This month's star title: Set-Up For Scandal!

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

In the last installment...

June 1961 - Val flirts with James in front of Ted, but James manages to make it seem like he's after Val's job so Val shows him the door. James compounds his error by badmouthing Ted and Val to Beryl and Kate, and then seeming to hit on Genny. Bad day for James! Ted decides to ask out Genny to annoy James, and Genny, Val, Ted and Beryl all go out for dinner to discuss plans for a detective romance series. Meanwhile, Syl and Al go out for drinks and end up in bed together. And Kate and Tess go out dancing, where Tess is confronted by her ex-girlfriend - but Kate doesn't seem worried by what this tells her about Tess.

Friday, July 7th, 1961, the office

So Monday started with hearing that Ernest Hemingway had died on Sunday, and that's set the tone for the week. I've had a headache for two solid days that's only just starting to fade, mostly due to a printing crisis with one of our runs. Let's just say that in three places the word "duck" didn't start with a d... The censors are getting pretty strict about obscenities these days, so that started my headache, and then I had the usual author-induced stresses.

At least this detective romance we're putting together seems like it's got legs. I'm looking at the cover Genny's drawn. The streetlamp's got a good glow to it, and she's managed to make the lady sexy and wholesome at the same time - not easy. The guy's just your average lantern-jawed gumshoe, but that's fine. And Beryl's put together a good story, though I've got a few suggestions for amendments. She's a cooperative sort, though, so I don't mind meeting with her, unlike some of our writers. And I have to admit she's easy on the eye, which is a good distraction from my other emotional woes...

I loosen my collar, because it's a hot day. I'm dreading August. Hope I'll get away for a couple of weeks because the city will be unbearable. It's not the best night for black tie, but I'll be sweating in a tuxedo anyway because this evening there's the Popular Fiction Publishing Awards, which everyone in the pulp game in NYC goes to - less for the prizes and more for the canapes and the gossip. There's always gossip. Me, I'm just going to enjoy the free champagne.

Comments

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

It's been a good month, but this week is hard. Yesterday my daughter would have been six years old. We never got to have a birthday party for her. I thought about Lily all day yesterday; we haven't spoken in over a year, but I picked up the phone to call her a couple of times and then hung up. Eventually I phoned up a florist and had them send her over a bunch of lilies. I'm a coward, I guess. I miss them both, so much. Not every day, but this week - yes.

At least work's been keeping me busy. I've always found that a comfort.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

No desire at all to go to this shindig tonight. Just want to go home and sit in front of the fan with a cold beer or several. Wouldn't even want to go out on the town with Val after the week I've had, though I wouldn't say no to him stopping by. Weather's not bad enough yet that the thought of sweaty fucking is unbearable.

Needs must as Management drives, though. Scratch my jaw - I'll need a shave before I go anywhere, and a good shower too. Look respectable for the company and my date. Just get through tonight and I can take it easy the rest of the weekend.

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

Having managed to get a date (http://excolocrack.livejournal.com/19979.html?thread=3434507#t3434507) with Beryl, I feel less like a lovesick loser and so stroll down to Ted's office feeling quite cheerful. I sort of hope he'll be jealous, though really I should get past that sort of thinking.

"You napping in here?" I say, barging into his office and dropping into the chair opposite his desk.

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

"You napping in here?"

"I was." Sound grumpy, but I'm smiling at him a bit too. Think we've settled it a comfortable sort of thing, the last few weeks. Know how he feels about me, and he knows I know. Even let him fuck me that once. Teach me to bet against him on a baseball game.

Knows I care about him.

"Having nightmares about this shindig tonight."

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

"Yeah?" I stretch my legs out. Way he smiles at me always gives me a bit of a twinge. Stupid. "I thought you'd be pleased, free booze and all that. And I heard you've got a date. Fess up, who is she? Typing pool?" I lean back in my chair. "Asked Beryl Graves," I say, all feigned casualness. "She said yes, so that's good."

[tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com]

"And I heard you've got a date. Fess up, who is she? Typing pool?" Going to answer offhand when he says, "Asked Beryl Graves. She said yes, so that's good."

"Yeah? Thought you two were getting on well." Sound pretty indifferent, I think. "Taking Genny Duvall myself. Sweet little thing." Is he fucking Beryl Graves? Nah, he'd've told me. And wouldn't've been worried she'd say no.

"Less chance," I add, shrugging one shoulder, "of getting into her panties than the girls from the typing pool, but she's got a bit more class."

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

"Yeah? Thought you two were getting on well." Does he care? Why do I care if he cares? I'm an idiot. "Taking Genny Duvall myself. Sweet little thing. Less chance of getting into her panties than the girls from the typing pool, but she's got a bit more class."

Feel my mouth go a bit tight. She must be all of nineteen years old, Christ, Ted.

"I suppose she's your type," I say blandly.

[genny-duvall.livejournal.com]

I feel like I've worked harder this month than I ever have.

At first I didn't even want to look at "My Sister, My Love." It was so embarrassing even just to think about it being in my bag! All through dinner and all through the subway ride home. I didn't work up the courage to read it until Sunday. But then I just kept reading. And reading. And reading. I couldn't look away.

They weren't sisters. They felt like they were, because they'd known each other for so long, but they had actually fallen in love and didn't know it.

I was up all night and I read the whole thing and cried at the end because they could never ever be together. And I went to sleep and had the most beautiful dream about Daisy…

I went into the office on Monday just knowing that everyone was staring at me. They had to know that I loved that book. That I had that dream. Couldn't they tell? I felt like a different person - I must look different too, right?

But nobody said anything. Maybe they couldn't tell?

Still, every time anyone passed my desk, I tried to make sure they saw the sketches for the Mystery cover first. I really liked it, too - Miss Graves had a great story, and her heroine was almost as much fun to draw as the Duchess. I was really proud of the way the light looked in the darkness, and the rain on the street, and the expression on the woman's face.

I know that the awards dinner is coming up, and maybe next year it'll be my work up there in the Art division. Maybe? They say that it's a great way to make connections, going to the dinner, and I'm really grateful to Mr. Irons for inviting me - I'd never have been able to go otherwise!

And I can hope that next year I'll be there for my own work. The cover for Miss Graves's book is really good and…the one for "My Sister, My Love" is even better. I can tell it's good. I wanted to make it better than anything I'd ever done before. I wanted everyone to be able to see in their eyes how much they loved each other. I spent hours just on the eyes, trying to get it right. I think it worked.

I only finished yesterday, and today I'm going to go see Miss Thorn. I want to show her this one myself.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

There's been enough said about Mondays, I'm sure, and I don't think I will add to it. The weather's edging towards sweltering, the sun is littering the building windows with arrows of light, and it's a relief to get into the offices. I just dropped off an outline for Kincaid with his secretary, and since I've got nowhere else I must be, for the moment...

"Hello, Genny," and it is always nice to see her; she's a very sweet girl, although I can't quite imagine explaining Walter to her the way I can to Kate, and then I push that thought firmly away. "How was your weekend?"

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

I have the office door open because it's sweltering in here and it helps the air circulate, and I hear familiar voices at the other end of the corridor. Well, I could do with a break, and maybe I can kill two birds with one stone...

I stroll out.

"Genny, Beryl," I say. It seemed silly to keep calling them miss after we've been out to dinner together. "Nice to see you. I was just working on your manuscript, Beryl. Genny's finished the art - it looks swell."

[genny-duvall.livejournal.com]

I'm working on another Romance cover, a girl riding a horse. I'm trying to get the mane and tail just right…

"Hello, Genny."

"Oh!" I jump a little, and my hand jerks out to start shuffling papers. Where are the My Sister, My Love sketches? Are they covered up? Where are the - oh. They were on the bottom of the pile anyway. "Hi, Miss - Um. Beryl." I still can't get used to calling her by her first name, even if she did say that I could. "It's nice to see you." I really do like her.

"How was your weekend?"

"It was pretty good. We went to Coney Island again. I think it might be the only place in the city where it isn't hot!" Gee, I must sound dumb, talking about the weather and silly kid stuff like roller coasters! But I can't tell her what I was working on or thinking about...

And then Mr. Lackford's there, too! "Genny, Beryl. Nice to see you. I was just working on your manuscript, Beryl. Genny's finished the art - it looks swell."

"Hi, Mr. Lackford. Good to see you, too." I haven't been near his office in about a week 'cause I'm never sure what to do about Daisy. I want to see her! But I don't want to see her because what if she can tell what I'm thinking about her! What if he can tell what I'm thinking about Daisy? So first I went over by his office all the time and then I didn't go and then I did again and now I'm not going at all because I can't stop thinking about Daisy. I didn't even drop off Miss Graves's cover myself.

But I can't help smiling when Mr. Lackford says good things about it, because I know it really was good. "Thanks," I say, grinning up at them. "I liked doing that one. Have you seen it?" I ask Beryl.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

"You too, Genny," I say, smiling and--well, if she's fussing that much over her desk presumably she's embarrassed about it and I politely don't look. She really is quite sweet. "I've mostly been staying in, I confess. Who did you go with?"

I look up and smile as Val--although Genny's calling him Mr. Lackford--arrives. "Nice to see you. I was just working on your manuscript, Beryl." And he's saying that quite pleasantly, which is always a relief. I have heard editors say that with such an edge.

"Well," I say smiling, "I hope it hasn't been too much of a hardship, although I expect something will need rewriting."

"I liked doing that one. Have you seen it?"

"I haven't," I say, and I try and keep from looking too curious, but-- well, there's something that's at least a little undeniably compelling about hearing about your own cover. "Although if it's no trouble, and if you happen to have sketches..."

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

"Although if it's no trouble, and if you happen to have sketches..."

"You can see the thing itself if you want to pop into my office," I say. "And Emery - he does the lettering for covers, I think you've met him - has sent up a mock up of how it will look, though of course we've still got to finalise the title." I smile at her. "Did you have any ideas on that front?" Not that the author always gets to decide, but it's always worth letting them try anyway.

[isidore-excolo.livejournal.com]

The last of the so-called "artists" scrabbles out my door, and I slam it shut before sitting back down, my lips pressed in a tight line. I stand back up all at once and go to the cabinet, still clenching my jaw, and pour myself a gin and tonic, tossing it down all in one go. The bitter taste of juniper makes me wince, and I work my jaw loose, trying to take a deep breath. I hate the stuff, and so it's the only liquor I keep in my office. I only drink it when I really need it.

That cold-faced bitch's face pops into my mind, and I pour myself another drink, swallowing it down more deliberately, focusing on the taste. Better than the sourness that keeps threatening to creep back up. Management's heard comments, have they? The censor board's just looking for an excuse, is it? That bar should never have been raided. They pay their bribes.

So not only did I need to face the indignity of a police station, and then that thuggish Slav coming to collect me discretely, now I'm being put on notice for the awards. "You shall act properly, Mr. Levinson," and I snarl silently, "and you will bring a female companion."

The third drink helps more than the first two. I bet Al hasn't had to face any of this, not with how he's been spending time with that gangly harridan. I pour a fourth and throw myself into my chair, the comfortable one rather than my desk chair, and stare at the wall. I'm going to have a good honest sulk, and then I'll figure this out.

[jaeresteade.livejournal.com]

I know exactly how I managed to end up making the rounds again, returning the copy-edited proofs to their respective editors. All of the girls seem to have found excuses to leave early, since it's Friday and there's an event tonight. Not sure if I'm going or not. It's been a longer week than usual.

Which is why I'm headed over to Art with some proofs that Mr. Levi might want to look at but certainly doesn't need to. I happen to know he keeps a bottle of gin handy, and I've relaxed my policy of not drinking at the office somewhat. Not going to think about those glasses of whiskey in Mr. Lackford's office and that terrible Friday last month.

Well. Mr. Levi might not be so...unsympathetic, and I'd rather drink with him, anyway. I knock on his door and then stick my head in. "I've got some things you might--" Oh, he's not at his desk, and he looks...unwell. I can't think of anything to say for a second. "Is something wrong, sir?" Well, of course it is, but it's a way to start.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

It occurs to me, as I stroll down a floor to Art, that I haven't seen Isidore this week at all, which isn't like us. I have been quite preoccupied, though, but I'd have expected him to stop by my office.

His secretary buzzes me in, and I go in to see him looking - rather miserable. The office smells of gin, and James Anderson is here for some reason.

"Levi," I say. "hello. I was just wondering if you had the art for Lend Me Your Wife ready to look at."

[isidore-excolo.livejournal.com]

Someone knocks, and before I can tell them to go away James Anderson sticks his shaggy head through the doorway. "I've got some things you might -" he breaks off. "Is something wrong, sir?"

I look up, my mouth twisting wryly. I've heard he's a bit of a backscratcher, Anderson, though there might be nothing but office gossip to it. I'm hardly going to take him into my confidence, for all he's not bad looking. "What is it, Anderson?" I ask him. "I thought you'd have left by now, with it being Friday."

And then Al steps inside, hardly glancing at Anderson. "Levi, hello. I was just wondering if you had the art for Lend Me Your Wife ready to look at."

I push my hair back and give my head a shake. "One of my reprobates dropped it off, yes," I tell him as crisply as I can. I stand up and sort through the folders on my desk, pulling one out and handing it to him. Ironic sort of title - but then, he could hardly lend me his, now could he? "Looking forward to the awards tonight?" I ask him, stifling the quick flare of anger. No one ever questions Al.

[jaeresteade.livejournal.com]

I didn't hear anyone behind me, but I definitely catch the name. Shit. I sidle away from the door. "Friday, yeah." And force a smile. "These can wait. Just more robots."

Mr. Sherman pays me absolutely no mind at all, which is all right with me, even though he's a fine looking man. He's all business, and I think Mr. Levi's trying to be, but something's still wrong, despite all the gin it smells like he's poured on it. Hope there's some left for me.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"One of my reprobates dropped it off, yes. Looking forward to the awards tonight?"

I look at the art (http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_v-3gbtENGj8/SuyMmMqew6I/AAAAAAAAF9c/5kOHMLTGZCQ/s400/Lend+Me+Your+Wife-1.jpg) briefly.

"Sultry," I say, nodding approvingly, and then look back at him. "And no, not especially," I say dryly. I want to ask him what is the matter, but Anderson's here. "Hello, Anderson. Robots? I suppose that's a change of pace from this," I say, showing him the artwork.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

Hemingway died Sunday. Can't help feelin' kinda sad...man wuzza sexist dickhole, but some ovvis work wuz real good. I liked The Old Man and the Sea, and some ovvis short stories, an'e sure's hell did lots fer lit'rature. So't's a loss.

Anyway, I head inta th'office wit' more chapters fer th'Victor'an novel'm workin' on. So far't's comin' long real good. Think't could be a real hit, an'I wanna see what Alex hasta say 'bout't.

Speakin'a Alex...well, ain't been a repeat performance. Wouldn't say no, but Alex's been a bit standoffish. Think'e's worried 'bout 'ppearances 'n all. An'at's fine. We's still good friends, an' we still go ferra drink ev'ry so often...'e's jes' been careful. Which's too bad, but I c'n understand't.

Heft m'folder under m'arm an' head inta th'office. Know Alex's in t'day.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

I get back (http://excolocrack.livejournal.com/19979.html?thread=3424523#t3424523) to my office to find Syl waiting outside. Oh, thank God, a legitimate excuse not to call Mr Richards.

"Syl," I say warmly. "Do come in."

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

Hey Alex," I grin attim. 'least'e ain't gone all weird'n avoid-y, like somma th'folks I slept wit've done. 'e invites me in, an'I walk inta'is office'n close th'door.

"Got some new chapters fer you t'look at," I says, settin' th'folder onnis desk. "But first off, how ya bin? Seems like ev'rybody'ere's inna bit ovva stir."

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"Oh, good," I say. "I've been - fine," I say, because I don't want to lie to Syl but I'm also not really in the mood to explain how I've been feeling. "Busy. And yes, people are getting ready for the party tonight. The Publishing Awards, you know. Fearfully boring ceremony but the food's usually good," I say. "If you'd be interested in being my date, you would be saving me from the meaningful glances of my secretary," I add, dropping into my chair.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

"I've been - fine. Busy," 'e says, an'I raise m'eyebrows, cuz'I c'n tell'ere's more b'hind'at'n'e's sayin'. But I ain't gona push'im, I guess. If'n'e wants t'tell me, 'e'll tell me. "And yes, people are getting ready for the party tonight. The Publishing Awards, you know. Fearfully boring ceremony but the food's usually good. If you'd be interested in being my date, you would be saving me from the meaningful glances of my secretary."

Raise m'eyebrows. "A date, Alex, now really?" I grin. "Will y'buy me a corsage 'n kiss m'hand?" I laugh. But't's weird, really. 'd say I wuzzis beard, if'n we hadn't already bloody fucked. "I don't gotta dress, though. Ain't never been one ferreze kind thin's. An'I guess th'tux won't do, will't?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"Will y'buy me a corsage 'n kiss m'hand?"

"We're about eighteen years too late for my senior prom," I say, amused, "or of course I'd get you a corsage."

"I don't gotta dress, though. Ain't never been one ferreze kind thin's. An'I guess th'tux won't do, will't?"

"Much as a tux suits you," I say, "definitely not. This is not a, hm, groundbreaking kind of evening at all. If you did want to come, I'd be happy to help you find a dress. My ex-wife always did say I had an eye for these things."