The day after Leslie took over the newspaper, she said, “We’re going to buy a health magazine.”
Matt looked at her curiously. “Why?”
“Because the health field is exploding.”
She had proved to be right. The magazine was an instant success.
“We’re going to start expanding,” Leslie told Baker. “Let’s get some people looking for publications overseas.”
“All right.”
“And there’s too much fat around here. Get rid of the reporters who aren’t pulling their weight.”
“Leslie—”
“I want young reporters who are hungry.”
When an executive position became open, Leslie insisted on being there for the interview. She would listen to the applicant, and then would ask one question: “What’s your golf score?” The job would often depend on the answer.
“What the hell kind of question is that?” Matt Baker asked the first time he heard it. “What difference does a golf score make?”
“I don’t want people here who are dedicated to golf. If they work here, they’re going to be dedicated to the Washington Tribune.”
Leshe Stewart’s private life was a subject of endless discussions at the Tribune. She was a beautiful woman, unattached, and as far as anyone knew, she was not involved with any man and had no personal life. She was one of the capital’s preeminent hostesses, and important people vied for an invitation to her dinner parties. But people speculated about what she did when all the guests had left and she was alone. There were rumors that she was an insomniac who spent the nights working, planning new projects for the Stewart empire.
There were other rumors, more titillating, but there was no way of proving them.
Leshe involved herself in everything: editorials, news stories, advertising. One day, she said to the head of the advertising department, “Why aren’t we getting any ads from Gleason’s?”—an upscale store in Georgetown.
“I’ve tried, but—-”
“I know the owner. I’ll give him a call.”
She called him and said, “Allan, you’re not giving the Tribune any ads. Why?”
He had laughed and said, “Leshe, your readers are our shoplifters.”
Before Leslie went into a conference, she read up on everyone who would be there. She knew everyone’s weaknesses and strengths, and she was a tough negotiator.
“Sometimes you can be too tough,” Matt Baker warned her. “You have to leave them something, Leslie.”
“Forget it. I believe in the scorched-earth policy.”
In the course of the next year, Washington Tribune Enterprises acquired a newspaper and radio station in Australia, a television station in Denver, and a newspaper in Hammond, Indiana. Whenever there was a new acquisition, its employees were terrified of what was coming. Leslie’s reputation for being ruthless was growing.
Leslie Stewart was intensely jealous of Katharine Graham.
“She’s just lucky,” Leslie said. “And she has the reputation of being a bitch.”
Matt Baker was tempted to ask Leslie what she thought her own reputation was, but he decided not to.
One morning when Leslie arrived at her office, she found that someone had placed a small wooden block with two brass balls on her desk.
Matt Baker was upset. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll take—”
“No. Leave it.”
“But—”
“Leave it.”
Matt Baker was having a conference in his office when Leslie’s voice came on over the intercom. “Matt, come up here.”
No “please,” no “good morning.” It’s going to be a bad-hair day, Matt Baker thought grimly. The Ice Princess was in one of her moods.
“That’s it for now,” Matt said.
He left his office and walked through the corridors, where hundreds of employees were busily at work. He took the elevator up to the White Tower and entered the sumptuous publisher’s office. Half a dozen editors were already gathered in the room.
Behind an enormous desk sat Leslie Stewart. She looked up as Matt Baker entered. “Let’s get started.”
She had called an editorial meeting. Matt Baker remembered her saying, “You’ll be running the newspaper. I’ll keep my hands off.” He should have known better. She had no business calling meetings like this. That was his job. On the other hand, she was the publisher and owner of the Washington Tribune, and she could damn well do anything she pleased.