DIVIDING LINES
He had got up especially early that morning. Couldn't afford to be late. Not today, of all days. If things went well he could at last move on from the humdrum job he currently held. Still, he was forced to rely on public transport rather than his own car, which was undergoing some much-needed maintenance at the local garage. So a rare trip on the bus it had to be.
Despite the traffic, he was on time. He stared at the tall building – he didn't recognise the place, but a nagging memory at the back of his mind told him that he'd heard of the name from somewhere. Well, it would come back to him later.
The lift took him up to the third floor. It was the usual environment – office furniture surrounded by six-foot high office dividers. Following the directions, he made his way to the designated office.
He knocked. "Come in." The voice was warm and friendly. "Ah, you're right on time. Please, come in. Sit down."
He stared, his mouth gaping. This couldn't be right. But she was here, inviting him in. Smart business suit, shoulder length dark hair framing her face. Yes, it was her. But how could it be? Somehow he made it to the chair without faltering.
"Now, you're here for the post of . . . newspaper photographer, yes?" He nodded. "Have you brought your portfolio?"
Meekly he handed over the book of photographs and stills he had accumulated. She flicked through them with a practiced eye. "Well, this all looks very good, Mr Charalambous."
"Oh, Dino, please." He startled himself by presuming to be so familiar. In truth he was still recovering from the initial shock. And now he recognised the name of the building – Metropolitan Magazine. And there, sitting across the desk from him, was the Managing Director, Ms S J Smith.
She seemed not to notice his slip up, almost to welcome it. "Dino it is, then." Her smile was encouraging, and he couldn't help but smile back. "When can you start?"
"You mean I've got the job?" Dino was in a daze.
"Well, with pictures of this quality, we'd be mad to let you out to one of our competitors." She held out her hand. "The job's yours."
His mind numb, he shook her hand. "Oh, where are my manners," she scolded herself. "Would you like some coffee?" Dino nodded, and she flicked a switch on the intercom. "Can we have coffee for two, please?"
She sat back in her chair. "So, Dino. Tell me about yourself. What are you working on at the moment?"
"Oh, nothing much," he replied. "Just some writings – short stories, with a couple of friends of mine."
"How fascinating." She really was interested. "Please, tell me more."
"Well, it's all to do with a TV series called Doctor Who."
"Oh, I used to love that when it was on," she gushed. "Especially the one who had the floppy hat and the long scarf. Now who was that girl who travelled around with him?"
Any reply Dino might have had was forgotten as the connecting door opened, and Ms Smith's secretary entered with a tray of coffee and biscuits. "Ah, Vicky. Thank you. Just put it over there."
He was sure this girl's face was familiar to him. As she placed the tray on the desk, he sneaked a look at her name badge.
Ms Smith turned back to the matter in hand. "Now, Dino." She saw that his attention had wavered - he seemed distracted. "Mr Charalambous?"
He was quite literally struck dumb. He was certain he had recognised the secretary. Now her badge confirmed it – 'V Waterfield'.
This was too much to take in. Dino looked at each of them in turn, certain that they were who he knew them to be. It was as though the dividing lines between reality and fantasy were merging into one.
The two women exchanged glances and regarded him with some concern, unaware of the conundrum he was facing. "Dino, are you feeling alright . . .?"
*****
"Dino?"
"Eh? What . . ." The office was gone. He was now standing in a hotel lobby. He passed a hand across his face, sighing. "I've got to cut down on the cheese."
"Sorry?"
"Well, I just had the oddest daydream," he explained. His two friends looked at him, worried. "Oh, I'm alright now," he insisted.
"Just as well," said one. "The convention's winding up now."
"Look," said the other, "there's your two favourite girls." Dino looked up just as Lis and Debbie were strolling past.
As they drew level with Dino, they both gave him a sly wink as Lis pressed a slip of paper into his hand. Then they were gone.
"Ah well, that's another one over."
"What did Lis give you?"
"I dunno. Hang on." He opened the carefully folded sheet of paper to reveal a brief message. "Oh, it's nothing to write home about," he said, quickly refolding the paper and placing it in his pocket. "I'll look at it later."
And later he did just that, shaking his head in wonder as he repeatedly read the message – an address and telephone number preceding the following words . . .
"The job's still yours if you want it."
AUTHORS' NOTE – Dino is not a fictional character. He is a great friend and one of my collaborators on my longer stories.
He had got up especially early that morning. Couldn't afford to be late. Not today, of all days. If things went well he could at last move on from the humdrum job he currently held. Still, he was forced to rely on public transport rather than his own car, which was undergoing some much-needed maintenance at the local garage. So a rare trip on the bus it had to be.
Despite the traffic, he was on time. He stared at the tall building – he didn't recognise the place, but a nagging memory at the back of his mind told him that he'd heard of the name from somewhere. Well, it would come back to him later.
The lift took him up to the third floor. It was the usual environment – office furniture surrounded by six-foot high office dividers. Following the directions, he made his way to the designated office.
He knocked. "Come in." The voice was warm and friendly. "Ah, you're right on time. Please, come in. Sit down."
He stared, his mouth gaping. This couldn't be right. But she was here, inviting him in. Smart business suit, shoulder length dark hair framing her face. Yes, it was her. But how could it be? Somehow he made it to the chair without faltering.
"Now, you're here for the post of . . . newspaper photographer, yes?" He nodded. "Have you brought your portfolio?"
Meekly he handed over the book of photographs and stills he had accumulated. She flicked through them with a practiced eye. "Well, this all looks very good, Mr Charalambous."
"Oh, Dino, please." He startled himself by presuming to be so familiar. In truth he was still recovering from the initial shock. And now he recognised the name of the building – Metropolitan Magazine. And there, sitting across the desk from him, was the Managing Director, Ms S J Smith.
She seemed not to notice his slip up, almost to welcome it. "Dino it is, then." Her smile was encouraging, and he couldn't help but smile back. "When can you start?"
"You mean I've got the job?" Dino was in a daze.
"Well, with pictures of this quality, we'd be mad to let you out to one of our competitors." She held out her hand. "The job's yours."
His mind numb, he shook her hand. "Oh, where are my manners," she scolded herself. "Would you like some coffee?" Dino nodded, and she flicked a switch on the intercom. "Can we have coffee for two, please?"
She sat back in her chair. "So, Dino. Tell me about yourself. What are you working on at the moment?"
"Oh, nothing much," he replied. "Just some writings – short stories, with a couple of friends of mine."
"How fascinating." She really was interested. "Please, tell me more."
"Well, it's all to do with a TV series called Doctor Who."
"Oh, I used to love that when it was on," she gushed. "Especially the one who had the floppy hat and the long scarf. Now who was that girl who travelled around with him?"
Any reply Dino might have had was forgotten as the connecting door opened, and Ms Smith's secretary entered with a tray of coffee and biscuits. "Ah, Vicky. Thank you. Just put it over there."
He was sure this girl's face was familiar to him. As she placed the tray on the desk, he sneaked a look at her name badge.
Ms Smith turned back to the matter in hand. "Now, Dino." She saw that his attention had wavered - he seemed distracted. "Mr Charalambous?"
He was quite literally struck dumb. He was certain he had recognised the secretary. Now her badge confirmed it – 'V Waterfield'.
This was too much to take in. Dino looked at each of them in turn, certain that they were who he knew them to be. It was as though the dividing lines between reality and fantasy were merging into one.
The two women exchanged glances and regarded him with some concern, unaware of the conundrum he was facing. "Dino, are you feeling alright . . .?"
*****
"Dino?"
"Eh? What . . ." The office was gone. He was now standing in a hotel lobby. He passed a hand across his face, sighing. "I've got to cut down on the cheese."
"Sorry?"
"Well, I just had the oddest daydream," he explained. His two friends looked at him, worried. "Oh, I'm alright now," he insisted.
"Just as well," said one. "The convention's winding up now."
"Look," said the other, "there's your two favourite girls." Dino looked up just as Lis and Debbie were strolling past.
As they drew level with Dino, they both gave him a sly wink as Lis pressed a slip of paper into his hand. Then they were gone.
"Ah well, that's another one over."
"What did Lis give you?"
"I dunno. Hang on." He opened the carefully folded sheet of paper to reveal a brief message. "Oh, it's nothing to write home about," he said, quickly refolding the paper and placing it in his pocket. "I'll look at it later."
And later he did just that, shaking his head in wonder as he repeatedly read the message – an address and telephone number preceding the following words . . .
"The job's still yours if you want it."
AUTHORS' NOTE – Dino is not a fictional character. He is a great friend and one of my collaborators on my longer stories.