Free White Collar Girl by Renée Rosen Page A

and abandoneda set of revisions for my “Slip Trick” article and began reading through the files.
    Turned out Ahern had graduated law school from the University of Chicago in 1947. He’d worked for the former mayor, Kennelly, and after three years had accepted a job as one of Daley’s special aides. He had a young wife named Suzanne. There was no mention of children. Thirty minutes later, after shuffling through the clips, I had turned up nothing that would suggest Ahern’s motive for leaking information to the press.
    As I was about to close the file, something did jump out at me. Just a minor mention, not more than three column inches long. It stated that Ahern had wanted to run for the state senate but that Daley had backed another candidate, Paul Douglas. That right there could have been enough, but it seemed thin. I got the feeling there was something else about Ahern that I wasn’t finding here. And I was still questioning why he had come to me of all people.
    A million ethical questions raced through my head, everything I’d learned at Medill about fairness, anonymity, confirming a source’s motivation. I closed the folder and leaned back in my chair, making the joints squeak. I knew I was right to question Ahern’s motives, but I also had to recognize an opportunity when it was standing right in front of me.
    I packed up all the clips and carried them home with me, along with the day’s papers tucked under my arm. Yes, I was desperate to get off society news, but was this the way to do it? I felt like Faust about to make a pact with the devil.

Chapter 6
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    A fter a night of fitful sleep, I awoke just as conflicted as I’d been the day before. I stumbled to the bathroom, squinting to avoid the burst of light from the overhead fixture. My vision took a moment to adjust, and once I could see, I looked in the mirror and brought my hands to my face, my fingers pulling on the skin beneath my eye sockets. I looked like a basset hound. What happened to jumping out of bed before the alarm went off? Was I already beaten down? All I knew was that I was dreading the day ahead, filled with recipes for the Mary Meade column and a write-up about a Tony Curtis sighting for They Were There
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    I splashed water on my face, and as I reached for the towel, I caught ahold of myself. What was the matter with me? Those pieces were supposed to be a stepping-stone, not the be-all and end-all. I was Hank and CeeCee Walsh’s daughter. Eliot Walsh’s sister. I’d made a promise to my brother and to myself. What was I waiting for?
    At that moment I knew what I had to do.
    I hurried back to my room. Sitting on the side of the bed, I rolled on my stockings and fastened them to my garters beforeslipping into the same dress I’d worn two days before. I hardly even bothered to do my hair, not that it mattered much since my cut was already growing out, losing its shape. With a slice of toast in hand, I said a quick good-bye to my parents and headed down to the paper.
    As soon as I got into the city room, I telephoned Ahern. The back of my neck grew clammy as I dialed and held my breath waiting for him to come on the line.
    â€œLet’s talk,” I said. “I’m ready.”
    We met two hours later at an out-of-the-way diner west of the Loop. He was waiting for me at a booth way in the back. The place was quiet. We were there between the breakfast and lunch crowds.
    â€œTell me one thing,” I said right off the bat. “How did you feel about Daley backing Paul Douglas for state senate instead of you?”
    He smiled and began absentmindedly stacking sugar cubes on the table, one on top of the other. It was as if he were building an igloo, or maybe a skyscraper. “I see you did your homework. Not many people remember that I wanted to run for office.”
    â€œWell?” I waited while he carefully set another sugar cube in