NaNo, Part Eleven
Dec. 6th, 2009 05:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
perpetual_motionIt goes all the way to eleven!
Sorry. It had to be done. The novel has hit 90k and may actually end soon. I just finished off the third-to-last chapter, I think. There may be one more chapter, but I really think it's close. Maybe. Send reinforcements.
Previous Installations of the Madness:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Coming Out of It
I woke up in the misty light that filters in the windows just before dawn. I turned on my side, looked at Marla sleeping next to me. Her hair was in her face, her forehead furrowed like she was thinking. I brushed back her hair, pressed my thumb to her forehead. She didn’t stir.
I’d had the dream again. Billy laughing, Wendy walking away, Sally nowhere to be found. I turned onto my back, stared at the ceiling. Would it end, I wondered. Was it made to end.
Marla made a noise low in her throat, coughed in her sleep, turned over. I turned my head and followed the line of her, the curve of her shoulder, her ribcage, her waist and hips. I made myself relax, four deep breaths, and I let hope flutter in while I stared at her shoulder, her hair trailing along her back, the wrinkled material of her slip at her hip. Maybe, I thought. Maybe I could do this.
I watched her sleep, watched her turn again, jumped when the alarm went off. I slapped my hand on the snooze button, felt for the switch to turn off the alarm, touched her shoulder. “Marla,” I said quietly.
“I’m up,” she said, and she sat up in a smooth motion. “I’m up,” she said again.
I watched her blink, rub the sleep from her eyes. “Coffee?” I offered. “I also have tea.”
“Coffee,” she said through a yawn.
“You can have the shower first,” I told her and threw my legs over the edge of the bed, flinching when my feet hit the cold floor. “I can make breakfast.”
“Thanks,” she said, and we both sat there for a moment. I wondered what she was thinking, but I didn’t ask, just got up, curled my toes against the cold floor, and walked to the kitchen.
I made eggs, bacon, and toast. Put the jam on the table, and poured a cup of coffee as Marla walked in wrapped in my robe.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she said, gesturing to the robe.
“It’s fine,” I told her, and I looked my fill at her in my too-short robe, toenails painted pearl pink. “I can’t promise anything,” I said. “What happened with Billie, it’s injured me; I can see it now, the scars of it, and I don’t know that I can be someone who can be so openly in love like I was with her. If that’s not something you want to carry—and I understand why you wouldn’t—let me know, and we’ll find a middle ground we can both handle.”
Marla walked up to me, tilted back my head, stared into my eyes. “I don’t know who you were with Billie,” she said, “and I don’t care. I want the Julie I know.”
“I don’t know if she’s going to be around much longer,” I admitted. “I feel like a lot of baggage is about to be tossed on the side of the road.”
“Fine.” Marla smiled, soft in the half-light of the sun coming in the kitchen. “That just gives me more room in the car.”
“I’ve been telling you a story,” I admitted. “I said Billie did it for me, but she didn’t. She did it so she wouldn’t have to go to prison.”
Marla was quiet for a moment, her hands warm on my face. “Okay,” she said finally. “That doesn’t change much of anything.”
“I just wanted you to know,” I told her. “I feel like you should know.”
“Well, I know,” Marla replied. “So we’re covered there.”
I let her kiss me then, lips soft and slightly off-center. I grabbed the belt of my robe, pulled her closer. “I promise,” I told her, “if I become a coward, I’ll let you know before I can make you hate me.”
“You can’t be a coward,” Marla reassured me. “I’ve got a nose for cowards, and you don’t smell anything of the type.”
“Keep your nose out,” I told her. “Make sure I see you if you go on point.”
She laughed, pulled away, sweetened her coffee and sat at my table like she’d been there a hundred mornings. “What’s up for today?” she asked as I served her a plate of eggs and bacon.
“I’m not sure yet,” I admitted, taking a seat across from her. I put jam on my toast, took a bite, cautiously sipped my coffee. “Sally’s as good as her word, so she’ll probably have a list of defectors for me by noon, but I have to figure out which writers I can sneak away—”
“I can get a list of the ones who aren’t under exclusive contract,” Marla offered. I raised my eyebrows at her. “It’s best you don’t ask,” she said and grinned.
I eyed her as I took another sip of coffee, tried to size her up as I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “You’d have owned the underground,” I told her. “You look entirely innocent when you offer to do things that are ethically dubious.”
“Good thing we’re on the same path then, hm?” Marla asked, and then she laughed, light and open, and gave me a wink.
“I’m going to hop in the shower,” I told her. “We can be out of here early enough for you to change at your place.”
“Ready when you are,” Marla said, and she stole the last piece of bacon off my plate.
I showered, combed my hair, got dressed, and met Marla by the front door. She was dressed in her clothes from the day before, slightly wrinkled but nothing that would draw attention. She smiled at me as I shrugged on my jacket and pulled my hair off my neck.
“Turn around,” she said.
“What?”
“Turn,” she repeated, and she turned me as she said it. She smoothed my hair, braided it, and put on a clasp. “There,” she told me. “You look less like you’re rushing out the door to let your girlfriend get a fresh change of clothes.”
I pulled the braid over my shoulder, looked at the clip she’d found. “This was from my mother,” I said, touching the mother of pearl inset. I thought about Billie for a moment, how she’d said it was her favorite clip. I shook my head, pushed my braid back over my shoulder, and reached out my hand. “Shall we?”
Marla laced her fingers through mine, smiled. “Sure.”
We took the Monorail, Marla refusing to let go of my hand when I tried to pull away. “Do you mind?” she asked when a woman in the next seat gave us a look.
“No,” I said, but my heart was hammering. I breathed in deep, reminded myself that it was different, that everything was different.
“You’re shaking,” Marla told me. “I can—”
“No,” I said, and I squeezed her hand as she tried to pull away. “No. I want this. I want exactly this.”
She smiled at me, her eyes lighting up. “So do I,” she promised.
Memories of Billie snuck in again, her promise to me after she’d been taken the first time, mine in return. This was better, I thought. This was just two people on a Monorail, no worry or prison terms hanging over our heads. “Okay,” I said. “All right.”
We got to Marla’s, and I followed her to her apartment, catching a smile from her doorman. “Your doorman just grinned at me,” I told her as she unlocked her door.
“He’s a nice guy,” she replied, so nonchalant it made me laugh. “I’ll be just a minute,” she told me, and I watched her walk towards her bedroom. I stood in her living room, breathed in through my mouth, listened to Marla move around her bedroom and change.
“You look so relaxed,” she told me as she walked back into the living room. She was wearing brown tweed, the jacket cropping in at her waist. Her blouse was cream. I watched her pin up her hair, wanted to memorize it.
“I’m moving forward,” I told her as she turned to face me. “I’ve just realized it.”
“You were there yesterday, right?” Marla asked, smile sliding across her face. “When you decided to take down Mallory and Sandy from the inside?”
“I’m not taking them down,” I said, chuckling as Marla gave me a light push towards the door. “I’m giving them competition.”
“Whatever,” Marla said, giving a dismissive wave. “I guess it’s just sinking in, huh?”
“Yeah,” I agreed, and I led the way out the door, to the elevator, and out to the street. “Cab’s on me,” she said as the doorman swung open the front door. “Cab to Perpetual, if you would,” she told the doorman.
“Of course.” The doorman stepped to the curb and raised a hand.
We slid into the back of the cab, Marla crowding me against the far door. The doorman gave the driver the address, and Marla grinned at me as the cabbie whipped into traffic like he was avoiding an accident rather than about to cause one.
“Call Dinick when we get in,” I said, feeling my professional veneer start to settle for the day. “I need her in my office as soon as she’s free.”
“All right.” Marla patted down her coat pockets, pulled out a pen and pad. “Anything else?”
“Pull those names you mentioned, the non-contracted writers.” I spared her a glance as the cab took a sharp left turn, the blare of a car horn following in his wake. “How are you getting those names?”
“I told you not to ask.”
“They’re in Mallory and Sandy’s offices.”
“I said don’t ask,” Marla repeated. She gave me a grin. “We secretaries have certain codes and understandings you upper crust types don’t know about.”
I thought about that for a moment. “What’s it going to cost me?”
“It won’t cost you a thing,” Marla told me. “It’ll cost me a great deal of very good coffee.”
“I could—” I stopped when she put a hand on my arm and gave me a look. “Yes?”
“I’m bankrolling our soon-to-be enterprise. This is just a start up expense.”
“If they catch you—”
“I’ll get fired,” she said. “Which is something we need anyway.”
I looked at her, the smirk on her face, the mischief in her eyes, and I laughed. “The world is changing, Marla Tinkerton,” I told her.
“Isn’t it great?” she replied.
“Perpetual Comics,” the cabbie said as he slammed on the brakes. Marla and I bounced off the waffle divider. “Sorry,” he said. “Bad habit.”
“It’s all right,” Marla assure him. She handed him money for the fare plus tip, said thank you, and shoved me out of the cab.
“Poker face,” I told her, and we looked at each other, trying to keep straight faces. We laughed, leaning on each other as the morning commuters gave us confused looks.
“All right,” I said, and I breathed in to calm myself. “Okay.” I looked at Marla, pulled in my grin, waited for her to do the same. “Shall we get to work, Miss Tinkerton?”
“Of course, Miss Schwartz,” she replied, and we walked into the building together.
1965 – The Aftermath of the Sixth Raid -- The Twilight Days
I drove for two hours headed vaguely west and only pulled over at a tiny gas station in the middle of nowhere because the gas gauge in my car was slipping below the ‘E’. I stood next to the car, waving off the young man that was hurrying out to pump my gas, and I watched the numbers tick over. The boy waited at my elbow, not asking questions but obviously wanting something to do. “Clean the windshield,” I told him, and he wiped it down with efficiency.
The total came to $5.12. I gave him six, told him to keep the change, and followed him into the gas station to buy something to eat. The man behind the counter looked at me with concern when I walked in, and I caught my reflection in the mirror, saw that my lip had swollen where Billie had hit me. “I need a highway map,” I told him.
“Which state?” he asked.
“All of them,” I replied, and he reached for a pink rectangle of paper, unfolded it easily, and spread it on the counter, smoothing the creases with his hands.
“Where you going?” he asked, and there was kindness in his eyes. He thought I was someone’s wife, I realized, thought I was getting away from a man who’d hit me. I wanted to correct him, pour out the whole story, but I figured running from a coward was near enough to the truth, so I pressed my lips together, trailed my index finger across the states and pressed my nail into the coastline of Oregon. “Somewhere in there,” I said. “I have family there.” Sally still sent postcards. The last dozen had all had the same postmark. Portland.
The man dug around behind the counter, came up with a bright blue marker, drew a circle where I’d pointed with my index finger and then drew another circle on the edge the Missouri and Kansas border. “You’re here,” he said, pointing to the second circle. “You’ll follow US 69 for a bit, then take I-635 North, then I-29 West. All right?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I said when he didn’t continue. I watched him mark the route to a certain point, write the numbers of the highways and interstates I’d need.
“Then it’s I-80 West for about nine hundred miles, and then it’s about another nine hundred miles on I-84 West.”
“Got it,” I told him, and I watched the blue line link to the circle in Oregon.
“Anything else for you, Miss?” he asked, and he said ‘miss’ the way I’d heard people ask if their children were okay. He wasn’t much older than me, maybe ten or eleven years, and I wondered if he had a younger sister somewhere, married to a man he didn’t trust.
“I’ll need something to drink,” I told him. “And a snack.”
“We’ve got sandwiches,” he said, and he gestured to the boy who’d tried to pump my gas. “Find the lady a sandwich,” he said. “And get her some drinks, and pull one of the coolers from the back—”
“That’s not necessary,” I told him. “I can stop—”
“I insist, Miss,” he told me, and I closed my mouth, nodded, let him hand me the key to the washroom. “You’d probably like to freshen up,” he said.
I met his eyes for a moment. He gave me a small smile, pressed the key more firmly into my hand. I walked to the outside of the building, unlocked the door to the washroom, and fumbled around for the light switch. The bathroom was scrubbed, tiles shining butter yellow in the slightly flickering light. I looked at myself in the mirror, poked at the sore spot on my lip. It was more swollen than I’d thought, a bruise darkening the left corner of my mouth. I poked the cut with my tongue, winced when it stung. I combed my fingers through my hair to straighten it, patted myself down for a hair tie and couldn’t find one.
“Move forward,” I told my reflection. “There’s nothing behind you.”
I wet a paper towel, wiped it over my face, straightened my jacket, and I walked out of the bathroom. “Thank you,” I said to the man behind the counter. I placed the key by his hand. “What do I owe you for the food and cooler?”
“I can’t—”
“I’m not destitute,” I cut in before he could tell me it was on him. “It’s not quite what you think it is.” I looked him in the eyes for a long moment, waited for him to nod at me. “Good,” I said. “Now, what do I owe you for the food and cooler?”
He quoted a price, and I eyed him again. It was obviously low. “Miss,” he said quietly, and he gave me a tight, small smile, “you’re headed out onto the road alone. Probably be on the road for two or three days depending on how you drive. It wouldn’t be right—”
“Sir—”
“It wouldn’t be right,” he repeated, voice a bit louder, “to send you out there without doing what I could. I wasn’t raised that way, and you won’t convince me otherwise.”
We had a brief staredown. I slapped my hand lightly on the counter and reached for my pocket book. “Fine.” I said. “My mother always told me never to argue with a man about business.” I put my money on the counter, let him hand me seventy-three cents in change. He insisted on carrying the cooler himself, waved off the boy when he tried to grab it. I led him to the car, opened the front passenger door for him, let him slide the cooler into place.
“It’s funny,” he said, and his tone said it wasn’t. “This is a quiet place. We get enough business to get along, you know, but it’s mostly locals. You’re the second person coming through in six months or so who’s been on her way west.”
I looked at him from the corner of my eye. “Oh?” I asked, and I didn’t care that I sounded suspicious. I was too tired, too beaten; I didn’t have the energy to keep up my façade.
“She had the same look in her eyes,” he told me. “The same exhaustion, like she’d just come from a fight she had lost worse than she’d planned.”
“And?” I snapped.
He looked at me for a long minute, titled his head slightly to the left, opened and closed his hand like he wanted to reach out and pat my arm. “Can my yearning mellow?” he asked.
I blinked. “What?” I asked.
“Can my yearning mellow?” he repeated.
I stared at him, swallowed, pressed a hand to my face. “How?” I asked.
“My sister’s a fan,” he said. “And I can appreciate a free speech battle now and again.”
“I meant how did you know about me?” I asked.
“The other person to come through,” he explained, “she told me to look for someone that matched your description. Said you might be headed this way sometime after her.”
“Hell of a memory you have,” I told him. “You said it’s been six months.”
He smiled a little; it made him look younger, like a sneaky big brother who’d snuck into his sister’s room and short-sheeted her bed while she was out on dates. “She drew me a picture,” he said. “It’s hanging in my office.”
I laughed before I could stop myself, amazed at Sally’s audacity. “I’ll tell you found me,” I told him. “I’ll tell her you say hello.”
“Do that,” he said, and he held out his hand. “Be safe,” he told me.
“I’ll try,” I promised. We shook, his hand was slightly rough and warm. I walked around to the driver’s side of the car, slid into the seat, watched him stand by the pumps in the rearview mirror. He lifted a hand as I turned onto the street. I didn’t look behind me, just stuck my arm out of the window and waved.
He’d put the map on top of the cooler, and I unfolded it one-handed, one eye on the road as I skimmed the route. He’d added a few notes, the ink slightly smeared where he’d hurried. He’d recommended hotels, a diner. I wondered about his sister, what she did when she wasn’t with the commies. Wondered if the look on his face at the sight on my bruises was because of someone she knew or if she’d met up with rough cops.
Those thoughts got me through a hundred miles. I turned on the radio as I passed the sign for Auburn, Nebraska. The farmland ran together. Nothing was growing, and I had miles of brown fields on either side as far as I could see. I hummed with the radio, felt around in the cooler for something to drink, and pushed myself not to think.
“Forward,” I said to the silence as the sun started to set. The radio went to static, then farm reports. I clicked it off, and the silence hit me like a hammer. “Shit.” I muttered. “Shit!” I yelled to fill the car with noise. “Six months,” I said to the windshield. “She wasn’t there for six months. She’s not here now. It’s the same damned silence.”
I pulled off the road, sprayed up the shoulder gravel as I slammed on my brakes. I pressed my head against the steering wheel, breathed in deep enough to make my lungs burn with it. “It’s the same damned silence,” I said, and I listened to the wind whistling by the car as I screamed until I was hoarse.
Three hours later, so exhausted my eyes were trying to stay closed when I blinked, I pulled into a motor lodge just off the highway. “Room for the night,” I said to the older woman behind the counter.
She looked me over. I couldn’t guess at what she saw, but she simply nodded, handed me a key, pointed where I needed to sign the book, and directed me to room number eight. It had a single queen bed with a blue-patterned comforter. The water in the shower was tepid, and I stared at myself in the mirror for nearly five minutes. “This is what you look like,” I told myself. “This is what you look like when everything’s gone to shit.” I tried to memorize it, the sag of my shoulders, the circles under my eyes, the way my hair hung damp and limp down my back. I needed it for later, I thought, in case everything went sideways again.
The older lady from the desk knocked on my door at dawn. She handed me a cup of coffee and a donut, watched me walk to my car and get in. She turned away as soon as the engine started, and I turned up the radio as loud as I could stand it as I left the parking lot.
I drove until sunset, leaving the radio to crackle static when I couldn’t find a station. I ate two cheese sandwiches, drank four sodas, stopped for gas three times, and made it a point not to look anyone in the eyes. I pulled off outside of Boise, Idaho, found a cheap motel with a payphone in the lobby. My pocket book was jangling with change, and I dumped it on the small shelf in the phone booth, counted out nickels and dropped them into the slot, dialed 0 for the operator.
“What city, please?” she asked, sounding terribly bored.
“Portland, Oregon,” I said.
“Name?”
“Sal—” I cut off, realizing in a sudden bout of shock that I wasn’t sure if Sally had changed her name.
“Sal what?” the operator asked.
“Do you…” I cleared my throat, pulled the receiver away from my mouth, coughed into the crook of my elbow. “Pardon me,” I told the operator. “Do you have any La Roccas listed?” I asked.
“I have four La Roccas in Portland.”
“Any S. La Roccas?”
“I have one.”
“I’ll take that one, please.” I listened to her connect the call, wondered if she was the type to listen in. The connection rang once, twice, three times. Four. Five.
“Hello?” Sally’s voice was slightly surprised, a little hesitant. I wondered if she got many phone calls.
“Long distance from Boise,” the operator said.
“Put it through,” Sally said, and there was a click as the operator dropped off the line. “Hello?” Sally said. “Who is this, please?”
I opened my mouth, and the words caught.
“Hello? Is anyone—”
“Sally,” I said, and it was flat and hollow. “Sally it’s—”
“You’re in Boise?” she interrupted. “Why the hell are you—”
“She’s a coward, Sal.” I told her. “Billie. She just…five years, Sally. It was Wendy’s life or five years, and she’s letting them string up Wendy. She’s letting them—”
“Julie!” Sally’s voice was sharp. I wondered if she’d had to say my name more than once. “Jules, you need to breathe in, okay? Breathe in for me. Let me hear it.”
I breathed in as hard as I could, held it for five seconds, breathed out harder. “Hi, Sally,” I said.
“There you are.” There was rustling, a thump. I could see her in my mind’s eye, slumped in a chair, one hand pressed against her temple. “You’re headed here, I assume,” she said.
“Yes,” I told her. “I should be there tomorrow sometime.”
“It’s about seven hours,” Sally told me. “Leave later in the day, all right? I don’t have time to call into work for this, and they’re watching me since I’m still new.”
“Okay.” I said. “Where do I go?”
She thought for a moment. “My apartment, I suppose. I’ll leave notice with the doorman to expect you. I’d have you come to the office, but I’m already getting enough funny looks. I think a few people recognize my name.”
“The famous Sally La Rocca,” I said.
“Sure,” she told me. She was quiet again. “Don’t tell me about Billie yet,” she ordered me. “I don’t want to hear it until I can sit next to you and give you handkerchiefs, all right?”
“Sure,” I said. “All right.”
“Good.” She cleared her throat. I heard her swallow like she was trying not to cry. “It’s made the papers up here,” she said, quiet and painful. “It’s everywhere.”
“They kept your name out of it,” I said. “If the stories are the same.”
“They must be. My name’s not up here, either. I guess they decided…” she trailed off, sighed. “I don’t know,” she said.
“They didn’t get you,” I said. “So they don’t want to claim you.”
“Maybe.”
I pressed my head against the phone booth glass, looked at the nickels on the shelf. The phone would beep soon, I knew, the operator coming on to demand payment for a few more minutes. “What’s your address?” I asked. “How do I get there?”
She gave me directions in short steps, a left here, a right there, straight up a street she had to spell twice because I couldn’t quite concentrate. “I’ll leave the number for my office by the phone,” she said. “I don’t have a secretary, but one of the girls in the pool will get me a message, okay?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll try to leave late enough for you to be home when I get there.”
“Don’t leave before noon then,” she advised. “Sleep in. Have a long breakfast.”
The operator clicked on the line. “If you’d like—”
“No, thank you,” I cut her off. “I’ll be signing off.” I hung up the phone before Sally or the operator could respond. I left the nickels on the shelf.
In-Season Poaching
Sally walked into my office before I’d even taken off my coat. “Marla, the door, please,” she said as she threw herself onto my couch. Marla shut the outer door and came and leaned in the doorjamb of my office.
“Sale,” Sally started. “Ba. Cassady. Di Giandomenico. Ross. Gleason.” She grinned. “All of them pay for play under Perpetual’s contract set up; all of them willing to give it up to come on as full contract players under us.”
I dropped my coat over the back of my chair, sat down, tucked my hands behind my head. “That was fast.”
“Art directors get to call the best meetings,” Sally said, her grin going impish. “And my staff likes me enough to complain to me about their contract status.”
“Wonderful.” I glanced at Marla. “Write the names down somewhere. Some pad you could keep on your person.”
“On it,” she promised and turned away from the door.
“What’s next?” Sally asked.
“Coffee,” I told her. “I got in the door two minutes ago; I can’t call my own meetings like you. Give me a couple of hours.”
We laughed, and Sally stood to leave. “I’m jazzed,” she told me. “I can feel it up to my eyes, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling it myself. “It’s been awhile.”
“We’ll keep it this time,” Sally promised. “I’ll bottle it if I have to.”
“Eau Du Sticking it to the Woman?” I asked.
“Eau Du Forget Billie Fraction,” Sally countered. She stretched out her arms, let them fall, smoothed a supposed wrinkle on the front of her dress. “Ring over when you’ve got something,” she said, and she did a sort of half-twirl, paused, shook her head, let herself out of my office.
Marla’s poked her head back in. “She okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” I told her, and I felt myself smiling again. “She never quite gets her feet in front of her when something’s on the bubble. Once we’ve got a little more settled in, she’ll slide right back into calm and composed.”
“Do Good Editor and Bad Editor know to look for that?” Marla asked. “Can they spot it?”
“Nah. They never worked with her. And if they recognize it, it means she’s done it here during a project. And she can cover if she needs.”
“Just wanting to be sure,” Marla told me. “Make sure we don’t shoot ourselves in the foot.”
“Smart woman,” I told her, and she grinned at me, turned back to her desk, sat down and hummed.
I looked at the papers on my desk, sorted through, found the notes for Alligator Girl. I had to look like I wasn’t planning a coup, had to look like I wasn’t sneaking some of Mallory and Sandy’s best people out from under their combined noses. That meant working on Alligator Girl, getting some sort of first-issue script together. It’d make Billie crazy, I thought, to come in and find a good portion of the work started. She’d always liked to run the show, agree on the broad strokes and leave the details to the rest of us. She was a good director, I admitted in my own head, and then I shoved it all away, rolled a piece of paper into my typewriter and tried to figure out how I wanted the highly experimental lab to work.
Marla knocked on my door frame forty minutes later. I glanced up but didn’t stop typing. “Yes?” I asked.
“Dinick can be here in twenty,” she said.
“Great,” I replied. She walked back to her desk. I wrote the explosion, made a note for the artists to stripe in some green and blue. “Marla!” I yelled. “I’ve got five pages on Alligator Girl. Run me two copies on the machine. Bring one back here with the originals, and put the other in Billie’s mailbox.”
Marla’s eyebrows were up when she walked in to take the sheaf of papers. “Really?” she asked, and she glanced over her should at the open outer door.
“The first rule of breaking the rules,” I told her, my voice an undertone, “is to give the impression that you’re not. How can I be up to something if I’m working like I’m supposed to be working?”
She eyed the sheaf, skimmed the first page. “Two copies?” she asked.
“Two,” I confirmed. “One back here with the originals—”
“One in Miss Fraction’s mailbox,” Marla finished. “Got it.”
I watched her leave, settled back into my chair, flipped through a few more papers and considered a few more scripts. I’d miss some of this when I was gone, I knew. The work involved in getting a rival company off the ground would take the fun out of writing for a while. I found a stack of recommended revisions from Mallory and Sandy, flipped open the envelope and started working through them.
“Julie.”
I looked up. Dinick was in my office doorway looking slightly concerned. “Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Maral said you wanted to see me, but she’s not at her desk, so I figured I’d get your attention myself.”
I glanced at the clock. It’d been twenty-two minutes since I’d sent Marla to the copy room. “Weird,” I muttered, and I shook my head at Dinick. “She must have gotten caught up. There’s probably a line. Everyone’s scripts are due this week.”
“Don’t I know it,” Dinick said and pulled a face.
I dropped the script revisions on my desk, gestured for her to sit on the loveseat, shut my office door behind her as she got settled. “Question,” I said.
“I’m listening,” she replied.
“What’s your loyalty level?” I asked. “To Mallory and Sandy, I mean.”
Dinick leaned back, balanced her left ankle on her right knee, cocked her head at me. “Why?”
“I’m fishing,” I admitted. “But before I put bait on the hook, I need to know your loyalty to Mallory and Sandy.”
Dinick thought about it, narrowed her eyes, stared into the middle distance around my left arm. “They pay me,” she admitted. “So there’s that.”
“And if someone offered you a better deal?” I asked. “What would it have to be?”
“To drop my loyalty to Mallory and Sandy and Perpetual?”
“Yes,” I said.
Dinick thought again. “A matched deal would be a good starting place. Same salary, same hours.” She smirked a little. “Slightly higher expectations wouldn’t hurt.”
“Expectations?” I prompted.
“If I were working for someone who’d give me a hand getting my capers and emotional stories better mixed, I’d probably switch over in a second. I’ve got it pretty good here, but there’s not a lot being done to encourage me to be better.”
“All right,” I said. “Good to know.”
“Why me?” Dinick asked before I could further the conversation. “I always figured if you went wrong, you’d have Jackie by your side on the way out the door.”
“Jackie’s under contract,” I told Dinick. “And Jackie, as far as I know, has some loyalty left to Mallory and Sandy from back before.”
“During the speaks?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I’m up for book negotiation in three weeks,” Dinick told me. “Can we move faster than that? I’m not big enough around her to try stalling tactics.”
“We’re moving as fast as we possibly can,” I promised her. “Marla will send you a note when we’re ready to call it a day.”
“Fantastic.” Dinick stood up, held out her hand. “Pleasure to do some business with you,” she told me. “Can’t wait to see the new digs.”
“Neither can I,” I admitted, and we grinned at each other.
“Make me better,” Dinick said. “Tell me you’ll try.”
“I’ll do my best,” I promised, and I opened my office door. Marla was at her desk, copies at her elbow. She said goodbye to Dinick in a quiet undertone, and I gave her a sharp look. She was pale, hands slightly shaky, and I crouched by her desk. “All right?” I asked.
“Mallory and Sandy found me in the copy room,” she told me. “They said someone from art reported that you were trying to poach people to start your own company. They wanted to know if I knew anything about it.”
“And?” I asked, hating I needed to know. “What’d you say?”
“I told them that you hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort to me. They want you in their offices in five minutes.”
“Okay.” I stood up, straightened my hair, clasped a hand on Marla’s shoulder. “The worst they can do is fire us,” I told her, “and we’re aiming for that, anyway.”
Marla visibly relaxed; her hands stopped shaking. She laughed a little, loose around the edges. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to overreact. They were just—they were very unhappy.”
“They’re protective,” I said, and I admired them for a moment. “They worked hard to get their books back. I can understand how this would send them on a tear.”
“Yeah?”
I thought about what Sally had said, about how they’d forgotten what they’d been fighting for. “They got their blood riled. It’s been a while. I know how they feel.” I patted Marla’s shoulder again. “If I’m not back in an hour, reset my appointments. Anyone asks, tell them the truth. They pulled me in to ask me some questions about a break away.”
“Really?”
I grinned at Marla, felt the dangerous edge of it when I pressed my teeth into my lower lip. “We may get a few people popping up to offer their assistance,” I told her. “Wouldn’t that be glorious?”
“Be careful,” she said. “No reason to poke them when they’re already bristled up like angry cats.”
“Promise,” I agreed, and I let the grin slide off my face, let my stance settle back, putting the weight off the balls of my feet. “I’ll ring down if something goes horribly wrong,” I promised, and then I headed for the elevator.
The secretary waved me in before I could announce myself. Mallory and Sandy were sitting in matching arm chairs. I sat on the sofa in front of them, leaned back, put my arms along the back of the couch. “You wanted to see me,” I said. “Marla said you’d heard a rumor.”
“It’s not a rumor,” Sandy started. “We’ve been informed by someone in the building that you’re attempting to steal away talent to start your own company.”
“Okay,” I said, and I let myself sound confused. “I’m not sure what’s going on.”
“Are you thinking of starting your own company, Julie?” Mallory asked, looking shocked to have to ask. “Are you that unhappy here?”
“I’m not unhappy,” I said, and it was true enough that they both looked relieved. “And I’m not trying to steal away anyone.”
“Sally La Rocca had a meeting this morning,” Mallory told me. “She offered some of our pay to play artists new positions at a yet unnamed comic book company she wants to start. It was implied you were involved.”
“She used your name,” Sandy snapped. “Sally La Rocca listed you by name.”
I leaned forward, dropped my arms to my knees, clasped my hands together. “This is the very first I’ve heard about it,” I said. “I had no idea.”
Sandy sniffed dismissively. “Of course not.”
I narrowed my eyes, flared my nostrils, gave Sandy the hardest look I had. “Excuse me?” I barked. “Are you implying something?”
“You practically begged to be fired last week,” Sandy snapped. “You were asking for it.”
“So because I threw a fit because you want Billie Fraction on staff it means I’m suddenly a deserter?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Sandy said coolly, and it was almost a physical slap to the face.
“Sandy,” Mallory said sharply. “That was inappropriate.”
“I deserted no one,” I said, trying to stamp down my anger. “I walked away from Billie Fraction because she was the last person I had in the area, and she’d pulled a treason to get out of jail time she’d been told to expect. I gave up no one, and I gave up on nothing. I walked away because my other option was to stay there and work with a duplicitous, lying, spineless worm.”
“So you see our concern,” Sandy said flatly.
Shit. She had a point, and I couldn’t deny it. I let myself look good and mad while I scrambled for an angle. “I’m under contract,” I said after a long moment of silence. “And I read it again over the weekend.” It was a lie, but it was believable. I could see it in the way Mallory leaned back a little, the way the sneer softened into a smirk on Sandy’s face. “And while I’d rather put a nail through my foot than work with Billie Fraction, there’s nothing I can do to get out of it for now.”
“That’s true,” Mallory said, tone placating. “It’s good that you see that.”
“Futhermore,” I continued, “I do try hard to be a professional. And that’s what I’ve got to do now. I’ve got to step up and show the both of you that despite my occasional fit, I do mean to do right by you and what I promised you. I’m here to write. That’s all I’m doing. If I have to work with Billie Fraction and swallow back the bile in my throat, so be it.”
I watched them both, keeping my face sincere, keeping my eyes tired. I watched them look at one another, look at me, look at one another again. I kept my position, breathed carefully, wondered if either of them would take into account the fact that they’d taught us to lie to get away from the police. To tell them we were really good girls in a bad situation and only wanted to do our best.
“All right,” Mallory said after a long pause. “You can get back to work. We’ll speak to Sally La Rocca privately and see what she has to say about all this.”
“I’ll get out of your way,” I said, and I left the office, keeping my head down until I was on the elevator. It was a fight not to run to my office, throw open the door and crow. Instead, I walked in, gestured for Marla to follow me, shut my office door behind us. “Pull my contract,” I told her. “And get me a fine-toothed comb.”
“Not fired?” Marla asked.
“No,” I said. “But definitely accused. I convinced them I was horribly maligned, and they’ve bought it for now, but I don’t have the time to coach Sally on her answers. I need a back up. There’s got to be something in my contract I can violate by accident.”
“Accident?” Marla asked with a grin. “Really?”
I grinned in return. “Of course, Miss Tinkerton. What kind of underhanded shenanigans do you think we’re playing at here?”
“Should be under ‘C’,” she told me. “I can have it pulled in two shakes.”
“There should be more than one copy,” I said. “Marking up the original will look suspicious.” My phone rang, and I reached for it as Marla opened the filing cabinet in the outer office. “Julie Schwartz,” I said.
“You’re trying to escape,” Jackie greeted me.
“Misunderstanding,” I told her, not wanting to get into. What I’d told Dinick was true. Jackie was under contract and loyal to Mallory and Sandy.
“If I let myself be poached, do I have to work with Dani Q.?”
My eyebrows shot up. “I sure wouldn’t know,” I told her. “From what I hear, this is all Sally’s brainchild.”
“Bullshit,” Jackie said. “But I’ll play along.”
“Nothing to play along with,” I said, and I could practically hear her eyes roll.
“Sure. Fine. Whatever. Look, I’m up in six months. If I’ve not stabbed Dani Q. with her red pen, you think you could talk to Sally into hiring one more writer-type?”
“If it comes up,” I said. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Greatness.”
There was a pause, and I decided to ask. “Why would you want to defect? You and Mallory and Sandy go way back.”
Jackie snorted. “You think you’re the only one climbing up the walls with Billie Fraction coming on board? Come on, Julie, you remember how this works. Treason’s still treason, no matter the money that might be made from it. Mallory and Sandy had me because of what they put themselves up against during the Gray Age, but they cancelled out hard and fast when they let Fraction in the building without a blindfold and a cigarette.”
“Your name’s on the list,” I told Jackie. “The good list.”
“Damn straight.” She sighed over the line. “What’s the world coming to that we need lists again?” she asked.
“Fairness,” I told her. “Maybe a little justice.”
“Yeah,” she said and sounded like she was falling into memories. “Maybe.”
I said goodbye, hung up the phone, eased myself into my chair. Marla came in with a copy of my contract, paused and looked at me. “I’m all right,” I told her. “That was Jackie. She’s ours when her contract’s up.”
“And?” Marla asked.
“And I’m second guessing myself,” I admitted. “Something Jackie said. I know Mallory and Sandy have brought this on themselves, bringing Billie into the fold, but maybe I shouldn’t be fighting it so hard. Maybe we should let it be, give her something like a chance.”
Marla rolled her eyes, kicked my in the ankle with the point of her heel. “Jesus, Julie. Shut up.”
I rubbed my ankle. “What?”
“You get one side,” she said and held up a finger. “Only one. Either you still think what Billie did was despicable, or you don’t. You can’t sway on this.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not swayable,” Marla answered. “Do you really want to be around someone who sent someone else to death to protect you when it wasn’t an absolute necessary? That said, do you want to be around someone who would do it, period?”
I put my elbows on my desk, my head in my hands. “It wasn’t for me,” I said.
Marla cocked her head. “What wasn’t?”
“I told myself a story,” I said to her. “I told myself she did it to save me, even when I didn’t need saving. Heart in the right place, you know?”
“Sure,” Marla said. She sat on the loveseat, my contract forgotten in her hand. “But you passionately defended her two days ago,” she told me. “You told me you couldn’t write her off because there was a part of you—”
“That was lying to myself,” I interrupted. “She did it for herself, Marla. She did it because she thought I’d leave her.”
There was silence. Marla looked like someone had come up behind her and slapped her in the back of the head. “Hell of a revision,” she said after a minute.
“Yeah,” I said.
“What made you realize it?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably the general shock of seeing her, of her acting like it’s not a big deal she was involved, but I remember it now. I could probably recite the whole conversation for you.”
We were quiet again. The stunned look slowly left Marla’s face. “Well,” she said, sounding brisk and businesslike, “that makes detesting Billie even easier.”
“What?” I asked. I hadn’t expected her to say something like that.
“You’ve got two choices, Julie. You can either get up and walk out of here with a group of people ready to brave a lawsuit the size of a small continent, or you can stay here and work with Billie Fraction, who didn’t have the brass to trust you when you promised to stick around. You can have a spine, or you can’t.”
“And if I stay here?” I asked, only half-serious but terribly curious about Marla’s answer.
“I won’t,” Marla said. “And this,” she waved a finger between the two of us, “won’t either.”
“Well.” I said. I smiled before I could hold it in. The way she was looking at me, fire in her eyes, the line of her jaw sharp in the light from my window, I felt twenty again, hidden in a semi-condemned building and training up commies to lie to the police, to look them in the eyes and tell them a slanted truth that they’d take as gospel. “I’ve got no room for cowards,” I told Marla. “Never have.”
“That’s what I thought.” She dropped the contract on my desk, walked back to her own desk, sat down. I watched her work for a moment, the way she stacked papers and answered the phone.
“We’re partners in this,” I said to her when she hung up with the switchboard. “I want you to know that.”
“I knew it,” she promised and spared me a glance. Her eyes were bright, happy. “But thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
That puts you all near the 80,000 word mark, and thanks, again, for reading through all of it. It's nice to know people are enjoying it in all its first-draft goodness.
Sorry. It had to be done. The novel has hit 90k and may actually end soon. I just finished off the third-to-last chapter, I think. There may be one more chapter, but I really think it's close. Maybe. Send reinforcements.
Previous Installations of the Madness:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Coming Out of It
I woke up in the misty light that filters in the windows just before dawn. I turned on my side, looked at Marla sleeping next to me. Her hair was in her face, her forehead furrowed like she was thinking. I brushed back her hair, pressed my thumb to her forehead. She didn’t stir.
I’d had the dream again. Billy laughing, Wendy walking away, Sally nowhere to be found. I turned onto my back, stared at the ceiling. Would it end, I wondered. Was it made to end.
Marla made a noise low in her throat, coughed in her sleep, turned over. I turned my head and followed the line of her, the curve of her shoulder, her ribcage, her waist and hips. I made myself relax, four deep breaths, and I let hope flutter in while I stared at her shoulder, her hair trailing along her back, the wrinkled material of her slip at her hip. Maybe, I thought. Maybe I could do this.
I watched her sleep, watched her turn again, jumped when the alarm went off. I slapped my hand on the snooze button, felt for the switch to turn off the alarm, touched her shoulder. “Marla,” I said quietly.
“I’m up,” she said, and she sat up in a smooth motion. “I’m up,” she said again.
I watched her blink, rub the sleep from her eyes. “Coffee?” I offered. “I also have tea.”
“Coffee,” she said through a yawn.
“You can have the shower first,” I told her and threw my legs over the edge of the bed, flinching when my feet hit the cold floor. “I can make breakfast.”
“Thanks,” she said, and we both sat there for a moment. I wondered what she was thinking, but I didn’t ask, just got up, curled my toes against the cold floor, and walked to the kitchen.
I made eggs, bacon, and toast. Put the jam on the table, and poured a cup of coffee as Marla walked in wrapped in my robe.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she said, gesturing to the robe.
“It’s fine,” I told her, and I looked my fill at her in my too-short robe, toenails painted pearl pink. “I can’t promise anything,” I said. “What happened with Billie, it’s injured me; I can see it now, the scars of it, and I don’t know that I can be someone who can be so openly in love like I was with her. If that’s not something you want to carry—and I understand why you wouldn’t—let me know, and we’ll find a middle ground we can both handle.”
Marla walked up to me, tilted back my head, stared into my eyes. “I don’t know who you were with Billie,” she said, “and I don’t care. I want the Julie I know.”
“I don’t know if she’s going to be around much longer,” I admitted. “I feel like a lot of baggage is about to be tossed on the side of the road.”
“Fine.” Marla smiled, soft in the half-light of the sun coming in the kitchen. “That just gives me more room in the car.”
“I’ve been telling you a story,” I admitted. “I said Billie did it for me, but she didn’t. She did it so she wouldn’t have to go to prison.”
Marla was quiet for a moment, her hands warm on my face. “Okay,” she said finally. “That doesn’t change much of anything.”
“I just wanted you to know,” I told her. “I feel like you should know.”
“Well, I know,” Marla replied. “So we’re covered there.”
I let her kiss me then, lips soft and slightly off-center. I grabbed the belt of my robe, pulled her closer. “I promise,” I told her, “if I become a coward, I’ll let you know before I can make you hate me.”
“You can’t be a coward,” Marla reassured me. “I’ve got a nose for cowards, and you don’t smell anything of the type.”
“Keep your nose out,” I told her. “Make sure I see you if you go on point.”
She laughed, pulled away, sweetened her coffee and sat at my table like she’d been there a hundred mornings. “What’s up for today?” she asked as I served her a plate of eggs and bacon.
“I’m not sure yet,” I admitted, taking a seat across from her. I put jam on my toast, took a bite, cautiously sipped my coffee. “Sally’s as good as her word, so she’ll probably have a list of defectors for me by noon, but I have to figure out which writers I can sneak away—”
“I can get a list of the ones who aren’t under exclusive contract,” Marla offered. I raised my eyebrows at her. “It’s best you don’t ask,” she said and grinned.
I eyed her as I took another sip of coffee, tried to size her up as I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “You’d have owned the underground,” I told her. “You look entirely innocent when you offer to do things that are ethically dubious.”
“Good thing we’re on the same path then, hm?” Marla asked, and then she laughed, light and open, and gave me a wink.
“I’m going to hop in the shower,” I told her. “We can be out of here early enough for you to change at your place.”
“Ready when you are,” Marla said, and she stole the last piece of bacon off my plate.
I showered, combed my hair, got dressed, and met Marla by the front door. She was dressed in her clothes from the day before, slightly wrinkled but nothing that would draw attention. She smiled at me as I shrugged on my jacket and pulled my hair off my neck.
“Turn around,” she said.
“What?”
“Turn,” she repeated, and she turned me as she said it. She smoothed my hair, braided it, and put on a clasp. “There,” she told me. “You look less like you’re rushing out the door to let your girlfriend get a fresh change of clothes.”
I pulled the braid over my shoulder, looked at the clip she’d found. “This was from my mother,” I said, touching the mother of pearl inset. I thought about Billie for a moment, how she’d said it was her favorite clip. I shook my head, pushed my braid back over my shoulder, and reached out my hand. “Shall we?”
Marla laced her fingers through mine, smiled. “Sure.”
We took the Monorail, Marla refusing to let go of my hand when I tried to pull away. “Do you mind?” she asked when a woman in the next seat gave us a look.
“No,” I said, but my heart was hammering. I breathed in deep, reminded myself that it was different, that everything was different.
“You’re shaking,” Marla told me. “I can—”
“No,” I said, and I squeezed her hand as she tried to pull away. “No. I want this. I want exactly this.”
She smiled at me, her eyes lighting up. “So do I,” she promised.
Memories of Billie snuck in again, her promise to me after she’d been taken the first time, mine in return. This was better, I thought. This was just two people on a Monorail, no worry or prison terms hanging over our heads. “Okay,” I said. “All right.”
We got to Marla’s, and I followed her to her apartment, catching a smile from her doorman. “Your doorman just grinned at me,” I told her as she unlocked her door.
“He’s a nice guy,” she replied, so nonchalant it made me laugh. “I’ll be just a minute,” she told me, and I watched her walk towards her bedroom. I stood in her living room, breathed in through my mouth, listened to Marla move around her bedroom and change.
“You look so relaxed,” she told me as she walked back into the living room. She was wearing brown tweed, the jacket cropping in at her waist. Her blouse was cream. I watched her pin up her hair, wanted to memorize it.
“I’m moving forward,” I told her as she turned to face me. “I’ve just realized it.”
“You were there yesterday, right?” Marla asked, smile sliding across her face. “When you decided to take down Mallory and Sandy from the inside?”
“I’m not taking them down,” I said, chuckling as Marla gave me a light push towards the door. “I’m giving them competition.”
“Whatever,” Marla said, giving a dismissive wave. “I guess it’s just sinking in, huh?”
“Yeah,” I agreed, and I led the way out the door, to the elevator, and out to the street. “Cab’s on me,” she said as the doorman swung open the front door. “Cab to Perpetual, if you would,” she told the doorman.
“Of course.” The doorman stepped to the curb and raised a hand.
We slid into the back of the cab, Marla crowding me against the far door. The doorman gave the driver the address, and Marla grinned at me as the cabbie whipped into traffic like he was avoiding an accident rather than about to cause one.
“Call Dinick when we get in,” I said, feeling my professional veneer start to settle for the day. “I need her in my office as soon as she’s free.”
“All right.” Marla patted down her coat pockets, pulled out a pen and pad. “Anything else?”
“Pull those names you mentioned, the non-contracted writers.” I spared her a glance as the cab took a sharp left turn, the blare of a car horn following in his wake. “How are you getting those names?”
“I told you not to ask.”
“They’re in Mallory and Sandy’s offices.”
“I said don’t ask,” Marla repeated. She gave me a grin. “We secretaries have certain codes and understandings you upper crust types don’t know about.”
I thought about that for a moment. “What’s it going to cost me?”
“It won’t cost you a thing,” Marla told me. “It’ll cost me a great deal of very good coffee.”
“I could—” I stopped when she put a hand on my arm and gave me a look. “Yes?”
“I’m bankrolling our soon-to-be enterprise. This is just a start up expense.”
“If they catch you—”
“I’ll get fired,” she said. “Which is something we need anyway.”
I looked at her, the smirk on her face, the mischief in her eyes, and I laughed. “The world is changing, Marla Tinkerton,” I told her.
“Isn’t it great?” she replied.
“Perpetual Comics,” the cabbie said as he slammed on the brakes. Marla and I bounced off the waffle divider. “Sorry,” he said. “Bad habit.”
“It’s all right,” Marla assure him. She handed him money for the fare plus tip, said thank you, and shoved me out of the cab.
“Poker face,” I told her, and we looked at each other, trying to keep straight faces. We laughed, leaning on each other as the morning commuters gave us confused looks.
“All right,” I said, and I breathed in to calm myself. “Okay.” I looked at Marla, pulled in my grin, waited for her to do the same. “Shall we get to work, Miss Tinkerton?”
“Of course, Miss Schwartz,” she replied, and we walked into the building together.
1965 – The Aftermath of the Sixth Raid -- The Twilight Days
I drove for two hours headed vaguely west and only pulled over at a tiny gas station in the middle of nowhere because the gas gauge in my car was slipping below the ‘E’. I stood next to the car, waving off the young man that was hurrying out to pump my gas, and I watched the numbers tick over. The boy waited at my elbow, not asking questions but obviously wanting something to do. “Clean the windshield,” I told him, and he wiped it down with efficiency.
The total came to $5.12. I gave him six, told him to keep the change, and followed him into the gas station to buy something to eat. The man behind the counter looked at me with concern when I walked in, and I caught my reflection in the mirror, saw that my lip had swollen where Billie had hit me. “I need a highway map,” I told him.
“Which state?” he asked.
“All of them,” I replied, and he reached for a pink rectangle of paper, unfolded it easily, and spread it on the counter, smoothing the creases with his hands.
“Where you going?” he asked, and there was kindness in his eyes. He thought I was someone’s wife, I realized, thought I was getting away from a man who’d hit me. I wanted to correct him, pour out the whole story, but I figured running from a coward was near enough to the truth, so I pressed my lips together, trailed my index finger across the states and pressed my nail into the coastline of Oregon. “Somewhere in there,” I said. “I have family there.” Sally still sent postcards. The last dozen had all had the same postmark. Portland.
The man dug around behind the counter, came up with a bright blue marker, drew a circle where I’d pointed with my index finger and then drew another circle on the edge the Missouri and Kansas border. “You’re here,” he said, pointing to the second circle. “You’ll follow US 69 for a bit, then take I-635 North, then I-29 West. All right?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I said when he didn’t continue. I watched him mark the route to a certain point, write the numbers of the highways and interstates I’d need.
“Then it’s I-80 West for about nine hundred miles, and then it’s about another nine hundred miles on I-84 West.”
“Got it,” I told him, and I watched the blue line link to the circle in Oregon.
“Anything else for you, Miss?” he asked, and he said ‘miss’ the way I’d heard people ask if their children were okay. He wasn’t much older than me, maybe ten or eleven years, and I wondered if he had a younger sister somewhere, married to a man he didn’t trust.
“I’ll need something to drink,” I told him. “And a snack.”
“We’ve got sandwiches,” he said, and he gestured to the boy who’d tried to pump my gas. “Find the lady a sandwich,” he said. “And get her some drinks, and pull one of the coolers from the back—”
“That’s not necessary,” I told him. “I can stop—”
“I insist, Miss,” he told me, and I closed my mouth, nodded, let him hand me the key to the washroom. “You’d probably like to freshen up,” he said.
I met his eyes for a moment. He gave me a small smile, pressed the key more firmly into my hand. I walked to the outside of the building, unlocked the door to the washroom, and fumbled around for the light switch. The bathroom was scrubbed, tiles shining butter yellow in the slightly flickering light. I looked at myself in the mirror, poked at the sore spot on my lip. It was more swollen than I’d thought, a bruise darkening the left corner of my mouth. I poked the cut with my tongue, winced when it stung. I combed my fingers through my hair to straighten it, patted myself down for a hair tie and couldn’t find one.
“Move forward,” I told my reflection. “There’s nothing behind you.”
I wet a paper towel, wiped it over my face, straightened my jacket, and I walked out of the bathroom. “Thank you,” I said to the man behind the counter. I placed the key by his hand. “What do I owe you for the food and cooler?”
“I can’t—”
“I’m not destitute,” I cut in before he could tell me it was on him. “It’s not quite what you think it is.” I looked him in the eyes for a long moment, waited for him to nod at me. “Good,” I said. “Now, what do I owe you for the food and cooler?”
He quoted a price, and I eyed him again. It was obviously low. “Miss,” he said quietly, and he gave me a tight, small smile, “you’re headed out onto the road alone. Probably be on the road for two or three days depending on how you drive. It wouldn’t be right—”
“Sir—”
“It wouldn’t be right,” he repeated, voice a bit louder, “to send you out there without doing what I could. I wasn’t raised that way, and you won’t convince me otherwise.”
We had a brief staredown. I slapped my hand lightly on the counter and reached for my pocket book. “Fine.” I said. “My mother always told me never to argue with a man about business.” I put my money on the counter, let him hand me seventy-three cents in change. He insisted on carrying the cooler himself, waved off the boy when he tried to grab it. I led him to the car, opened the front passenger door for him, let him slide the cooler into place.
“It’s funny,” he said, and his tone said it wasn’t. “This is a quiet place. We get enough business to get along, you know, but it’s mostly locals. You’re the second person coming through in six months or so who’s been on her way west.”
I looked at him from the corner of my eye. “Oh?” I asked, and I didn’t care that I sounded suspicious. I was too tired, too beaten; I didn’t have the energy to keep up my façade.
“She had the same look in her eyes,” he told me. “The same exhaustion, like she’d just come from a fight she had lost worse than she’d planned.”
“And?” I snapped.
He looked at me for a long minute, titled his head slightly to the left, opened and closed his hand like he wanted to reach out and pat my arm. “Can my yearning mellow?” he asked.
I blinked. “What?” I asked.
“Can my yearning mellow?” he repeated.
I stared at him, swallowed, pressed a hand to my face. “How?” I asked.
“My sister’s a fan,” he said. “And I can appreciate a free speech battle now and again.”
“I meant how did you know about me?” I asked.
“The other person to come through,” he explained, “she told me to look for someone that matched your description. Said you might be headed this way sometime after her.”
“Hell of a memory you have,” I told him. “You said it’s been six months.”
He smiled a little; it made him look younger, like a sneaky big brother who’d snuck into his sister’s room and short-sheeted her bed while she was out on dates. “She drew me a picture,” he said. “It’s hanging in my office.”
I laughed before I could stop myself, amazed at Sally’s audacity. “I’ll tell you found me,” I told him. “I’ll tell her you say hello.”
“Do that,” he said, and he held out his hand. “Be safe,” he told me.
“I’ll try,” I promised. We shook, his hand was slightly rough and warm. I walked around to the driver’s side of the car, slid into the seat, watched him stand by the pumps in the rearview mirror. He lifted a hand as I turned onto the street. I didn’t look behind me, just stuck my arm out of the window and waved.
He’d put the map on top of the cooler, and I unfolded it one-handed, one eye on the road as I skimmed the route. He’d added a few notes, the ink slightly smeared where he’d hurried. He’d recommended hotels, a diner. I wondered about his sister, what she did when she wasn’t with the commies. Wondered if the look on his face at the sight on my bruises was because of someone she knew or if she’d met up with rough cops.
Those thoughts got me through a hundred miles. I turned on the radio as I passed the sign for Auburn, Nebraska. The farmland ran together. Nothing was growing, and I had miles of brown fields on either side as far as I could see. I hummed with the radio, felt around in the cooler for something to drink, and pushed myself not to think.
“Forward,” I said to the silence as the sun started to set. The radio went to static, then farm reports. I clicked it off, and the silence hit me like a hammer. “Shit.” I muttered. “Shit!” I yelled to fill the car with noise. “Six months,” I said to the windshield. “She wasn’t there for six months. She’s not here now. It’s the same damned silence.”
I pulled off the road, sprayed up the shoulder gravel as I slammed on my brakes. I pressed my head against the steering wheel, breathed in deep enough to make my lungs burn with it. “It’s the same damned silence,” I said, and I listened to the wind whistling by the car as I screamed until I was hoarse.
Three hours later, so exhausted my eyes were trying to stay closed when I blinked, I pulled into a motor lodge just off the highway. “Room for the night,” I said to the older woman behind the counter.
She looked me over. I couldn’t guess at what she saw, but she simply nodded, handed me a key, pointed where I needed to sign the book, and directed me to room number eight. It had a single queen bed with a blue-patterned comforter. The water in the shower was tepid, and I stared at myself in the mirror for nearly five minutes. “This is what you look like,” I told myself. “This is what you look like when everything’s gone to shit.” I tried to memorize it, the sag of my shoulders, the circles under my eyes, the way my hair hung damp and limp down my back. I needed it for later, I thought, in case everything went sideways again.
The older lady from the desk knocked on my door at dawn. She handed me a cup of coffee and a donut, watched me walk to my car and get in. She turned away as soon as the engine started, and I turned up the radio as loud as I could stand it as I left the parking lot.
I drove until sunset, leaving the radio to crackle static when I couldn’t find a station. I ate two cheese sandwiches, drank four sodas, stopped for gas three times, and made it a point not to look anyone in the eyes. I pulled off outside of Boise, Idaho, found a cheap motel with a payphone in the lobby. My pocket book was jangling with change, and I dumped it on the small shelf in the phone booth, counted out nickels and dropped them into the slot, dialed 0 for the operator.
“What city, please?” she asked, sounding terribly bored.
“Portland, Oregon,” I said.
“Name?”
“Sal—” I cut off, realizing in a sudden bout of shock that I wasn’t sure if Sally had changed her name.
“Sal what?” the operator asked.
“Do you…” I cleared my throat, pulled the receiver away from my mouth, coughed into the crook of my elbow. “Pardon me,” I told the operator. “Do you have any La Roccas listed?” I asked.
“I have four La Roccas in Portland.”
“Any S. La Roccas?”
“I have one.”
“I’ll take that one, please.” I listened to her connect the call, wondered if she was the type to listen in. The connection rang once, twice, three times. Four. Five.
“Hello?” Sally’s voice was slightly surprised, a little hesitant. I wondered if she got many phone calls.
“Long distance from Boise,” the operator said.
“Put it through,” Sally said, and there was a click as the operator dropped off the line. “Hello?” Sally said. “Who is this, please?”
I opened my mouth, and the words caught.
“Hello? Is anyone—”
“Sally,” I said, and it was flat and hollow. “Sally it’s—”
“You’re in Boise?” she interrupted. “Why the hell are you—”
“She’s a coward, Sal.” I told her. “Billie. She just…five years, Sally. It was Wendy’s life or five years, and she’s letting them string up Wendy. She’s letting them—”
“Julie!” Sally’s voice was sharp. I wondered if she’d had to say my name more than once. “Jules, you need to breathe in, okay? Breathe in for me. Let me hear it.”
I breathed in as hard as I could, held it for five seconds, breathed out harder. “Hi, Sally,” I said.
“There you are.” There was rustling, a thump. I could see her in my mind’s eye, slumped in a chair, one hand pressed against her temple. “You’re headed here, I assume,” she said.
“Yes,” I told her. “I should be there tomorrow sometime.”
“It’s about seven hours,” Sally told me. “Leave later in the day, all right? I don’t have time to call into work for this, and they’re watching me since I’m still new.”
“Okay.” I said. “Where do I go?”
She thought for a moment. “My apartment, I suppose. I’ll leave notice with the doorman to expect you. I’d have you come to the office, but I’m already getting enough funny looks. I think a few people recognize my name.”
“The famous Sally La Rocca,” I said.
“Sure,” she told me. She was quiet again. “Don’t tell me about Billie yet,” she ordered me. “I don’t want to hear it until I can sit next to you and give you handkerchiefs, all right?”
“Sure,” I said. “All right.”
“Good.” She cleared her throat. I heard her swallow like she was trying not to cry. “It’s made the papers up here,” she said, quiet and painful. “It’s everywhere.”
“They kept your name out of it,” I said. “If the stories are the same.”
“They must be. My name’s not up here, either. I guess they decided…” she trailed off, sighed. “I don’t know,” she said.
“They didn’t get you,” I said. “So they don’t want to claim you.”
“Maybe.”
I pressed my head against the phone booth glass, looked at the nickels on the shelf. The phone would beep soon, I knew, the operator coming on to demand payment for a few more minutes. “What’s your address?” I asked. “How do I get there?”
She gave me directions in short steps, a left here, a right there, straight up a street she had to spell twice because I couldn’t quite concentrate. “I’ll leave the number for my office by the phone,” she said. “I don’t have a secretary, but one of the girls in the pool will get me a message, okay?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll try to leave late enough for you to be home when I get there.”
“Don’t leave before noon then,” she advised. “Sleep in. Have a long breakfast.”
The operator clicked on the line. “If you’d like—”
“No, thank you,” I cut her off. “I’ll be signing off.” I hung up the phone before Sally or the operator could respond. I left the nickels on the shelf.
In-Season Poaching
Sally walked into my office before I’d even taken off my coat. “Marla, the door, please,” she said as she threw herself onto my couch. Marla shut the outer door and came and leaned in the doorjamb of my office.
“Sale,” Sally started. “Ba. Cassady. Di Giandomenico. Ross. Gleason.” She grinned. “All of them pay for play under Perpetual’s contract set up; all of them willing to give it up to come on as full contract players under us.”
I dropped my coat over the back of my chair, sat down, tucked my hands behind my head. “That was fast.”
“Art directors get to call the best meetings,” Sally said, her grin going impish. “And my staff likes me enough to complain to me about their contract status.”
“Wonderful.” I glanced at Marla. “Write the names down somewhere. Some pad you could keep on your person.”
“On it,” she promised and turned away from the door.
“What’s next?” Sally asked.
“Coffee,” I told her. “I got in the door two minutes ago; I can’t call my own meetings like you. Give me a couple of hours.”
We laughed, and Sally stood to leave. “I’m jazzed,” she told me. “I can feel it up to my eyes, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling it myself. “It’s been awhile.”
“We’ll keep it this time,” Sally promised. “I’ll bottle it if I have to.”
“Eau Du Sticking it to the Woman?” I asked.
“Eau Du Forget Billie Fraction,” Sally countered. She stretched out her arms, let them fall, smoothed a supposed wrinkle on the front of her dress. “Ring over when you’ve got something,” she said, and she did a sort of half-twirl, paused, shook her head, let herself out of my office.
Marla’s poked her head back in. “She okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” I told her, and I felt myself smiling again. “She never quite gets her feet in front of her when something’s on the bubble. Once we’ve got a little more settled in, she’ll slide right back into calm and composed.”
“Do Good Editor and Bad Editor know to look for that?” Marla asked. “Can they spot it?”
“Nah. They never worked with her. And if they recognize it, it means she’s done it here during a project. And she can cover if she needs.”
“Just wanting to be sure,” Marla told me. “Make sure we don’t shoot ourselves in the foot.”
“Smart woman,” I told her, and she grinned at me, turned back to her desk, sat down and hummed.
I looked at the papers on my desk, sorted through, found the notes for Alligator Girl. I had to look like I wasn’t planning a coup, had to look like I wasn’t sneaking some of Mallory and Sandy’s best people out from under their combined noses. That meant working on Alligator Girl, getting some sort of first-issue script together. It’d make Billie crazy, I thought, to come in and find a good portion of the work started. She’d always liked to run the show, agree on the broad strokes and leave the details to the rest of us. She was a good director, I admitted in my own head, and then I shoved it all away, rolled a piece of paper into my typewriter and tried to figure out how I wanted the highly experimental lab to work.
Marla knocked on my door frame forty minutes later. I glanced up but didn’t stop typing. “Yes?” I asked.
“Dinick can be here in twenty,” she said.
“Great,” I replied. She walked back to her desk. I wrote the explosion, made a note for the artists to stripe in some green and blue. “Marla!” I yelled. “I’ve got five pages on Alligator Girl. Run me two copies on the machine. Bring one back here with the originals, and put the other in Billie’s mailbox.”
Marla’s eyebrows were up when she walked in to take the sheaf of papers. “Really?” she asked, and she glanced over her should at the open outer door.
“The first rule of breaking the rules,” I told her, my voice an undertone, “is to give the impression that you’re not. How can I be up to something if I’m working like I’m supposed to be working?”
She eyed the sheaf, skimmed the first page. “Two copies?” she asked.
“Two,” I confirmed. “One back here with the originals—”
“One in Miss Fraction’s mailbox,” Marla finished. “Got it.”
I watched her leave, settled back into my chair, flipped through a few more papers and considered a few more scripts. I’d miss some of this when I was gone, I knew. The work involved in getting a rival company off the ground would take the fun out of writing for a while. I found a stack of recommended revisions from Mallory and Sandy, flipped open the envelope and started working through them.
“Julie.”
I looked up. Dinick was in my office doorway looking slightly concerned. “Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Maral said you wanted to see me, but she’s not at her desk, so I figured I’d get your attention myself.”
I glanced at the clock. It’d been twenty-two minutes since I’d sent Marla to the copy room. “Weird,” I muttered, and I shook my head at Dinick. “She must have gotten caught up. There’s probably a line. Everyone’s scripts are due this week.”
“Don’t I know it,” Dinick said and pulled a face.
I dropped the script revisions on my desk, gestured for her to sit on the loveseat, shut my office door behind her as she got settled. “Question,” I said.
“I’m listening,” she replied.
“What’s your loyalty level?” I asked. “To Mallory and Sandy, I mean.”
Dinick leaned back, balanced her left ankle on her right knee, cocked her head at me. “Why?”
“I’m fishing,” I admitted. “But before I put bait on the hook, I need to know your loyalty to Mallory and Sandy.”
Dinick thought about it, narrowed her eyes, stared into the middle distance around my left arm. “They pay me,” she admitted. “So there’s that.”
“And if someone offered you a better deal?” I asked. “What would it have to be?”
“To drop my loyalty to Mallory and Sandy and Perpetual?”
“Yes,” I said.
Dinick thought again. “A matched deal would be a good starting place. Same salary, same hours.” She smirked a little. “Slightly higher expectations wouldn’t hurt.”
“Expectations?” I prompted.
“If I were working for someone who’d give me a hand getting my capers and emotional stories better mixed, I’d probably switch over in a second. I’ve got it pretty good here, but there’s not a lot being done to encourage me to be better.”
“All right,” I said. “Good to know.”
“Why me?” Dinick asked before I could further the conversation. “I always figured if you went wrong, you’d have Jackie by your side on the way out the door.”
“Jackie’s under contract,” I told Dinick. “And Jackie, as far as I know, has some loyalty left to Mallory and Sandy from back before.”
“During the speaks?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I’m up for book negotiation in three weeks,” Dinick told me. “Can we move faster than that? I’m not big enough around her to try stalling tactics.”
“We’re moving as fast as we possibly can,” I promised her. “Marla will send you a note when we’re ready to call it a day.”
“Fantastic.” Dinick stood up, held out her hand. “Pleasure to do some business with you,” she told me. “Can’t wait to see the new digs.”
“Neither can I,” I admitted, and we grinned at each other.
“Make me better,” Dinick said. “Tell me you’ll try.”
“I’ll do my best,” I promised, and I opened my office door. Marla was at her desk, copies at her elbow. She said goodbye to Dinick in a quiet undertone, and I gave her a sharp look. She was pale, hands slightly shaky, and I crouched by her desk. “All right?” I asked.
“Mallory and Sandy found me in the copy room,” she told me. “They said someone from art reported that you were trying to poach people to start your own company. They wanted to know if I knew anything about it.”
“And?” I asked, hating I needed to know. “What’d you say?”
“I told them that you hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort to me. They want you in their offices in five minutes.”
“Okay.” I stood up, straightened my hair, clasped a hand on Marla’s shoulder. “The worst they can do is fire us,” I told her, “and we’re aiming for that, anyway.”
Marla visibly relaxed; her hands stopped shaking. She laughed a little, loose around the edges. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to overreact. They were just—they were very unhappy.”
“They’re protective,” I said, and I admired them for a moment. “They worked hard to get their books back. I can understand how this would send them on a tear.”
“Yeah?”
I thought about what Sally had said, about how they’d forgotten what they’d been fighting for. “They got their blood riled. It’s been a while. I know how they feel.” I patted Marla’s shoulder again. “If I’m not back in an hour, reset my appointments. Anyone asks, tell them the truth. They pulled me in to ask me some questions about a break away.”
“Really?”
I grinned at Marla, felt the dangerous edge of it when I pressed my teeth into my lower lip. “We may get a few people popping up to offer their assistance,” I told her. “Wouldn’t that be glorious?”
“Be careful,” she said. “No reason to poke them when they’re already bristled up like angry cats.”
“Promise,” I agreed, and I let the grin slide off my face, let my stance settle back, putting the weight off the balls of my feet. “I’ll ring down if something goes horribly wrong,” I promised, and then I headed for the elevator.
The secretary waved me in before I could announce myself. Mallory and Sandy were sitting in matching arm chairs. I sat on the sofa in front of them, leaned back, put my arms along the back of the couch. “You wanted to see me,” I said. “Marla said you’d heard a rumor.”
“It’s not a rumor,” Sandy started. “We’ve been informed by someone in the building that you’re attempting to steal away talent to start your own company.”
“Okay,” I said, and I let myself sound confused. “I’m not sure what’s going on.”
“Are you thinking of starting your own company, Julie?” Mallory asked, looking shocked to have to ask. “Are you that unhappy here?”
“I’m not unhappy,” I said, and it was true enough that they both looked relieved. “And I’m not trying to steal away anyone.”
“Sally La Rocca had a meeting this morning,” Mallory told me. “She offered some of our pay to play artists new positions at a yet unnamed comic book company she wants to start. It was implied you were involved.”
“She used your name,” Sandy snapped. “Sally La Rocca listed you by name.”
I leaned forward, dropped my arms to my knees, clasped my hands together. “This is the very first I’ve heard about it,” I said. “I had no idea.”
Sandy sniffed dismissively. “Of course not.”
I narrowed my eyes, flared my nostrils, gave Sandy the hardest look I had. “Excuse me?” I barked. “Are you implying something?”
“You practically begged to be fired last week,” Sandy snapped. “You were asking for it.”
“So because I threw a fit because you want Billie Fraction on staff it means I’m suddenly a deserter?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Sandy said coolly, and it was almost a physical slap to the face.
“Sandy,” Mallory said sharply. “That was inappropriate.”
“I deserted no one,” I said, trying to stamp down my anger. “I walked away from Billie Fraction because she was the last person I had in the area, and she’d pulled a treason to get out of jail time she’d been told to expect. I gave up no one, and I gave up on nothing. I walked away because my other option was to stay there and work with a duplicitous, lying, spineless worm.”
“So you see our concern,” Sandy said flatly.
Shit. She had a point, and I couldn’t deny it. I let myself look good and mad while I scrambled for an angle. “I’m under contract,” I said after a long moment of silence. “And I read it again over the weekend.” It was a lie, but it was believable. I could see it in the way Mallory leaned back a little, the way the sneer softened into a smirk on Sandy’s face. “And while I’d rather put a nail through my foot than work with Billie Fraction, there’s nothing I can do to get out of it for now.”
“That’s true,” Mallory said, tone placating. “It’s good that you see that.”
“Futhermore,” I continued, “I do try hard to be a professional. And that’s what I’ve got to do now. I’ve got to step up and show the both of you that despite my occasional fit, I do mean to do right by you and what I promised you. I’m here to write. That’s all I’m doing. If I have to work with Billie Fraction and swallow back the bile in my throat, so be it.”
I watched them both, keeping my face sincere, keeping my eyes tired. I watched them look at one another, look at me, look at one another again. I kept my position, breathed carefully, wondered if either of them would take into account the fact that they’d taught us to lie to get away from the police. To tell them we were really good girls in a bad situation and only wanted to do our best.
“All right,” Mallory said after a long pause. “You can get back to work. We’ll speak to Sally La Rocca privately and see what she has to say about all this.”
“I’ll get out of your way,” I said, and I left the office, keeping my head down until I was on the elevator. It was a fight not to run to my office, throw open the door and crow. Instead, I walked in, gestured for Marla to follow me, shut my office door behind us. “Pull my contract,” I told her. “And get me a fine-toothed comb.”
“Not fired?” Marla asked.
“No,” I said. “But definitely accused. I convinced them I was horribly maligned, and they’ve bought it for now, but I don’t have the time to coach Sally on her answers. I need a back up. There’s got to be something in my contract I can violate by accident.”
“Accident?” Marla asked with a grin. “Really?”
I grinned in return. “Of course, Miss Tinkerton. What kind of underhanded shenanigans do you think we’re playing at here?”
“Should be under ‘C’,” she told me. “I can have it pulled in two shakes.”
“There should be more than one copy,” I said. “Marking up the original will look suspicious.” My phone rang, and I reached for it as Marla opened the filing cabinet in the outer office. “Julie Schwartz,” I said.
“You’re trying to escape,” Jackie greeted me.
“Misunderstanding,” I told her, not wanting to get into. What I’d told Dinick was true. Jackie was under contract and loyal to Mallory and Sandy.
“If I let myself be poached, do I have to work with Dani Q.?”
My eyebrows shot up. “I sure wouldn’t know,” I told her. “From what I hear, this is all Sally’s brainchild.”
“Bullshit,” Jackie said. “But I’ll play along.”
“Nothing to play along with,” I said, and I could practically hear her eyes roll.
“Sure. Fine. Whatever. Look, I’m up in six months. If I’ve not stabbed Dani Q. with her red pen, you think you could talk to Sally into hiring one more writer-type?”
“If it comes up,” I said. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Greatness.”
There was a pause, and I decided to ask. “Why would you want to defect? You and Mallory and Sandy go way back.”
Jackie snorted. “You think you’re the only one climbing up the walls with Billie Fraction coming on board? Come on, Julie, you remember how this works. Treason’s still treason, no matter the money that might be made from it. Mallory and Sandy had me because of what they put themselves up against during the Gray Age, but they cancelled out hard and fast when they let Fraction in the building without a blindfold and a cigarette.”
“Your name’s on the list,” I told Jackie. “The good list.”
“Damn straight.” She sighed over the line. “What’s the world coming to that we need lists again?” she asked.
“Fairness,” I told her. “Maybe a little justice.”
“Yeah,” she said and sounded like she was falling into memories. “Maybe.”
I said goodbye, hung up the phone, eased myself into my chair. Marla came in with a copy of my contract, paused and looked at me. “I’m all right,” I told her. “That was Jackie. She’s ours when her contract’s up.”
“And?” Marla asked.
“And I’m second guessing myself,” I admitted. “Something Jackie said. I know Mallory and Sandy have brought this on themselves, bringing Billie into the fold, but maybe I shouldn’t be fighting it so hard. Maybe we should let it be, give her something like a chance.”
Marla rolled her eyes, kicked my in the ankle with the point of her heel. “Jesus, Julie. Shut up.”
I rubbed my ankle. “What?”
“You get one side,” she said and held up a finger. “Only one. Either you still think what Billie did was despicable, or you don’t. You can’t sway on this.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not swayable,” Marla answered. “Do you really want to be around someone who sent someone else to death to protect you when it wasn’t an absolute necessary? That said, do you want to be around someone who would do it, period?”
I put my elbows on my desk, my head in my hands. “It wasn’t for me,” I said.
Marla cocked her head. “What wasn’t?”
“I told myself a story,” I said to her. “I told myself she did it to save me, even when I didn’t need saving. Heart in the right place, you know?”
“Sure,” Marla said. She sat on the loveseat, my contract forgotten in her hand. “But you passionately defended her two days ago,” she told me. “You told me you couldn’t write her off because there was a part of you—”
“That was lying to myself,” I interrupted. “She did it for herself, Marla. She did it because she thought I’d leave her.”
There was silence. Marla looked like someone had come up behind her and slapped her in the back of the head. “Hell of a revision,” she said after a minute.
“Yeah,” I said.
“What made you realize it?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably the general shock of seeing her, of her acting like it’s not a big deal she was involved, but I remember it now. I could probably recite the whole conversation for you.”
We were quiet again. The stunned look slowly left Marla’s face. “Well,” she said, sounding brisk and businesslike, “that makes detesting Billie even easier.”
“What?” I asked. I hadn’t expected her to say something like that.
“You’ve got two choices, Julie. You can either get up and walk out of here with a group of people ready to brave a lawsuit the size of a small continent, or you can stay here and work with Billie Fraction, who didn’t have the brass to trust you when you promised to stick around. You can have a spine, or you can’t.”
“And if I stay here?” I asked, only half-serious but terribly curious about Marla’s answer.
“I won’t,” Marla said. “And this,” she waved a finger between the two of us, “won’t either.”
“Well.” I said. I smiled before I could hold it in. The way she was looking at me, fire in her eyes, the line of her jaw sharp in the light from my window, I felt twenty again, hidden in a semi-condemned building and training up commies to lie to the police, to look them in the eyes and tell them a slanted truth that they’d take as gospel. “I’ve got no room for cowards,” I told Marla. “Never have.”
“That’s what I thought.” She dropped the contract on my desk, walked back to her own desk, sat down. I watched her work for a moment, the way she stacked papers and answered the phone.
“We’re partners in this,” I said to her when she hung up with the switchboard. “I want you to know that.”
“I knew it,” she promised and spared me a glance. Her eyes were bright, happy. “But thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
That puts you all near the 80,000 word mark, and thanks, again, for reading through all of it. It's nice to know people are enjoying it in all its first-draft goodness.
