Excerpt: Copyright 2008

Chapter One: the Grand Alignment

The world was supposed to end March 10, 1982 -- obviously it didn't.

"You can't go to L.A. -- don't be ridiculous. What makes you think the guy will give you an interview?" Frank stubbed out his unfiltered Camel in the smelly, over-flowing ashtray. He leaned back in his ratty swivel desk chair. His glare was as harsh as his voice, and Niki knew he didn't really want an answer. She stood in front of his desk, arms folded across her chest, waiting for the last word. As if on cue he added, "The Courier won't pay for it."

Niki was ready for this. "I'll pay for it myself, then. I'm going Frank, even if I have to take vacation." It was one of the few times the young reporter could ever remember looking down on her boss literally and figuratively; Frank was her mentor. She veered away from his desk toward the door, then over a shoulder of wild, wavy auburn hair called back, "In fact, schedule my time off. It's less than a month away." Niki appeared calm, but once she was outside the Editor's reeking office, she slumped forward and loudly exhaled.

It's even worse out here, she thought as she coughed and choked her way through the maze of heavy wooden desks in the open newsroom. What constituted reporters for the Courier were mostly chain-smoking, middle-aged men with yellow stained shirts and teeth. When she got to the spot designated as her "desk," she could hardly hear herself think. There was no partition to separate her from the clattering of old manual typewriter and teletype machine racket bouncing off the walls. Some loud mouth sports jock sat about a foot away yucking it up on the phone.

She slumped in her own creaky desk chair and stared at the 1982 "year-at-a-glance" calendar she had taped to the wall. The trip to California wasn't even a point of discussion. She had to go. It might be her only chance to get out of this god-forsaken rat hole.