Interviews (2)
-x-
The drizzle had thickened into a half-hearted shower. Still the strange pair sat on the swings, oblivious, wrapped in their own thoughts. Finally, Colin blinked.
'We've got a paper to launch,' he announced flatly, and stood up.
Lynda stayed seated. 'Yes… yes, we do. You've been enjoying that, haven't you? It's a new challenge. It keeps you busy. The last couple of weeks, you've almost been your old self. Like you'd managed to push those things that you've just told me about to the back of your mind.'
'Can we get back, Lynda? I think it might be raining.'
'But something happened,' she continued, 'something you hadn't been expecting. Something… something to do with people trusting you and relying on you. Something pulled the world from under your feet this morning.'
She watched his expression.
'No. It wasn't this morning,' she added, 'it was last night. You haven't slept a wink, have you?'
Colin hesitated, screwing up his face.
'Colin, after all you've just told me, you might as well tell me this.'
With a sigh, Colin sat back down on his swing.
'I bumped into Cindy last night.'
'Oh?' Lynda deliberately kept her voice as level as possible.
'She's fifteen now, can you believe that?'
'Where does the time go, eh?'
'She looks older, though,' he continued, pinching the bridge of his nose, 'covered in make-up, skirt up to nowhere… falling out of a pub at closing time on a school night…'
He paused, for a long time, before he finished his sentence, bitterly.
'…with her boyfriend.'
'Something tells me she's not dating a Boy Scout.'
'I know him. He's a car salesman. A real sleaze, and I've met some sleazebags, goodness knows… always bragging about the filthy things he's got his conquests to do… the man's thirty two years old, Lynda. It's disgusting.'
Lynda nodded, solemnly. 'Sometimes, when people have been abused, especially at a young age, they fall into a pattern, they…'
'I know, OK? It's a vicious cycle. She thinks it's the norm. She thinks that sort of relationship's the only one she deserves. I know what it is.' He grimaced up at the gloomy clouds, his knuckles white against the chains of the swing. 'She thinks it's love. She thinks that's how men show girls how much they love them. She thinks she doesn't have to bother with school, because some day really soon he's going to whisk her away and give her a fairytale wedding. But she's still a child. It's still abuse. She's still being abused, and there's nothing I can do about it, because she thinks it's fine. She accepts it.'
'It's not your fault.' Lynda tried to touch his hand, but he jerked it away. 'You did what you could for her.'
'I didn't do a thing for her,' replied Colin. 'She's still getting raped. It's just a different dirty old bastard that's doing it now.'
'But this is her choice now…' attempted Lynda.
'That was my Good Deed,' interrupted Colin. 'That was my Pure Moment. The one thing I ever did that was worth a thing. And now it's gone. It never existed. I was too late for her, and I couldn't help. I never helped her. So you see what I mean, Lynda? It's pointless me trying to make a difference. It's pointless me trying to get a girlfriend. It's pointless me trying to do anything real with my life. Run a company with you, Lynda Day? It's a joke.'
Lynda stood up. 'It's not a joke.'
'You need a Kenny for this job, Lynda. This is Grown Up Stuff. This is your Baby. You don't want to share it with somebody who has managed to screw up every serious thing he's ever tried to do.'
'You didn't screw up the paper,' she replied, bluntly. 'And you did things that meant you took a bullet that, let's face it, was probably meant for me, and you stopped me from throwing the ashtray. Kenny wouldn't be able to fabricate a new business out of nothing, but you and I have – because we can lie and bullshit and delude until thin air becomes solid.'
She let him think about that for a moment before continuing.
'I want you to come back to work. I'm not suggesting that you just carry on like nothing has happened. But you're talking to the wrong person here. It may have slipped your attention, but you just opened up to a Soulless, Psychotic Megabitch. I think you should be saying those things to a professional.'
'I don't need a shrink. I'm not a lunatic.'
'Of course you're a lunatic. You're the least sane person I've ever met.' Lynda smiled at him, raising an eyebrow. 'You seem to enjoy my company, for starters.'
At long last, he smiled an Old School Smile. 'You really want a Pink Rabbit at your funeral, Lynda?'
'It's my funeral.' She took his elbow, guiding him to his feet. 'Believe me, Colin. All the best men in my life enjoy jumping out of windows.'
-x-
Julie pulled her top back over her head, newly inside-out. She sighed. It was such a pity. Liz was such a nice girl – enthusiastic, adorable, and she actually knew a thing or two about fashion, unlike most of the deadbeats she shared the office with. She really didn't want to have to let her down. But the girl couldn't write on even the most basic level. She couldn't spell, couldn't punctuate… her handwriting was just a childish scrawl.
Julie steeled herself, and let herself out of the toilet.
'Hey, Julie.'
Julie jumped. 'Spike!'
The American grinned at her, his mouth half full of Eccles cake.
'Spike, do you make a habit of loitering outside the Ladies' Toilet?'
'Only when my Girlfriend's not around.'
She returned his smile but folded her arms, guardedly. 'What do you want, Spike?'
'Just what's best for the paper, Julie. Same as you.'
Julie narrowed her eyes a little. 'Where are you going with this?'
'Uh…' Spike scratched the back of his head, feigning embarrassment. 'I might have caught a glimpse of Lizzie Fish's test paper.'
'Spike! That's classified!'
'Yeah. And I'm an Investigative Reporter.' Spike leaned against the wall. 'And I was interested to know why you went into her test looking so positive, but came out looking so dejected. I figured it had to be that she was doing really well until her test sheet let her down.'
'Spike,' sighed Julie, 'if you've seen her test, you'll know why we can't have her on the team. I was willing to overlook her lack of professional experience, but if she can't write, she can't write.'
'That's not what it's about, Julie.'
'Of course that's what it's…'
'Hey. I'm no William Wordsmith myself. Back when I started, I needed help with the basics all the time.'
'Wordsworth,' corrected Julie, 'and you were never as bad as she is.'
'I guess not.' Spike stepped in front of Julie, blocking her attempt to leave the conversation. 'But I'm good at what I do, and I know what it takes to be able to do it. You gotta… you gotta be able to read minds, but manipulate 'em while you're doing it… it's hard to explain…' he looked warily at Julie's unconvinced expression. 'There's something about her attitude that just feels right. She can't be five feet tall, but she walks like she's a giant, y'know? And have you noticed how many people are wearing their sweaters inside out since she came in?'
Julie shrugged. 'That's just the way fashionable people are wearing them these days.'
'See,' grinned Spike. 'That's what I'd have told you, too.'
-x-
They walked side by side until they got to the office's front door.
'I'm sorry I couldn't give you any answers,' said Lynda.
Colin shrugged. 'Some problems don't have answers. I might start sleeping better now I've said them out loud, though.'
Lynda nodded. 'Needless to say, you don't have to worry about me breathing a word of any of this to anyone.'
'Wouldn't have told you otherwise.'
Aware that there was nobody watching, they gave each other's hands a quick squeeze before splitting away from one another.
'And, needless to add,' she continued in a louder tone, 'if you ever so much as contemplate using that window as an escape hatch again, I'll chop off both your legs and use them to beat the rest of you to death with.'
Colin pushed open the door for himself with a grin. 'You'll have to speak up, Lynda. I can't hear a word you're saying.'
The door was caught by Spike, who held it open for Lynda.
'Hey Colin. Welcome back.' Spike watched the shorter youth give a hasty wave and hurry through the doorway. 'Guess this exodus was even shorter than your last one, huh?'
Colin turned briefly to him at the Reception desk. 'Yeah. There was a minor emergency, but I think I've got it under control now.'
Lynda slipped Spike's arm around her shoulders as Colin swiftly disappeared. '"Exodus", Spike? That's a very long word for a pretty little thing like you. Have you been going through the dictionary looking for rude words again?'
'There were some great ones in the margins, you know,' Spike replied. 'Funnily enough, they were all about you.'
She just laughed, and kissed him lightly on the lips.
'Crisis Averted, then, I take it.'
Lynda nodded, allowing her boyfriend to usher her through the foyer. 'For the time being, anyway. But something gives me the feeling that we might have to get a company psychiatrist on the payroll.'
'Well, I got good news for ya, Boss.' Spike pressed Liz's CV into Lynda's hands. 'You just did.'
Lynda stopped in her tracks. 'What?'
'The new girl. Lizzie Fish. She studied Psychology at College for three years.' He pointed out the section in the CV. 'Look.'
Lynda frowned, flicking through the papers. 'She also failed to turn up for any of her final exams.'
'Exams are for chumps,' shrugged Spike.
'Spike…' Lynda's expression was torn between bewilderment and fury. 'I didn't hire this girl. I would never hire this girl.'
'Julie did. You left her with the interview, after all.'
'Julie's got no authority! Spike, this candidate was late, she's failed a degree which had nothing to do with Journalism in the first place, her only experience is a few unpaid articles, she's an "L" name, which you know I hate, and look!' She waved Liz's test at Spike. 'She can't even write straight! I mean look at these mistakes. Even you couldn't spell that badly.'
'True. But I'm not Dyslexic.' Spike blinked patiently as Lynda studied the test sheet in her hands.
'Let me get this straight,' seethed Lynda. 'I leave the office for less than an hour, in which time you and Julie manage to hire a Dyslexic Reporter? I mean, is there any way this place could possibly get any more ridiculous?'
'We've got computers, Lynda,' Spike replied, 'with spell checks. Besides, you proofread every piece that gets submitted. You'd never let so much as a typo slip through the net. Dyslexia's a minor stumbling block. And it shouldn't get in the way of a person's career.'
Lynda pushed the papers back into Spike's hands. 'You fancy her, don't you?'
'Aw, c'mon, Lynda…'
'You talked Julie into hiring her because she's some sort of long legged Brazilian Supermodel, didn't you? And now you're doing the same thing to me…'
Lynda tried to storm away, but Spike caught her arm. 'Don't be stupid, Boss. You know I've only got eyes for You Know Who when it comes to You Know What.' He tried not to smile at Lynda's scowl. God, she was gorgeous when she was in a psychotic, jealous fury! 'She's waiting for you in the coffee room, so you can see what a "Supermodel" she is. Seriously, Lynda, if I were to date her, I'd have to spend the whole evening walking in a ditch just to make eye contact.'
'Then why are you so keen for her to be at UpStart?'
'Take a look through her portfolio.'
Lynda wordlessly began to flick through Lizzie's file of articles.
'Those are some pretty impressive interviews for a Campus Newspaper,' explained Spike. 'Some famous names. Difficult, too. A couple of those are infamously impossible to get so much as a soundbite out of. But she got 'em.' Spike paused, watching Lynda skim-read. 'Lynda, this is somebody who can come to an interview with her sweater on inside-out by accident and make everyone else in the office think that's the way it should be done. We are talking a serious master of the Blag, here, and for a newspaper we are really short of that kind of thinker. There's only two other people who can Bullshit that well at this place, and I'm one of them.'
Lynda closed the portfolio. 'Right. And the other one seems to be seriously losing his Mojo…'
She trailed off as Frazz sailed through the office, half an iced bun wedged in his mouth.
'Going out, Frazz?'
'Vox Pops,' mumbled Frazz by way of explanation.
'Like the sweater,' added Spike.
Frazz nodded down at his inside-out jumper. 'It's all the rage, apparently.'
Lynda turned to her boyfriend as Frazz merrily wandered off.
'Staff Room, you say?'
-x-
Liz sat down, cross-legged, on the sofa of the Staff Room, picked up her coffee and took a sip. She screwed up her face and dashed to the sink to spit the foul liquid out again. Only at the moment she did, the young man at the other end of the room threw himself towards the same sink, the same expression of disgust twisting his features. They didn't see each other. They only felt the sudden, sharp pain as their skulls collided.
'Ow!'
Liz stumbled back, clutching her head, finally focusing on the person she had smashed into for the second time that morning.
'Oh. It's you again. Sorry.'
The young man just shrugged.
'So you work here, then,' continued Liz.
'I try not to,' he replied.
'I try not to here now, too,' Liz smiled through the pain, 'I got the job.'
'Great,' winced the youth. 'Listen, I think we got our coffees mixed.'
'I know,' she replied, switching cups with him, 'I got the coffee, you got the milk and sugar.'
'There's coffee in there.'
'Where?'
He pointed into the centre of the plastic cup. 'That beige spot. Right there, in the middle.'
'Oh.' Liz nodded at him, politely. 'Crumpet?'
The young man blinked, opened his mouth to make a response, then floundered, blinking again. Finally, he settled on a very sophisticated 'Eh?'
Liz indicated to the freshly popped toaster. 'I've been doing crumpets. Do you want one?'
'Oh!' The man was still floundering a little. 'No. I'd better not. I didn't sleep last night, and it always makes my stomach play up, I've already thrown up twice this morning, and you didn't want to know that do you, and yet… yes, I am in fact still talking…'
'My tummy always gives me terrible cramps when I've not slept,' interrupted Liz. 'It's no fun, is it?'
'No,' sighed the young man, grateful of the opportunity to change the subject. 'So, you've just been stuck here to wait further instructions, eh?'
'Waiting for the Infamous Lynda Day,' replied Liz. 'Funny that I've got to sort out the Payroll with the Editor.' She sat down, tucking into a crumpet. 'For some reason, I'm never supposed to give my bank details straight to the Financial Director, but nobody's told me why. Why, do you think?'
The man shrugged, chewing his lip. 'I… suppose… there are misunderstandings from time to time, when wages are concerned…'
'Misunderstandings?'
'Sure… I mean,' struggled the youth, 'maybe a couple of times pay cheques were left in the wrong account for a couple of days… weeks.' He paused. 'Everybody was paid in time for Christmas,' he concluded.
'You're mad,' she complimented with a wide smile.
The young man nodded. 'Yep. Apparently I need to see a Psychiatrist.'
'I don't believe that for a second.' Liz took another sip of coffee. 'You appear to be only a Grade D Nutter. I doubt you'd need anyone further up the scale than a failed Psychology student.'
'Right…' He paused in the doorway. 'Your jumper's on inside out, by the way.'
'Yes. I know. You're wearing odd shoes.'
He glanced down at his shoes, blinked, then looked back at her. 'Yes. So I am. That's how they're all wearing them… In Milan.'
Liz grinned as the young man, on leaving the Staff Room, half walked into an equally young woman, wearing an equally crumpled and oversized jacket. The pair shared a brief, hushed exchange – something about still not getting out of an 11 o'clock meeting – before the woman let him leave. She turned again, hit by an afterthought, and shouted after him.
'Actually, Colin, I might end up running late. Could you ask the new Features Editor to get it started for me? Thanks.'
Whatever response the young man had thought up came too late, and was cut off as the young woman shut the door on him, with a brisk smile in Liz's direction.
'Sorry about that,' said the young woman, 'I didn't know you'd been left alone with him. You didn't give him your bank details, did you?'
Liz shook her head. 'Why would I?'
'Well, he's the Boss.' The young woman sat down next to Liz. 'The Money Boss, anyway, which he seems to think makes him more of a Boss than me. He's entitled to his opinion, of course, just so long as he never tries to act on it…'
'That…' Liz pointed off towards the closed door. 'That was the MD?'
'We're trying not to call him that,' replied the woman, sorting her paperwork, 'it'll only go to his head.'
Liz extended a hand to the woman.
'Elizabeth Fish. I'm guessing you're Lynda Day.'
Lynda took the hand, and shook it.
'Welcome to UpStart. Your jumper's on inside out.'
