"What? No, woman. I'm not a ghoul. I wanted to call and make sure you were all right." "Jimmy, you're a prince. But I'll be OK. I land on my feet. You've got someone covering this story, so give her my number and have her call me and I'll give her a quote." "Really, Suzanne --" "It's *fine*, Jimmy." "Suzanne," he said. "We don't cover that kind of thing from our newsroom anymore. Just local stuff. National coverage comes from the wires or from the McClatchy national newsroom." She sucked in air. Could it be possible? Her first thought when Jimmy called was that she'd made a terrible mistake by leaving the Merc, but if this was what the paper had come to, she had left just in time, even if her own life-raft was sinking, it had kept her afloat for a while. "The offer still stands, Jimmy. I'll talk to anyone you want to assign." "You're a sweetheart, Suzanne. What are you in Russia for?" She told him. Screw scoops, anyway. Not like Jimmy was going to send anyone to *Russia*, he couldn't even afford to dispatch a reporter to Marin County by the sounds of things. "What a story!" he said. "Man!" "Yeah," she said. "Yeah I guess it is." "You *guess*? Suzanne, this is the single most important issue in practically every American's life -- there isn't one in a thousand who doesn't worry endlessly about his weight." "Well, I have been getting really good numbers on this." She named the figure. He sucked air between his teeth. "That's what the whole freaking *chain* does on a top story, Suzanne. You're outperforming fifty local papers *combined.*" "Yeah?" "Hell yeah," he said. "Maybe I should ask you for a job." When he got off the phone, she spoke to Perry, and then to Lester. Lester said that he wanted to go traveling and see his old friends in Russia and that if she was still around in a couple weeks, maybe he'd see her there. Perry was morose and grimly determined. He was on the verge of shipping his three-d printers and he was sure he could do it, even if he didn't have the Kodacell network for marketing and logistics. He didn't even seem to register it when she told him that she was going to be spending some time in Russia. Then she had to go into the clinic and ask intelligent questions and take pictures and record audio and jot notes and pay attention to the small details so that she would be able to write the best account possible. They dressed well in Russia, in the clinics. Business casual, but well tailored and made from good material. The Europeans knew from textiles, and expert tailoring seemed to be in cheap supply here. She'd have to get someone to run her up a blue blazer and a white shirt and a decent skirt. It would be nice to get back into grown-up clothes after a couple years' worth of Florida casual.