"Thank you, Angela, but it's okay. I think it'll end up being the best thing for me anyway. But if you're still feeling sorry for me you could come over to the Short Stop tonight and buy me a drink."
She smiled and got embarrassed because she and I both knew that wasn't going to happen. Inside the newsroom and out, the new generation didn't mix with the old. Especially not with me. I was history and she had no time or inclination to associate with the ranks of the fallen. Going to the Short Stop tonight would be like visiting a leper colony. "Well, maybe some other time," I said quickly. "I'll see you Monday morning, okay?"
"Monday morning. And I'll buy the coffee."
She smiled and I realized that she was indeed the one who should take Kramer's advice and try TV.
She turned to go.
"Oh, and Angela?"
"Don't call him Mr. Robertson. This is a newsroom, not a law firm. And most of those guys in charge? They don't deserve to be called mister. Remember that and you'll do okay here."
She smiled again and left me alone. I pulled my chair in close to my computer and opened a new document. I had to crank out a murder story before I could get out of the newsroom and go drown my sorrows in red wine.