Something a little different for me... As always, thank you Ztofan!
It was seven am when the alarm clock woke Jessica; the tinny, metallic clang jerking her rudely away from a pleasant dream of critical acclaim and front page bylines. She fumbled for her glasses, slipping on the heavy plastic frames as she wearily dropped her feet to the floor – one day closer, she told herself.
Walking over to her small, lacquered dressing table she reached out for the calendar that hung on the wall beside it, 'Images of Oregon' it was called. The current picture was a colorful vista of Crater Lake - lush with vivid blues and greens. Silently she turned the page to 'November 1955', this month's picture was of a storm-battered lighthouse, grey and moody – just like the one in Yaquina Bay, where she would vacation with her family as a child. She quickly counted the days until her Christmas break, aching to see home again.
When she made her way in the kitchen she was met by the sight of her roommate, Sadie, brewing a fresh pot of tea. Although it was early, she was as glamorous as ever. In fact, Jessica had never actually seen her friend without a face full of pan stick punctuated by glossy red lips. She was pretty sure she slept in it. Whilst hair was wound tightly in metal rollers, she had covered them in a chic turban of gauzy pink material and over her night dress the floral silk robe she wore stung Jess's eyes with its busy print.
"Good morning Sadie."
The other woman paused and pulled a large smile, "Good morning Jessie." The smile twisted into a disapproving look as she noticed what she was wearing, "Honey – why do you insist on wearing those men's pajamas? I got you that lovely nightgown from work just last week." Sadie pouted as Jessica joined her at the small table in the middle of the tiny kitchen.
Jessica looked down at her white and blue striped pajamas. The cotton was softly worn and drowned her body from head to toe. It was like a security blanket. Not an inch of flesh showed. She loved her pajamas. They reminded her of cool Oregon nights and chatting into the early morning with her father when she couldn't sleep.
"I'm saving it," she answered quietly.
"For what?" Sadie scoffed, until she saw the sad tinge in her friend's eyes and smiled apologetically.
"Sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's fine," Jessica promised as she picked up the cup of black tea that Sadie had prepared. She knew what her friend meant.
Once, long ago, she had been engaged. Spencer had been her high school boyfriend - star of the Lacrosse team, popular, handsome... She had been amazed that he wanted to date her, that he had noticed her. She was in awe of him. When he left for Oregon State University, they had become engaged - the first girl in her class to do so. A year later she too had graduated and started at a two year college studying journalism. It was a new world to the naive young Jessica; she soaked up every lecture, every assignment - thirsty for knowledge.
Then, one spring he told her he was transferring – he had been accepted to study law thousands of miles away in Illinois. He wanted her to come with him, which meant becoming his wife and dropping out of college.
She had spent a restless night tossing and turning against the cool sheets of her childhood bed. But when the sun eventually rose she had made her decision. She couldn't. She wanted this too badly.
Six months later she heard he had married a girl he'd met at law school. And that was that; her heart broke in two and it had never came close to being fixed in the years since.
It had been almost a year since she had moved to the bright lights of Los Angeles and in those twelve months Jessica had gone on a grand total of one date. His name was Greg and he sold advertising at the paper. He'd wooed her with flowers and a slick tongue. They had gone for dinner and a movie but when he'd tried to grope her in the theater, she'd hit him with her purse and ran off.
Since then, she'd sworn away from men. They were nothing but trouble and heartbreak. Instead, her career was her everything.
She yawned loudly into her teacup.
"Late night?" Sadie asked as Jessica rubbed her eyes.
"Uh-huh. Marnie asked me to help with the south city section…"
"Jessica – you have to stop doing other peoples work! You never get any credit! Have they even paid you for all that overtime you did covering the mayor's election?"
She shook her head in reply, "Not exactly… But I know I'm this close to a promotion. I'm going to be the first female staff writer, I can feel it." Pushing back her chair, she stood, "I just have to show them how much I want it. And on that note, I have a bus to catch."
Sadie sighed as she watched her friend walk away. She needed to find Jessica a guy – fast. Her mind began to mull over the possibilities as she flicked on the small radio next to the stove and began to sway her hips along to the soft tones of 'Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing'.
After a crowded bus ride, Jess smoothed down her thick wool skirt and quickly hurried through the turning glass doors of the Daily News offices. Every time she walked through the speckled marble hallway she felt a rush of excitement. This was her dream – ever since she was editor of Jefferson High's newspaper - to be a real reporter. And now she was. Kind of.
It had only taken five years running the news desk at the Heppner Tribune in upstate Oregon. Five years of farming reports and high school football games before she finally got a chance in the big city – Los Angeles; land of Hollywood and movie stars - where dreams come true. Or at least that was the plan.
It was true that in the past year she had mostly written obituaries, wedding announcements and the odd fluff piece, but she knew, just knew, her big break was around the corner.
Arriving at her desk, she loosened the heavy buttons of her jacket and hung it on the coatrack she shared with fellow junior reporter, Sam Sweeney. Their desks were pushed together in the far corner of news floor, next to a drafty window that let in the occasional gust of frigid air. Only 22 and fresh out of college, he was shy but she liked that because it meant she was able to concentrate on her work most of the time rather than make the inane small talk that seemed compulsory in other parts of the office.
"Hey Jessica," he gave her one of his big, goofy smiles and she smiled back. She knew he had a crush on her. It was cute. His floppy blonde hair hung over his eyes as he watched her sit and his long, gangly legs were crossed lazily in front of his desk.
"Good morning Sam, how are you?"
His eyes widened at her attention, "Great, just great. Guess what? I've been asked to join news team starting next week – isn't that amazing?"
The smile stayed plastered on her face but her heart sank. Sam? On the news team? But he was so much more inexperienced and younger and…
"Oh, um, congratulations." She nodded and cleared her throat as she sat down and tidied her desk. She straightened the silver frame that held her certificate in journalism from Wellington Ladies College. It will be your turn soon. It will be your turn soon, she repeated to herself as she pulled off the cover from her typewriter and began to finish yesterday's transcriptions.
The day stretched out and the sky began to darken through the small window to her right - scattering amber tones across the street below. Jessica stayed firmly rooted to her desk, leaving only to slurp down a cup of tomato soup from Joe's deli before she resumed her work.
Lost dogs, parades, school fairs – an endless list of mundane events that she pumped out in a steady stream of adjectives and superlatives; ending each rapidly typed line by sliding across the platen of her trusty Royal. Most of the other staff were switching to electric powered versions now but Jessica was old fashioned and preferred to do things the old fashioned way.
With a flourish she stacked another piece of neatly typed paper on the growing stack in the black wire 'out' tray on the corner of her crowded desk. Stifling a yawn, she looked up at the large, circular clock on the wall opposite her. Ten thirty. Picking up another set of notes she decided that this would be her last. Her eyelids felt heavy and she rubbed them quickly as she tried to focus.
The clash of the wooden and glass door at the end of the room swinging open startled her and she looked up – who could it be at this time? She was always the last to leave. She'd made a deal with Ernie the security guard – she got to stay late and he had a regular supply of her home baking.
"So this is where the magic happens!" The voice was slightly slurred and accented with a thick drawl she couldn't quite place. Hesitantly, she stood and looked in the direction it came from.
Beside the door stood a man. He wore a brown wool three piece suit - the coat hung open sloppily whilst a soft fedora perched awkwardly on his head. It was dark, but she could just about make out a strong, stubble covered jawline. One of his arms lay across the shoulders of a very young, very blonde looking girl swathed in a thick, grey fur coat. Jess scowled.
"Oh, Nicholas, this is sooo exciting! Are you sure we can be here?" She looked up at him through her heavily blackened lashes, fluttering them seductively as he smiled down at her.
"Sure doll, I'm king pin around here. I can do what I want."
"Excuse me," Jess called as she marched across the wooden parquet floor, "Can I help you?"
The man turned on his heel and swung to face his questioner. Slowly, achingly slowly, he looked her up and down – taking in her prim grey skirt and the unruly curls that escaped the pins that strained to hold them. The smile that danced on his lips made her stomach flip. It was like he was imagining her, well, naked. An indignant hot flush rose from her belly.
"And you are?" he asked, licking his lips a little as he spoke.
"I'm Jessica Day, community reporter. And who are you?"
He reached out a hand, "Nicholas Miller, star reporter." She took the offered hand and shook it firmly. It was large, warm and completely covered her own pale fingers. As she got closer to him, she could smell the tang of liquor on his breath. She recoiled at the odor – men who drank hard liquor were trouble, her mother had taught her that much.
"Oh, the mysterious Mr. Miller. I thought you never came into the office? Actually, I thought you weren't even real, just some myth the secretarial pool had made up."
"If I knew we had broads as cute as you working here I would be here every day," he smiled slyly, "But you are correct, I work from home mostly. The hours I keep are, shall we say, unusual." He gave her a loaded look that made her cheeks redden. She took a deep breath, blowing it out over her bangs so they danced in mid-air. Her eyes rolled upwards, what a sleaze. His date began to click her heels, becoming bored by the exchange.
"Honey, are we going dancing soon?" she flicked her blonde mane over one shoulder as she pursed her blood red lips.
He spun to face her and cupped her chin in his hand, "Sure doll, hey, how about you go down and get Ernie to hail us a cab?" He finished with a wink.
Giggling, she nodded and tottered out of the room, the clack of her shoes echoing as she continued down the hall to the elevator.
The two remaining occupants of the room coolly observed each other. He stretched out an arm and leaned against the nearest desk.
"Does Schmidt know about your extracurricular uses of the office, Mr. Miller?"
"Nick, please," he said, holding up his hand, "And yes, as a matter of fact he does. Me and Schmidt, we go way back."
"Men," she scoffed as she turned to return to her desk.
"What was that?" he asked, quickly following after her.
She swung around and frowned, "You men, you're all the same. Skirt-chasing, chauvinist pigs. Now if a woman behaved the way you did, well, she'd be out on her heel in an instant."
"And your point is?"
She huffed in exasperation as she flopped into her chair and began to angrily press at the heavy metal keys of her Royal. She pushed her legs sharply under the desk, wincing as she scraped her stockings against the coarse wooden surface. "Damn!" she cried as she watched the snag begin to creep up the silky material.
Nick raised his eyebrows and looked down at the snag, "Nice gams," he muttered in his gruff yet dulcet voice. She responded with a brooding stare and narrowed eyes.
"Why are you still here?"
"I don't think we're done just yet-" he insisted, drawing out the word 'done' in a soft slur.
"Don't you have a date to go on? Or do you have to get her home before curfew? How old is she? Seventeen? Eighteen?"
He rested his forearms on her desk and leaned in until their faces were inches apart. She was again assaulted by the scent of bourbon, but this time mixed with cologne, sweat and soap. She closed her eyes as she drank it in. He was a jerk, but she had to admit he smelled good. "In fact, she is nineteen and a freshman at UCLA. She wants to be an actress. The next Marilyn Monroe."
"Oh, don't they all," she snapped back at him with a wriggle of her shoulders. She raised her eyebrows haughtily as she continued to type, trying to ignore him.
He rubbed his face with one hand, "My, my, if I didn't know better Miss Day, I'd say you were jealous!"
"Jealous?" she cried, "Of that little, little-"
"Mind your tongue there, lady."
She scowled once more and lay back in her chair, "If you must know, Mr. Miller, I am currently living my dream. Being a reporter is all I have ever wanted and now I am one. What have I got to be jealous of?"
He smirked in response and picked up a sheath of paper from the neat stack in front of her. "Missing dogs, huh? Sounds like you're on top of your game, Day."
Sighing heavily, she looked up at him over the thick rim of her glasses, "As enlightening as our tête-à-tête has been, if you don't mind, I have a deadline. Some of us actually have to be here in the morning."
Straightening up, he tipped the soft brim of his hat to her and began to walk away.
"See ya later, doll."
"Don't call me doll!" she called after him, listening to his footsteps fade way.
She felt her body relax as the tension that had grown inside her throughout their exchange evaporated into the air around her body. So that's the famous reporter Nick Miller. Huh, what a jerk. I hope I never have to see him again.
She pursed her lips and stretched out her fingers before she tapped away the last few lines of her report on the Grosvenor Parish bake sale.
Yep, I never want to see that smug, arrogant face again!