Disclaimer: I definitely don't own any of the characters that you recognise. Only the plot and the OC's are mine. Everything else belongs to Mr. Bartlett.



Chapter 2
Vegetarian Meat-eaters and 'The Man'

Beads of sweat clung cohesively to her forehead and there was a bright red flush to Helga's cheeks by the time she made it to the top of the 35th floor where the main offices of the publishing house were located. Once off the elevator she collapsed into the nearest lobby chair where she preceded to need life support simply to retain a rational thought. First rational thought: you really need to get more exercise.

The building was warm without being the stifling temperature of an overheated subway car and a hundred foreign bodies, so Helga sat catching her breath, absorbing the comfort of being out of the cold and into the peaceful warmth of this moment. Mmmm.

"Helga! Ohmygod! What the hell happened to you? You look like shit, like you ran all the way from Central Park!" The company receptionist had taken the coat and scarf Helga was grasping in her good hand while at the same time replacing them with a steaming cup of tea. Oh that felt wonderful, and Helga graced the girl with one of her rare smiles that only a privileged few had been witness to. The girl, Airabella, took this for face value and walked away feeling very pleased with herself.

When she had gained a considerable amount of composure, Helga stood up and made her way over to the receptionist counter; leaning casually on the rich black marble tops, she chatted a bit with Bella. Bella told Helga about all the newest and hopeful clients, while Helga dished all the dirt she knew about each one—Helga wasn't a journalist and a veteran in the literary world for nothing; she knew all about the book circles and how to investigate the enemy and the friend. Bella was in complete awe of Helga and secretly wished to be just like her—Helga knew this and reveled in it. Helga was just in the middle of her classic story about the vegetarian cookbook writer she had seen at the McDonalds in Times Square when the intercom buzzed.

"Bella could you please send 'Hella Va Pain in My Ass' in here as soon as she arrives?" Mr. Samson's voice held light humor heavily marbled with complete lack of personality, but he was a nice old man and really cared about Helga as long as she wasn't making him look bad. It was a great relationship they had: He didn't take any crap from her, and she, sure as hell, didn't take any from him either.

As Bella reached down to reply Helga held up her hand and pushed the response button instead.

"Of course sir," she drawled in Bella's sickeningly sweet Southern accent, " and I'll make sure to send the crotchety old windbag in there as soon as he gets here as well...Oh wait, you're already here sir." Helga looked triumphantly at a horrified Bella who was, no doubt, going through the fifty thousand scenarios in which she was going to lose her job because of this. All her fears ebbed though when she heard the unmistakable ring of Mr. Samson's laughter flowing from the intercom as he replied, "Shit Hella-girl get your ass in here before I fire you!"

Helga gave a little giggle and leapt off the marble counter where she had been sitting, before she picked up her purse and, with a wave over her shoulder to Bella, strolled into Charlie Samson's office.

Charlie's office was large and had, obviously, been spared no expenses as Helga took a seat on the black leather couch on the opposite side of the room facing his desk. God, I hate leather furniture. Is there anything that's more tacky? Helga thought viciously as she smiled saccharinely at the old man now sitting behind the desk. Charlie just sat and stared Helga down for a minute or two, standard meeting procedure, before he cracked a wide smile and leaned back casually in his chair. "Hella, my dear, it really is great to see you. You look wonderful." Oh Christ! He wants something.

"Don't patronize me Charlie, I look like shit. Now cut the crap and tell me what you want." There was no way Helga was going to play into his little game of banter for twenty or so minutes before he actually got to what he wanted, it was better if they got this over quickly so Helga could get back to her cozy apartment up town.

Charlie smiled again as he stared at Helga's determined and set features before he stood up and walked around to the front of his desk where he opened a box of cigars and began perusing. She hated it when he did this: taking his sweet time simply because he knew that there was no more expedient way to piss Helga off. Finally after lighting up and taking a few chaste puffs he continued. "Hella, you certainly aren't one to beat around the bush," he waved his hand at an upcoming protest from her, "but I understand that you have things to do, as do I, so I won't play with you anymore, for today." He added that last bit simply for her reaction, which he was granted. "Hella, you are our number one writer in the company and also a business partner. As such, you know more about this company and the way it is run than anyone else, even me I think sometimes." Helga smiled and nodded in affirmation of these facts. She was practically vice-president, second only to Samson himself, which accounted for her larger-than-normal-writer salary. "Therefore, as such a paramount player in the company it would be best if you helped our newer staff get acclimated. Now I'm not talking about showing around the copy boy, so wipe that look off your face. I'm talking about a new writer and investor. He's bringing us a tidy sum of money and has got loads of potential when it comes to writing as well. I've just finished reading the first draft of his book and it's...well, it's really good Hella. The problem is it needs a bit of tweaking, he's a journalist, but needs to become a writer. Seeing as you're both, I know there is no one better for the job."

Helga sat dumbfounded for a minute, just staring at Charlie, trying to decide whether he was being completely serious. He was, Damn it! "So you're saying that you want me to help this boy smooth out his "just the facts" edges and turn him into a writer? Charlie, I'm not a miracle worker."

"I know you're not and this isn't going to take a miracle, just time."

"Time? I have things that I have to do Charlie. I'm almost done with my book, but it needs major revisions. Plus the Times is begging me to do at least five more consecutive columns to finish out my series on New York Life, and then they want me to start a whole new series. Time is something I just don't have."

"Listen Hella, this is something I need you to do. It has to get done and there is no one else who can do it. Just help him for a couple of weeks. Please."

Oh fuck! He knows that I can't resist it when he breaks down and says 'please'. Damnit, Damnit, Damnit! "Fine!" she acquiesced finally. "But I'm not going to help him any more than that."

"Great, all you need to do is help him with his writing and show him around the City a bit.

"What?! I'm not a damn tour guide Charlie!"

Charlie just smiled at her and knew that she would end up giving in by the end. He walked back behind his desk and snubbed the cigar in his ashtray before pushing the call button to Bella. Helga just sat stunned. She knew that she had lost the battle and was now stuck with some scrawny little wimp reporter who probably knew nothing about 'real' writing. Great! I'll be stuck spending my days with Clark friggin Kent. She was only vaguely aware that the office door was now opening and a tall man had stepped inside. It wasn't, however, until she heard his voice that she surfaced from her self-pitying. That voice! Sounds just like.... She looked up to see the same man that she had ran into on the street. Oh crap!

"So we meet again." he smiled at her.

"Yes...um...well." Why the hell couldn't she think of anything to say? Charlie cut in for her.

"Yes, as you can see, Ms. Pataki here is one of our most elegant writers."

The man started at this, staring at Helga with a sudden intensity that she didn't think possible. He looked confused amazed, and frightened all at the same time. "You're not Helga G. Pataki?" he asked, voice quivering as he enunciated each and every syllable. Helga stared at him, suddenly struck again with that sense of familiarity she had experienced when she looked into his eyes on the street. She was hesitant to answer, although she didn't know why.

"Of course she is!" Charlie boomed, "She's that best damn writer this company has ever had, so let me introduce you: This is Helga, and Helga this is Arnold...what was your last name again?"

"Oh...it's just Arnold."

Helga had suddenly lost every ounce of color in her face as she stared open-mouthed and gaping at the man in front of her. Holy Fuck! It can't be. But as she looked him over once more she saw it. He had taken off all the coats and scarves and the hat so Helga just now was getting a real look at him. He was tall, over six feet, with a lean, but muscular build. His skin was tan, too tan for him to have been living in New York all these years, and his hair was a sun-bleached blond color and fell a little haphazardly on his head (but in a way that made him look incredibly sexy). Oh God, did I just think that! His head was a fairly normal shape now, but everything about him screamed Arnold, only in an adult way. Helga could barely find a way to respond. "Ar...Arn...Arnold?" she asked, willing and praying that the tears forming in her eyes weren't causing her voice to crack. She didn't want to cry, not in front of him. There was, however, no escaping it once he had crossed the room and pulled her into a tight hug. She cried freely on his shoulder while he held her. His scent, it's just the same. With one hand holding him to her he used the other hand to smooth her hair back while at the same time whispering into her ear, "I knew you looked familiar on the street."

Helga laughed. She hadn't truly laughed in such a long time, but remembering her erratic behavior on the street certainly did the trick. She pulled away from him and grabbed his right hand in her own. She flipped it over and lightly traced the scar with the tip of her index finger. "You know when I saw this scar on the street I didn't connect it with you, but there was the flashbacks of that trip." Her voice had suddenly become very sad, as memories of that week surfaced afresh. Arnold simply stepped away from her—he hadn't forgotten either.



~*Gosh, Helga has a dirty mouth! I wonder where she gets it from . Oh well, I hope you liked this chapter, it was really fun to write—especially with the whole Helga and Arnold reunion!! Thanx for Reading!!