While my orientation was toward hard news, especially national and world events, I admired what Merry Sherry whipped up for us, day in and day out. Her pages were dessert for our readers and, I suspected, the pages they most enjoyed. Romance and relationships, fashion, food, health and senior citizens, child care, consumer tips and personal finances, entertainment and art, decorating, gardening, pets, travel, science and technology, horoscopes, comics, the regular advice columnists all came under her domain, as did innumerable special sections on everything from new cars to diamonds. They all came to life in the splashy designs Merry Sherry concocted. Most of the time, she was creating honey out of horse shit. Apart from the stories she gleaned from our wire services, she had no resources to speak of – not compared to what was expected. She was putting in seventy to eighty hours a week at the paper. So much for the heart attack. And if she wanted to take a vacation, she had to do all the work ahead. There was no backup.
“That’s no vacation,” Misty growled. “That’s comp time.”
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