The Man Himself
Angela hesitated for the space of a few nervous heartbeats before knocking at the office door.
"Come in," a male voice said absently. Angela did so, holding the clipboard with her treatment on it before her like a shield.
For all that it belonged to the editor-in-chief, the office was not particularly ostentatious. One wall was made entirely of windows, which at this height granted an excellent view of the city. The others were covered with framed sketches and clippings from various magazines, most with a reputation for covering art or popular culture. A row of polished wooden cabinets stood behind an ornate desk. The desktop was covered with a mess of folders and loose sheets of paper. At the desk, a man sat reading a newspaper.
He looked to be in his early fifties, long and lanky, with a brush of untidy grey and gold hair. He wore square reading glasses and a soft corduroy jacket over a striped red turtleneck. A frown creased his face as he read.
"I'm sorry, sir," piped Angela. "Is this not a good time?"
The man shook his head and set the paper down. "Not at all. Just had a brush with the past."
"Sir?"
"A man I was at school with has been convicted in a double homicide. Nasty business."
"Oh, I'm sorry sir. Had he been…was he a friend of yours?" Angela asked.
"Quite the reverse. I wish I could say I was shocked…" The man's voice trailed off as he stared at one of the sketches on the wall. Then he sighed and seemed to pull himself together.
"It seems I have become too mature to gloat. How disappointing."
"If you say so, sir. May I sit down?" Angela pointed to one of the chairs in front of the desk.
"Of course, Miss…"
"Heatherfield, sir," Angela supplied, as she sat down, legs crossed in front of her. "And it's Mrs., actually."
"Really?"
"Yes sir," Angela said. "I got married in September."
"Well then, congratulations. My own daughter is getting married next month, as a matter of fact."
"I hope she'll be very happy, sir," said Angela politely.
"As do I," the man replied, straightening the papers in front of him. "Her fiancée seems steady enough. Still, it's going to be hard to think of her as Mrs. Macpherson. But those are my troubles. You, I believe, had a treatment for a new series to show me."
"Yes sir." Angela unclipped the top sheet from her board and passed it to the editor-in-chief. He took it and resettled his spectacles before giving it the critical eye.
Angela could feel her heart racing in her chest. This was her big chance. It had been a real stroke of luck landing this job with Paper Tiger Comics. Everybody in publishing had heard of the company. It had begun small, almost thirty years ago, with a single self-published series called Captain Napalm. A parody of golden age comics, it had spread like wildfire, until a few years later it was joined by Spaceman Rolf, a sci-fi parody.
Rolf proceeded to eclipse Napalm in popularity, so much so that barely five years after the company's inception, Paper Tiger was getting offers from Marvel and DC. The editor proceeded to shock the business world by refusing these. The company then launched its third great parody series, The Tracer Bullet Files.
These were followed by Blood of a Tyrant. Angela remembered reading those in high school. A quartet of dark graphic novels set during the late cretaceous, they tested the limits of what a comic could be. It was not for another four years however that Paper Tiger released it's next ongoing series, Microcosm. Told from the view of inch high human, it was full of political and social commentary. This eventually spawned an animated film, which went over big with the critics if not the box offices. Microcosm was eventually joined by Permafrost, a dystopian look at the second ice age, and by the controversial Boy of Destiny, which followed a grade school mad scientist and the various experiments he perpetrated on his peers.
With these seven titles, Paper Tiger's place in the world of media was secure. They continued to publish graphic novels, experimented briefly with an animated television series, and firmly declined offers from larger firms. The big change however came five years ago. The editor-in-chief had retired Captain Napalm. The hero had gone down in blaze of narrative glory and fans waited impatiently for a Reichenbach Falls style resurrection. None came. After twenty-five years, the company had decided to cancel one of its biggest cash cows. It was unheard of. Angela remembered the editor's statement to the press:
"The Captain has had his day. The character has grown to its full potential, the world of strip been exhaustively explored, and our staff's supply of witty one-liners been drained dry. I have great pride in what Captain Napalm has become and I refuse to prop up his stuffed corpse for the sake of profit."
That was the moment when she'd decided. She would work for Paper Tiger Comics. The fact that the company had very few employees and was highly competitive did not dissuade her. All through college she had studied creative writing and graphic design, and eventually, it had paid off. Here she was, living the dream.
The dream was this. After the end of Captain Napalm, the board had eventually persuaded the editor-in-chief that another superhero title could still be viable. The result was Stupendous Man, Paper Tiger's latest title. The series was both darker and more idealistic than its predecessor, with a quixotic protagonist living in a world of bankrupt morals. Sales were good, and the company seemed to be settling back into its groove.
Now however, despite squawking investors, it was common knowledge amongst the staff that the editor-in-chief was preparing to retire Spaceman Mort as well. Angela was bold enough to dream that her series concept might be the one to fill the gap. She trembled slightly as she considered the audacity of it.
Paper rustled as the man behind the desk flipped through Angela's proposal.
"Female protagonist, I see," he remarked neutrally.
"Yes sir," said Angela, "With respect sir, it's about time this company had one."
The man laughed. "I suppose your right. And these plot arcs look solid. Cold-blooded mercenary becomes a reluctant hero. Very appealing. Thoughts on the art?"
"Not overly scientific, I think," Angela said, encouraged. "Mort has such a Westerns vibe, I was thinking something more Renaissance. You know, because that's when Europe really started exploration? I thought we could draw some interesting parallels."
"Hmm. Da Vinci in Space?"
"I suppose, sir," said Angela, beginning to worry again.
"I like it," the man decided. "It'll need workshopping of course, but this definitely what we've been looking for."
Angela's eyes widened. "Sir? You mean it, sir?"
"Absolutely. As of this moment you have the Paper Tiger Seal of Approval." With these words he fished a heavy stamp out of the desk drawer, and banged it first on an inkpad and then on Angela's treatment. With a smile he passed the papers back to her. There, in red on the white copy stock, was the company's logo: an ornate shield surrounded by lance-totting tigers.
Angela hugged it to her chest, unable to contain a smile as she hurried towards the office door. On the threshold, she remembered her manners. She turned.
"Thank you, sir," she said with warmth.
"Please," the man said, "Call me Calvin."