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

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I can't think he's ever milked a cow in his life, so he probably doesn't know how much work it is. I'm not going to go on and on about farming, though. I'm thinking about going for another button when he comes over to me, puts a hand on my chest. My eyes flutter closed, only half an act.

They open again soon enough, though. I gape at him, at the cold fury that was absolutely the last thing I expected. I feel my face get hot and my eyes prickle. He shoves me away and I stumble back, dropping my head. And that's a lecture, and a threat, I guess. Harder to take, somehow. "I-I'm sorry," I gasp. "I thought-" But somehow I was wrong. And now I've fucked it all up.

I look at him, fine mouth and angry and here. And really, what's there to lose? My pride's somewhere on the floor, "I don't suppose--I mean, not at work?"

His face goes red and his eyes water as I push him away. I don't really feel bad. "I-I'm sorry. I thought-" he cuts off his stammering and tries to catch his breath. "I don't suppose--I mean, not at work?"

I'm not even in a mood to appreciate his audacity. Here I've just been lectured on acting properly, and he sees fit to throw himself at me. I can't even tell if he's trying to ingratiate himself or just wants to see what he can get away with. The former, probably.

"If you missed it when Sherman was here, I have somewhere to be tonight." I settle my jacket and begin to clear my desk. "I suggest you find somewhere else to be - no doubt you'll manage to find yourself some company."

I don't suppose I really thought he'd give me another chance then and there. I don't know if I've ruined things permanently of if there's anyway I could redeem myself. I take a deep breath, trying to find the wherewithal to at least sound calm. "I know that there's...something tonight."

I watch him gather his things, the lines of his back as he bends. It's very clear that he is leaving, dismissing me. "I doubt I'll see you there, but if I do, I won't--I mean, you won't have any...trouble from me." Although at this point I imagine I'm the one doing most of the worrying. He seems satisfied that he's set me in my place.

And he has, and I won't be able to put him out of my head because of it. "Any more, I suppose." I consider telling him I'm sorry again, but wait.

"I know that there's...something tonight. I doubt I'll see you there, but if I do, I won't--I mean, you won't have any...trouble from me."

My back stiffens at the implied threat. "I doubt very much I'll see you there, Mr. Anderson," I reply. I don't look at him. "I must ask you to leave my office." I look at him then, the key in my hand as I take my hat. "I'm leaving for the night," I explain, slowly. Maybe he'll pick up on that cue, if he doesn't get any other.

I should warn Sherman, and a couple of the others I know of. Discretely. If Anderson wants this sort of thing he can pick it up in the city, not here.

He's all but telling me to get out, so I gather myself up. Want that gin more than ever, now, but I'm not going to get it. Can't see that I'm going to get anything I want, just now. He's not looking at me, but I turn and look at him as I go out. "I apologize for the inconvenience." There, as polite and bland as anything. "Good afternoon."

Syl leaves (http://excolocrack.livejournal.com/19979.html?thread=3425803#t3425803), and I'm feeling much more cheerful about this party now. I tell Parras I'm leaving for the night, and she's a bit frosty with me but I don't really care. It's not my problem she doesn't like Syl.

On the way out I bump into Isidore, and he looks even more miserable.

"Hello," I say. "Are you walking to the subway?"

I take my time leaving the office. I have no real desire to be home, trying to figure tonight out, but I suppose it would free me from this feeling of scrutiny.

Alex calls out to me as I'm stepping out of the elevator. "Hello," he says, as I reach him. "Are you walking to the subway?"

I nod. "I'd rather not sit in a cab," I tell him. "The subway feels more anonymous." I should tell him what's wrong, but it's everything, and there's nothing he can do about that.

"The subway feels more anonymous."

I raise my eyebrows a bit at that.

"I'll walk with you," I say, "if that is alright with you." The street is crowded, press of people all around us. "I haven't seen much of you lately," I say quietly. "We should catch up."

Alex looks a touch surprised. "I'll walk with you, if that is alright with you." I nod, only now really feeling the gin I drank earlier. New York rushes around us, more faceless than usual, and he keeps close to my side. "I haven't seen much of you lately. We should catch up."

I smile, trying to keep a touch of bitterness out of it. "You've been busy," I reply. "Did you find someone to bring with you tonight? Or were you not ordered to acquire a companion?" I might as well move from one sour topic to another. It might be the less painful.

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject