Cross Over

As she frantically pounded on the keyboard, the phone rang, startling her for a moment, and causing her to jump slightly off her swivel-back desk chair. She stopped for a moment to look at the clock. It was almost four.

“Good,” she said aloud, “just a few more paragraphs, and I can file this puppy.”

Reaching across her P.C., she grabbed for the phone, which was now on its fourth ring. Her desk was a clutter of paper, pens, and scribbled notes, but it was just the way she liked it. As with many journalists, disorganization and unrealistic deadlines always seemed to turn out the best copy.

“This is Angela,” she answered curtly, as she always did when she was on deadline.

“Angela Anderson?” the caller asked.

She hesitated for a moment before giving an answer. She had been receiving strange, anonymous phone calls of late, and it was starting to bother her.

“Yes,” she answered with hesitation in her voice. “Who’s calling?”

“Boy, I’ll tell you,” the caller replied, “she lands a big job in the city, and suddenly she doesn’t remember her friends …”

“Janice!” Angela screamed into the phone. Her uneasiness was suddenly transformed into bliss. “God, it’s so good to hear your voice! I miss you!”

“I miss you, too. That’s why I came to see you ...”

“You’re here?”

“In the flesh. I’m calling from your lobby. I thought I’d surprise you!”

“Well, you did that all right! God, we haven’t seen each other since your wedding. How is Tom?”

“Fine. Look, are we going to talk on the phone all day, or are you going to invite me up?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just so excited to hear your voice. But instead of you coming up here, let me finish what I’m doing, and I’ll be right down. I only need about ten minutes. Then we’ll go get a drink?”