Chapter 9: In Search of a Career

I happily wrote Charlotte a cheque for two thousand, double what I had suggested. She protested, but I was adamant that she accept it, confident she would earn that and more. We'd stopped for an early meal before I called a taxi and took her back to her apartment before having the man drive me out to Sand Pines.

It was back to our normal routine on Monday. I had a paper to compose and edit, while Charlotte had her afternoon shift at the Sport Warehouse. However, the past three days were a total turnaround in my life. My fantasy woman had taken charge and I was now convinced we were in a relationship. I hadn't had time to really dwell on this unlikely turn of events, but I wasn't about to question my luck, giddy with excitement at this turn in my personal life.

It took me all day to put the paper together and I was really pushing to meet my seven pm press deadline. Normally, I would do a few hours work during the weekend to make Monday less of a rush, but this past weekend was something to remember and I didn't regret a minute of the time it took me to catch up. As I worked, I began to think again of what kind of career I wanted ... or for that matter ... could achieve.

What kind of niche could I carve out for myself? Newspapers were dying and some very experienced, gifted writers were being let go. Some went to work in government as flacks for various elected members. Others became spokespersons for organizations. Still others wrote specialty features which they sold in syndication to whoever was willing to pay. But there wasn't room for all of them, so many ended up in completely different jobs.

And then there were the blogs. I'd heard stories about some of those people making a fortune with their online commentaries. But for every Ariana Huffington, there were ten dozen pretenders. I was sceptical of their credentials and spent more time figuring out their biases rather than their content. No, that wasn't for me. I had no reputation to fall back on. I had to look for something different, just like Jake Phaltz did.

In the meantime, I had Tuesday to look forward to. A day to continue my progress on the house. I had selected the paint colours for the trim in the great room, and I made a trip to Valley Builders to pick up the paint, some primer, and the necessary clear fir 1X4 and 1X6 for the trim. I examined the samples closely and noticed that one edge had just the slightest hint of a bullnose. Perfect! I knew which side to prepare. My plan was to prime and paint the finish ahead of time and store it in the basement until I was ready for it. There was room to do both painting and racking there. I got a good start on the work that afternoon, priming all the surfaces first.

Wednesday, I spent a couple of hours on the makeup of Friday's edition before going downstairs and painting the trim. Naturally, there would be touch up and painting of cut surfaces yet to do, but this would make the job go a lot quicker. I had chosen a satin finish as appropriate. I'd get Charlotte's opinion before I began to install anything. After all, that's what I was paying her for.

Painting is boring as hell to me, especially if I don't have to be extra careful. I placed a groundsheet on the concrete floor and wore latex gloves to keep my hands from getting too messed up with splatter. The job went quickly and I was done early that afternoon. I liked what I saw, even in the low light coming through the little basement window. Convinced that the satin finish was the right look, I'd still defer to Charlotte for the last word. Never argue with an expert.

Charlotte told me her routine was to eat a light meal after she got home from the store. That was usually about nine-thirty. It should be safe to call her about ten and not bother her in the middle of her meal.

"Hi," I said when she picked up. "I hope I'm not catching you in the middle of your dinner."

"No ... all finished and cleaned up. How are you?" The tone of her voice signalled she was pleased I had called.

"Great. I got a head start on the trim today. I've primed and painted all the boards for the casings and baseboards for the great room. I chose the cream colour we agreed on in a satin finish. I hope you like the look."

"That sounds like the right finish, Nolan. I don't think glossy would look right. Your flooring is a satin finish, so that should match it as well. What else have you been doing to keep yourself busy?"

"I got some preliminary work done on the paper. I have to get the Friday edition to the printer tomorrow, but it won't be a rush like it was on Monday. Otherwise, I'm trying to decide what needs to be done next."

"Let's leave it for now. I have some thoughts that I wanted to share with you. When can we get together?"

"Anytime you like. Friday morning and all weekend unless you're working."

"I'm working a full day Saturday, unfortunately. I'm covering for someone on vacation. Lucky girl is on a cruise in the Bahamas. Why don't we plan on Friday morning?"

"Great. Meet me here for breakfast?"

She laughed. "Are you trying to fatten me up?"

"Hell no! You're perfect just as you are. I'll go a bit lighter this time, okay?"

"Okay, I trust you. I'll see you Friday morning at our usual eight-thirty."

I liked the sound of that conversation. She was still acting like last weekend wasn't some kind of aberration ... or worse ... a mistake. No ... I liked the sound of that just fine.

Charlotte was ten minutes early on Friday morning, a fact which further reinforced my belief that we had something going. Something well beyond business. I'd warmed some fresh blueberry bran muffins, prepared a couple of soft boiled eggs, two pieces of toast and a fresh fruit salad. I could tell by the look in her eyes that I'd made a good choice.

"I haven't had a soft boiled egg in eons," she said. "I usually cut the toast in strips and dip them in the egg yolk first."

"Go ahead, it sounds good. I might try it myself."

I did, and I liked it. My mother had taught me the proper way to make a soft boiled egg turn out just right ... not undercooked and not hard. Thank you, Mother.

"This is great, Nolan. Not too much ... just right."

"Good. That was the idea."

We ate in relative silence before I cleaned up the kitchen with Charlotte's help. She wasn't one to sit around and watch someone else do the work.

A couple of boards of each size were standing in the great room in order that she could see them in proper light conditions and judge if they looked right for the room.

"So, do you like the look of the trim boards?"

"Yes. They look good just as they are." She had propped up a couple of the 1 X 6 along the base of one wall near a doorway, then stood the 1 X 4's on each side of the door. I agreed with her. They did look good.