A/N: Episode 17, The Search for the Stolen Album, intrigued me more than any episode I've seen so far. I found Eric's reactions to being incredibly downsized to be interesting, in the fact that it didn't seem to phase him. He was all scruffy, but not without hope. This story came from wanting to get a little more inside his head during that time.

The forward slashes mean that there is a great deal of time between that scene. It follows the actual episode for the most part.

"You've just go to get back into his good graces. Make him some money, that's all he understands."
Two sentences, and said with such simplicity. It was as close to sympathy as he would get with Pizzazz, but it did him no good at all. For all the complaining they did about his publicity stunts and advertising, they rarely tried to market themselves. They had ideas, certainly, but they were usually all about ruining Jem's career (an end result he agreed with) and destroying property (an end result his bank account didn't agree with). Eric Raymond found it very hard to turn a profit when their records were gold but everything else was rubble.
Much like his office at the moment. He had come into work those weeks ago and found all his things in a box and a security guard at the front entrance informing him that he wasn't allowed on the premises any longer. The man seemed to take an unusual enjoyment of escorting Eric back to his car, and he made note of the man's name for future revenge. It was only upon returning home that he realized how very low he was on cash that month and his frantic search for a new office began. The thought of using his home crossed his mind, but it was essential, the way his life and businesses were structured, to have a separate HQ for each venture. Each was solitary and didn't bleed into the other; he avoided complications that way.
The way it was, however, it looked like he wasn't going to be spending much time in his home. Where ever he ended up, he'd be using all his time trying to figure out a way to get himself back into the green.
Also, with what he had to play with, he'd have to stay in the office to keep it from being vandalized. He wasn't going to be able to afford even a cheap place on the bad side of town. He was going straight to the slums and he groaned inwardly before changing into a cheaper suit. It was going to be dirty, and dry cleaning was the last thing he wanted to worry about.

/

He was amazed that the building was even owned by anyone when he finally found an office he could afford. The whole building was one phone-call away from being condemned. This wasn't even mentioning the condition of the furniture (pre-furnished was a requirement in this situation. He couldn't afford to move his old desk and he wasn't about to work off the floor) or the occupants already in the room. Though not a man of violence in general, he thanked whatever luck he still had that he was just tall enough and had an authoritative voice that he was able to clear the homeless guy who had camped out in the room. It took a few days after that of patrolling the trashcans near the building and chasing him off again (and again), but he did have an office once more. It was also partly to protect the space from the old guy that he started sleeping there; the other part being that his home (which was the center of operations for his personal life and more pleasurable meetings) wasn't going to be needed any time soon. It wasn't the first time he had lived in his office and it wasn't going to be the last. It also wasn't the first time he had to steal basic amenities like water and electricity, though he wished he wasn't in such a situation. So when Pizzazz walked in with Roxy and Stormer, and offered the amazing advice of "ruin Jem's new album" in such a tone of voice that made it clear that she thought he had been doing nothing this entire time and the mighty Pizzazz would help him with her wisdom, his feelings were less than charitable. The tone might have also come from his less than usually stellar appearance, but he had been having a hard enough time living day to day that he thought he would be excused from shaving that morning or actually tying his tie.
But after they had walked out on him in a huff, the beginnings of a plan had begun to take shape, one that would both ruin Jem and put him back in the money making business. Those were his favorite plans.

He was thankful that he always had enough emergency cash on hand for such occasions, and that Zipper didn't care about his current circumstances. Eric Raymond was a man who commanded respect, even at his lowest. He wouldn't have as much control over the Misfits as he did if he didn't command it, and he would most likely be dead if he didn't receive it from his other associates. He gave Zipper one of his dummy P.O. Boxes to ship the album to when he was finished; it was registered to an old maid he used to employ. Then he made plans for a vacation with the Misfits; he wasn't about to let them go unsupervised while making his comeback. He had been ruined by smaller details, and the Misfits were anything but tiny.

It was amazing what a little sun and a good shave will do for a man, he reflected by the pool. They wanted to have some fun with Jem? He didn't care. He was back in his element again. They had the music already and an album. Anything that might happen from their fun he could handle, and it would get them out of his hair as a bonus. He could play solitaire for only so long. He wanted to get back to the wine and dine, the greasing of palms. Back to backroom deals filled with smoke and deception.
He wanted his old desk back.

/

And when it did all come crashing down, he was amazed that beyond the initial shock, it was Pizzazz that took it the hardest. By all accounts he should have been worried about being fired permanently, but instead he felt completely calm. Something inside him told him he was invincible, and though he had always thought that this time the voice was very loud and insistent. He stopped Pizzazz's tantrum from going farther than throwing the tape reels and screaming, which only proved in a later meeting to Mr. Gabor how much Misfit Music needed him—Eric Raymond.
"I expect to be back in my office in the morning," he told Gabor that afternoon, after sweet talking the secretary into allowing him in.
"And what makes you think that?" was the reply, not wholly unexpected.
Raymond lifted up the tapes, "These are a goldmine."
"I don't have time for your empty promises Raymond. Get out."
Eric Raymond smiled his most winning smile, which had the power to make even those he had burned give him a second chance.
"Trust me."
And Gabor had given in, because Eric would deliver and because Phyllis needed a babysitter and he was the best so far.
Raymond himself was happy because with the right rumors ("These French lessons were secretly made by one of the Holograms!"), the tapes would be a huge success. And with her plan an utter failure, Pizzazz would be too sulky to do anything but record songs and listen to his orders for the next month or so. And he would work them like dogs to make up for lost time. But that could wait until later. The next morning, he spent a very unproductive five minutes sitting in his chair and running his hands over his desk once again, and loving every second.