RANSVESTIA

The following Tuesday, Eddie was doing one of his usual jobs, typ. ing out a story being phoned in by another reporter, when Lisa Beard, the tall, blonde administrative assistant, came up behind his chair. Leaning over him so that her blonde hair touched his shoulder, she whispered, "When you've finished, go in and see Mr. Merrick in his of fice." She moved off leaving an intoxicating aroma of perfume and an ache in Eddie's lower body. His telephone contact was distinctly an- noyed as he repeated his last sentence for the third time.

John Farley Merrick was titled simply the associate editor of the paper, but the title belied the power of his job. His was the responsibili- ty of directing the Tribune's high-powered, investigative reporting team, "muckraking" in the words of the Tribune's legion of enemies. With Merrick in his tiny, uncluttered office was Roscoe Ward, the dean of the paper's reporters. Merrick was lounging back in his chair, a copy of the Saturday Entertainment and Night Club Review open in front of him. He motioned Eddie to a wooden chair directly in front of the associate editor's desk. Then he glanced over at Ward and nodded.

"You wrote this piece on Lola Levine," Ward's gravelly voice wheezed from u spot down and to the right of Eddie's ear.

Not knowing quite which way to turn, Eddie nodded, taking a quick glance over his shoulder at the celebrated writer. "Yes," he said. Why ever should men of such importance be interested in such an in- significant piece of writing? Eddie pondered quickly; but no easy reply came to his lips. He could feel that he was sweating freely.

"An unusual piece of writing," Ward coughed harshly and Eddie could hear him searching for a handkerchief.

Eddie looked at Merrick. The moonfaced editor was noncommital as he read Eddie's report with the utmost concentration. Suddenly, he broke off and signalled to Ward. "I think, Ross," his voice still retained much of a New England accent, "that we must explain to Mr. McIntyre the unusualness of his writing." He turned light blue eyes in Eddie's direction. With fat, stubby fingers, he threw his copy of the Review onto the desk in front of him. "Whenever female impersonators are review- ed in a newspaper," he went on smoothly, "there is generally something condescending in the tone of the reporter if the mimic is very good. Never, however, does the reporter describe such a show as 'scintillating' or 'vivacious'.'

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