The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba(3)

Pulitzer leans back in his chair. “You’re plucky like Bly, I’ll give you that.”

“I am.”

“Your stepfather is Henry Shelton, isn’t he?” Pulitzer asks.

“He is.”

“And how does he feel about his stepdaughter sullying the family name with something as common as work—as a reporter no less? Considering how the papers are vilified these days, I’d imagine he wants something very different for you.”

“He isn’t pleased,” I admit.

Pulitzer is silent for a beat. “I have to say, I admire your gumption for coming here.”

I take a deep breath, hope filling me. This is it. The chance I’ve been waiting for to prove myself. I’ve already thought of a list of articles I want to write, can see my name on the byline—

“That said, we already have more stunt girl reporters than we need,” Pulitzer adds, sending the hope billowing inside me crashing down. “Nellie Bly is coming back to write a series of articles for us. The move to Chicago didn’t work out for her.” He shrugs. “Talented as you may be—you’re no Nellie.”

I bite my tongue, suppressing the desire to point out that they already have more than one male investigative reporter, but that didn’t stop them from hiring scores more.

“Everyone wants to be a reporter, but it’s not an easy thing. It takes instincts for this business. A nose for the news. It isn’t the sort of thing that can be taught. We could use more society reporters, though. Given your familial connections, you’d have an aptitude for that sort of thing. Our readers love learning about the foibles of the Knickerbockers, hearing about the balls, their entertainments.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Pulitzer, those aren’t the stories I want to write. It has not escaped my notice that the world I occupy—the society my family belongs to—is not what the rest of the city experiences. As a city, as a country, we are at a pivotal moment. We’re deciding who we are, what we stand for, who we stand for. I want to be part of that discussion.”

“I don’t disagree with you, and I can’t fault your enthusiasm or your convictions. But you’re young. And relatively inexperienced. I have a newsroom full of reporters who’ve been working their beats for a long time. You’re not ready.”

I was prepared for this. Sometimes it feels like I’m banging my head against all the doors closed to me. I just need one door to crack open a little bit, one shot to prove myself.

“You’re right. I’m not as experienced as some of your staff. Although, you’ve been known to take a chance on cub reporters. I’m just looking for someone to give me a chance. If you do, I promise you, you won’t regret it.”

“Why do you want this so badly? Why the news? If you’re so set on working, why not something more respectable? You could be a teacher or a secretary.”

“Because when I read Nellie Bly’s report from Blackwell Island, I saw someone standing up for women. Women thrust into that miserable place because they didn’t conform with society’s expectations. Women who were judged insane by the virtue of being different, with little recourse available to them. What Nellie Bly wrote made a difference in the lives of those women. The grand jury’s investigation, inspired by her articles, led to increased funding and an improvement in the quality of care for the women in the asylum. I want to write pieces like that, articles that make the world a better place. There’s nothing I’d rather do.”

When I finish my speech, I can tell I nearly have him by the expression on his face. After all, Pulitzer has made his fortune in the newspaper business. This is his life. Who else would better understand the passion I feel for this profession?

“Why did you come to me, Miss Harrington? Why the World and not one of my competitors? Why not the Journal?”

I’m hardly surprised that he invokes the New York Journal when he speaks of his competitors. The Journal’s owner and publisher, William Randolph Hearst, and Pulitzer have been locked in a fierce battle since Hearst came to New York a year ago. Hearst made a name for himself as the publisher of the successful San Francisco Examiner—a newspaper that was floundering when he originally took it over, rebuilding it from scratch—and now he’s set his sights on the New York newspaper scene. With his late father’s immense wealth behind him, he’s a formidable opponent.

“Because the World reports on the news,” I reply smoothly. “The Journal reports on the World. It hasn’t escaped my notice that you’re often the first to break a story only for Hearst to take your work, sensationalize it, and publish the same story in his paper, which he sells at a loss.”

Pulitzer’s expression darkens. “Hearst has no scruples in the way he runs his newspaper or the manner in which he reports on the news. It is one thing to use dramatics to highlight important causes or to draw readers’ attention. But for Hearst, the dramatics aren’t a means to the end; they are the end. Months ago, he stole my entire Sunday edition staff. Editor included. When I paid them more money than he did and hired them back, he just stole them again the very next day with the promise of even higher salaries.

“He has spies in my newsroom, Miss Harrington. I doubt his paper can put out an edition without using ours for inspiration. You want to do what the stunt girl reporters do to get the story? You want to be like Nellie Bly? Go undercover and work for Hearst and report back to me on the news the Journal is covering. If he has a lead on something, I want to know about it. Let’s see how he likes being beaten at his own game, how he enjoys someone else scooping his stories. If you do a good job of it, say after a year or so, then I’ll give you a position as one of my investigative reporters. It’s a better offer than you’ll get anywhere else with your inexperience.”