of course; about the same age the first wife had been when she passed away. And her name, what was it again? Oh yes, Lena. It sounded European but I wasn’t sure.

“So you got your assignment, I see,” a voice broke my concentration.

I looked up to see Edmund, the managing editor, standing at my elbow.

“Oh, hey,” I said, turning in my chair. “You set this up with the minister?”

“Yeah, you’re my go-to gal,” he said gruffly. “I want some good colour. And go talk to pictures about getting some nice shots. Clear it with Donald first. He’s my point man on this project. Where the hell is the EA?”

I didn’t have a chance to reply. Edmund was already stalking across the office in search of Maggie and I was trying to remember who Donald was. I leaned over toward my buddy Leo, whose desk was next to mine, and who always heard all my conversations, whether I wanted him to or not.

“Hey, who’s Donald?” I whispered. “And what’s a point man?”

Leo grinned and tossed a ball of crumpled paper my way. “Donald Steele? The features editor? He’s up on the second floor. And it’s a hockey reference. The guy who leads the offensive attack on the power play. The guy who goes to the point … You know, the point man.”

I frowned at him.

“Bullshit. It’s a military term, chowder-head,” another voice chimed in.

I glanced up to see Jamie standing next to Leo’s desk, his arms folded across his chest.

“The soldier who rides out in front is the point man,” Jamie said, looking at me with a smile. “He leads the others but he also takes the hits. That’s what it means.”

“What do you know?” Leo asked, irritated.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, Mr. Know-it-all.”

I looked back and forth from one to the other as they prepared to lock horns. There was a two-second pause before they both lunged for their dictionaries. Jamie grabbed the Webster’s while Leo went for his weathered Oxford Concise.

I grimaced and turned back to my files. It appeared another friendly wager was in the making, one most likely to be collected later tonight at the press club, the newspaper staff’s favoured hangout. The club, actually named Sonny’s, was pretty well the only place in the whole city you could get a beer or catch a game on satellite. Most nights a soccer game would be on the screen, although baseball and hockey were popular as well. Jamie was a Red Wings fan and Leo followed the Maple Leafs. They nearly came to blows over a disputed goal one night and Sonny threw us all out.

I made a mental note to learn more about sports and military terminology. It was still quite a boy’s club in this business and I had to learn to navigate it. Luckily, I was good at absorbing information and picking up clues that other people overlooked. Such skills would serve me well in my chosen profession, I told myself. But I wondered when my apprenticeship would end and my real career begin. It seemed I was forever in training.

Anyway, no matter. I had other priorities tonight, like preparing questions for my interview. I gathered my files and got up, just in time to see Greenlee rounding the corner.

“There you are darling!” she gasped in mock surprise.

Where else would I be, I wondered, gritting my teeth. “I’m just leaving,” I said. I barely made eye contact with her.

“What? Aren’t you coming to the club tonight?” she queried.

“Yeah, Binks. You owe me a game of pool,” Leo piped in as he joined us.

“Sorry guys,” I replied. “I’ve got some research tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait until you dazzle us with your story,” Greenlee responded in a loud and dramatic voice, one arm supporting the bent elbow of the other, the hand of which held her cigarette at a delicate angle. She snorted again for full effect before flouncing back to her desk.

Blood rushed to my face as I stifled the urge to chase her down and pummel her smug visage. I took a deep breath to calm myself, my concentration shattered by the sound of Leo’s muffled snickering.

“Get a load of her with that accent,” he smirked, shaking his head. “She’s from Cleveland for Christ’s sake.”