This Month's Star Title: The Billion Dollar Body (only 25c!)

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

Lunchtime of a warm late April day, 1961; Excolo offices

I woke up with the sun on my face and a feeling like a cat had died in my mouth and left its fur behind. I should stop drinking with Ted. The man works for his ulcer. But I got out of bed and got myself to the office in my second best suit with my hair slicked back, because that's the American way.

I pour myself a whisky and soda. "Hail Lady Liberty," I say ironically, raising my glass in the vague direction of that famous skirt, though I can't see her from my office window. It's been a busy morning, and I've earned my drink. I just had a long meeting with one of my authors, a real putz - and not the softheaded kind you can coddle. No, this is a mean one, and I'd kick him to the kerb if his titles didn't make us money. Goddamn Robert Reaves. I think Isidore might swing by this afternoon to show me the new covers for this month. Wonder how many pretty boys he'll squeeze in. If he doesn't, I might drop by the art department. There are a lot of good looking people in Art. I deserve a beauty break after this headache of a morning.

I take a swallow of my whisky, then throw back a couple of aspirin. I've been editing our latest dark-and-stormy, a real pill with the title A Dame Called Murder. The name's the best thing about it. Sometimes I wish I worked for a proper publishing house. But a boy from Brooklyn's much more likely to advance here than any place that puts out Pulitzers. And sometimes the detective novels can be a damn good read. It's just a shame that most of the time we favour dames with curves that go on forever over quality writing. When I'm in charge of the department, that'll change. You can sell pulp and still have it be good.

I finish my whisky and put my jacket back on. Time to go out and see what the rest of the office are doing.