Freelance Love (2 page)

At home, Morgan tossed her work materials onto her desk and
changed into comfortable jeans and a t-shirt. Looking at herself in her dresser
mirror, she pulled her hair back and braided it so it would be out of her way.
She looked at her face more closely – her eyes still glowed from the seismic
kiss she had just shared with Ian. She saw her cheeks blush a dark pink at the
memory of his lips on hers. “Oh, Morgan! You’re not a starry-eyed teenager! Get
your damned gray head out of the clouds. You have no future with Ian Brady.”
Stalking into her kitchen, she grabbed a refillable bottle and poured cold
water into it. Grabbing fruit, she plopped into her office chair and forced
herself to focus on her work.

Two hours later, the ringing of her house phone dragged her out
of the article she was working on. Growling under her breath, she answered,
“Hello?”

“Well, she finally answers!” said John Mack in his
characteristic, Texas-tinged drawl.

“John, no. I am not interested . . .”

“Well, maybe you’ll stop fooling around on the damn Internet when
you realize you can bring in a dependable check every month. That’s all you do
– you don’t ‘work.’ Come on, Adams. I’ll make you assistant manager and you can
set your own hours.”

“No, John! You don’t realize it, but I am earning a good income.
I set my own hours as it is. I don’t burn gas or run my car into the ground
driving to and from an office every day. I have no overhead, other than my rent
and utilities for my house. I have everything I need and I don’t want anything
else. Please, John, stop bothering me. Look at resumes from marketing and
business students who’ve just graduated – you’re more likely to find someone
there. Now, I have to go. I’m under a very tight deadline. Goodbye.”

At the sharp click, John sighed and muttered several colorful
swear words under his breath. He saw one of his employees give him a scared,
wide-eyed look as she heard him. “Melissa, get over here. I’m going to go for
my lunch now. Have those new prices posted by the time I get back. Tell Cindy
to put them into the register.” Pulling his truck keys out of his pocket, he
stalked out of the store and drove quickly to Day’s Burgers, where he met with
other Downtown business owners. After lunch, the others left and John decided
to order another soda. As he sipped his drink and thought, he saw a friend come
into the restaurant. Motioning her over, he said, “I’ll buy your lunch if I can
pick your brain, Valerie.”

Valerie accepted his offer eagerly. Twenty minutes later, as she
ate her burger and fries, she explained what “outsourcing” meant – “Basically,
John, it means that someone gives work that she has said she’ll do to someone
else. It makes it easier to get the work done, but she might have to check the
quality of work she gets back. Clients don’t really like it and many of them
forbid that in writing. If they find out a writer is outsourcing, they can
basically fire her. That just happened to me. I got canned after someone turned
me in. Damn shame, because I really need the bucks.”

“Interesting. So, does that apply only to writing? Or can it
apply to anything else?”

“It’s applied mainly to writing, although some clients and
writing sites don’t allow their freelancers to give research duties or editing
work to anyone else. Whoever the work gets assigned to has to do that work, in
other words. When you’re trying to earn a little more money, I don’t see why
it’s such a big damn issue. Thanks for the lunch, John. I gotta go apply for a
brick and mortar job now, thanks to whoever ratted me out.”

“You’re welcome – hey, stop at my store. I might have a part-time
opening for you.”

Valerie smiled widely. “Aw, John, you’re sweet! I’ll be there,
say tomorrow morning. Thanks!”

John sat at his booth, spinning his glass of soda absentmindedly.
He thought about everything Valerie had told him, finding a way to apply it to
his situation with Morgan.
Now
that I know a little bit about this writin’ bidness, all I need to do is find
out where she’s writin’. Talk to them and put the bee in their ear that she’s
‘outsourcing.’ I like it. I can take some of her damn writin’ bidness away from
her and force her to come crawlin’ back to me for a job.
John laughed
mirthlessly, tossed off the rest of his soda and left the restaurant without
throwing his lunch remains into the trash can.

***

Morgan stretched and groaned, popping several bones in her back.
She pushed her chair back and grabbed a snack from her kitchen. She stretched
out on her sofa, thinking back to the happy day when she was finally able to
hand John her resignation letter.

Morgan had worked hard for several years, earning double degrees
in English and Journalism at New Mexico State University. She had worked at
John Mack’s downtown store – Mack’s Country Clothing– while she was a student.
Knowing she needed a stable income as she built her client base, she stayed at
the store, working unpredictable hours, working on the weekly employee schedule
and handling the discipline while John stood around and chatted with other
business leaders.

In her off-hours, Morgan worked to build her writing client list.
She scoured the Internet, looking for local and regional magazines, studying
their article contribution requirements. She chose several magazines and wrote
sample articles for each, then wrote query letters. She received four responses
back, along with writing assignments from each. Three of the four became
regular, long-term clients. Once she figured out how much she was bringing in
and how often her new clients paid her, she planned her long-awaited exit from
Mack’s Country Clothing. As she received payments from her clients, she put
them into her savings account. Finally . . . finally! She came home from the
clothing store one night, muttering about John’s treatment of his most-junior employees.
She looked at her bank balance and realized she had over 6 months of income
saved.

“Okay, Mr. Mack. I’ve reached my goal and I’m setting a new one.
Time to write out a kick-ass resignation letter and hand it in. I’m kicking
John’s ass to the curb.”

After eating a quick salad, she sat down and quickly typed out
her letter of resignation. Printing it out, she looked for errors and made a
few changes. Finally, pleased with her letter, she printed out a final copy,
signed it and put it into an envelope with John’s name on the front.

John was predictably . . . unhappy with her letter and plans to
leave. He tried to get her to change her mind, offering her raises and
promotions before she left. She refused every offer. Her coworkers, excited for
her, planned a gathering away from the store. After she finished working on her
last day, they took Morgan to a local Italian restaurant, where they feasted on
appetizers and hearty Italian entrees.

The next Monday, Morgan woke at her usual early hour. Smiling because
she knew she wouldn’t have to battle Las Cruces’  rush hour traffic, she got up
and made herself a leisurely breakfast and planned out her long-awaited writing
day.

“Nothing and nobody will mess up my plans to own my own writing
business. This is what I’ve wanted to do for so many years. I worked for it and
it is my life,” she said under her breath. Bouncing off her sofa, she returned
to her work, checking the clock.
If
I can finish this section in the next couple of hours, I’ll finish before
dinnertime tonight.

Two weeks after turning in her most recent magazine articles,
Morgan was meeting with her student-researcher, Mia Gavin. She and the petite
college student were sitting at the Corbett Center Student Union at New Mexico
State University, discussing the direction of Morgan’s newest feature articles.

“”Okay, here’s what I have.
Las
Cruces Lifestyles
wants me to write a lengthy feature about the mariachi
groups we have located in the city. We’re talking about youth groups, groups
from the high schools and semi-professional groups. I want to talk about why
mariachi is so ‘hot’ here in the Southwest. My article will touch on the
progression of a few members of one of the semi-professional groups here
– Mariachi Chihuahuense. The musicians are all young - from about 18 to,
say, 32 or 33 years old. They’ve pretty much grown up exposed to mariachi, so
that, when they got old enough to pick up an instrument, it was almost a
natural progression for them to start learning the music. I’ve spoken to the
group’s director. His name is Jose Gutierrez and he’s excited about the
exposure the group could get. Then there’s the youth groups, and I’ll give you
that information in a few days. You’ll be talking to the Mesilla Valley Youth
Activity Center’s artistic director about the program she has established -
what attracts the youth of the Mesilla Valley and Dona Ana county to learn the
music? What makes them so passionate about it?

“I need you to go to the Internet and do some research on the
history and culture of mariachi, the uniforms and the instruments. I’ll
interview Jose and some group members and find out what led them into
mariachi,” Morgan said.

“Okay – what about other articles?” Mia asked.

“I’m supposed to get those assignments in a day or so. Once I see
what the editors for each magazine need, I’ll flesh out a story and we’ll work
on them. Here’s your paycheck for the last set of articles.” Morgan pulled a
check out from a sheaf of papers on her desk, handing it to Mia.

“Thank you! After turning in my financial aid paperwork, these
work-study checks really come in handy,” said Mia with an engaging grin.

After Mia left with her latest assignment, Morgan checked her
voice mail. Seeing that she had one, she clicked the “play” button. John Mack’s
voice filled the room.

“Morgan, I really need you here in the store! Please . . .”

Morgan, swearing under her breath, smashed the “delete” button.
“John, I am not coming back to your store! What part of ‘no’ is so damned hard
to understand?” She decided the only thing she could do would be to ignore the
irritation that John’s calls represented.
It’s
better for me to focus my energy on keeping my business on the right road and
moving up.

Two weeks later, she was deep into her current assignments. Ian
called Morgan to schedule a meeting so they could work on her newest articles.
At the same time, John Mack called the managing editor of
Las Cruces Lifestyles
and, using his newly acquired knowledge, anonymously reported that Morgan had
ben giving portions of her writing assignments to other writers.

Lily, the managing editor of
Las
Cruces Lifestyles
, was shocked. She felt she had gotten to know Morgan
very well – to find out that she had potentially violated a portion of her
contract made her doubt what she thought she knew of one of her best freelance
writers. Asking several questions, she jotted down the answers. She was
confused when John could not answer some of her questions. Reading his
responses, she had her doubts and decided to call Morgan.

Morgan met with Ian, feeling a strong sense of self-preservation.
Sitting across the table from him, she set her work bag and laptop in between
them, as a physical barrier.

“Here’s my newest articles. I’m still getting responses back from
interview subjects, so it’s not complete yet,” said Morgan.

“Okay . . .” Ian scanned through the copy, flipping article
pages. “I’ll go through this line by line and give you a call . . . by the way,
I’m sorry for that kiss a few weeks ago. It was uncalled for.”

Morgan, taken by surprise, looked at Ian. “Well . . . it’s in the
past, anyway . . .” Hearing her cell phone ring, she pulled it out of her bag
and checked the caller I.D. readout.

“Hmmm! That’s the managing editor for
Las Cruces Lifestyles
. I wasn’t
expecting any calls from her. Do you mind?”

“Go right ahead. I’ll watch your laptop for you.”

Morgan, nodding her thanks, walked quickly outside the
restaurant. “Hello, this is Morgan.”

“Morgan, it’s Lily here. Are you available now?”

“Actually, I’m in a meeting with Ian. We’re going over my current
set of articles. Do you have extra work for me or . . .” At a lengthy silence
that stretched out for several uncomfortable beats, Morgan felt a heavy
apprehension in her stomach.

“Well . . . I got an anonymous phone call and the caller made allegations
that you’re outsourcing your writing to other writers. You know that’s in
direct violation of your contract with us. I don’t want to accuse you out of
hand. I’m going to go through your past work and see if I can see any evidence
of outsourcing. Meantime, I’m putting you on the reserve list of freelance
writers. Once I’ve completed my investigation, I’ll call and let you know what
I’m going to do. Complete your current assignments – and, Morgan, for the sake
of your affiliation with
Las
Cruces Lifestyles
, I hope I find nothing to these charges. The magazine
will pay you for the work you turned in a few weeks ago and for the work you’re
doing now.”

Morgan was stunned. She stood outside for several minutes, just
staring at her cell phone. She jumped convulsively when she felt Ian put his
hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did someone just die?” asked Ian.

Morgan walked to their table, surprised that her legs were
working.

Ian looked at her. He was worried because her face was washed of
all color. She looked as if she had entered a shock state. Putting his hand
carefully over hers, he jiggled her arm.

“Hey, Morgan, what’s wrong? I’m serious. Did you just get some
bad news?”

Morgan looked at Ian, returning to the busy restaurant. “ . . .
That was Lily from
Las
Cruces Lifestyles
. She said someone phoned in and accused me of . . .
outsourcing! Me! Outsourcing!” Her laugh was brittle and angry. Her hands,
which she had raised, dropped heavily to the table top, causing her cell phone
to make sharp contact with the surface. “I don’t believe this.” As she spoke,
Morgan’s voice grew thick with tears.