Fishbowl Vignette IV: Get A Clue

He was pretty sure they were going to have a homicide in the building before the day was out.

On any other day, it'd come out in a fashion like that mystery board game: Daniel Meade, in his office, with his stapler, the heavy one. Victim: Pain-in-the-ass contributing writer for the February issue, Ned.

Ned. The man was actually named that. Who in the world named their kid Ned?

But as the day went on and the story unfolded on the other side of the glass, Daniel was starting to place his bets elsewhere.

Betty Suarez, at her desk, with a tchotchke, the really loud, colorful one. Victim: Pain-in-the-ass Marc.

She'd brought it upon herself, really, with all the yelling and screaming she'd done at the Knicks game the evening before. Give the woman courtside seats and she turned into a verifiable nut job, obsessed fan, complete with foam-finger glove, trash talk for the passing referee and screaming at the opposing team. Loss of speaking ability for a day or two came with the psychosis. And when your job centered around the phone most of the day, you had to get inventive.

Even if that meant Marc had to help you out.

"Now I know you want edgy, you want hip, but I think if we go back to the classic roots of love - or courtship, have you - we'd reach out to a different facet of the Mode woman."

Daniel thrummed his fingers along the desk as Ned chattered away. When the man finally reached a pause, he remarked, "That's all well and good, Ned, but we run a company that thrives on sex and, well, sexiness. Going back to mash notes and candy hearts isn't going to do much for circulation."

"All I'm asking for is a page or two, not even that," Ned insisted. "Just a throw back so women can remember, if for a moment, what it was like to get wooed instead of seduced."

"Wooed?" Daniel asked skeptically.

"You know, wooed, as in-"

"I know what it means, Ned. I'm just indicating my waning interest in this conversation, not that I had much in the first place." Daniel sighed. This was not nearly as interesting as the goings on at Betty's desk. Marc was happily answering the phones while she opened mail and glowered at him. It was a lucky break that Wilhemina was willing to give him up for a couple hours, but it was clear that his assistant wasn't seeing it that way.

Marc and Betty both reached for the phone at one point (Ned was, crap on a stick, still talking) and scrambled for it before Marc said something – no doubt scathing – that left Betty fuming. It was funny to see her feathers ruffled no matter how many opportunities for such arose.

After the phone was dropped back on its cradle, Marc began to reach for the envelopes and was stopped short when Betty wielded a letter opener in his direction.

Daniel hid a smile behind his hand and looked over at Ned. The man looked back so hopefully, Daniel finally shrugged and said, "I'll look it over, all right? That's all, I won't promise anything more and you have to agree to give it up if the article isn't worth more than two minutes of my time."

Ned held the copy protectively to his chest. "You promise?"

"You have my word," Daniel assured him.

"I really appreciate this, Mr. Meade. You have no idea how much-"

"Ned."

"Yes, right, I'll, uh, wait for an email. Thank you so much."

Daniel waved him off and dropped the sheets on his desk. He had no idea why he was giving the man such a hard time; Betty had mentioned something along the same lines the other night when they'd worked late. It was just that Mode was the kind of magazine where you had to dole out the sweetness carefully and sparingly; it'd be instant death if they turned into some kind of drippy competition for Good Housekeeping or, heaven forbid, Cosmo.

Maybe it was because Betty said it and dispensed of the ass-kissing all around. Who knew?

Once Ned was gone, Betty entered his office with a scowl and a notepad. Daniel smiled back and waited until she took the recently vacated seat to say, "Looks like you're having fun out there."

She glared.

"I never would have bought the extra ticket if I knew this would come of it," Daniel added. It was a bald lie and they both knew it, so Betty huffed out a dissatisfied breath. "Oh, come on, it's a little funny."

Betty actually started to look a little evil.

"Right," Daniel said suddenly. He passed her the second copy of Ned's article. "Tell me - ha, sorry – let me know what you think of this. And Betty?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Try not to kill Marc, will you? Wilhemina might have a replacement in two seconds flat, but the blood would be hell on the carpet."

With a little humming nose that was neither here nor there, Betty took the article and started thumbing through it. Daniel took the original and started doing the same; at the two minute mark, he was still interested and making notes, so maybe Ned was doing something right after all.

It got syrupy in a few places, with the attention on how a simple hug or note in a lover's voice was all a girl needed to feel a good chill, but Ned had always been a solid writer and it showed. Daniel indicated some changes with his pen; nothing major, but the article was showing better chances of getting a page in the layout. Betty certainly seemed enthralled and, while she was by no means the standard Mode girl, Daniel knew that meant something.

"Daaaniel?" Marc's voice grated slightly on the intercom. Daniel winced and asked, "Yes?"

"Your next meeting is in two minutes, so you might watch to scootch Little Miss Queens out of there."

Betty and Daniel exchanged an exasperated glance, but Betty stood and handed back the article. Across the top she'd written:

Sweeter than our normal Valentine's piece, but won't alienate the readers. You'll get good responses for the editorial page if you want them.

"Just what I was thinking," Daniel replied, satisfied. "Two pages?" Betty nodded in agreement. "Let Ned know."

"Mr. Meade, your two o'clock is here," Marc sing-songed into the intercom.

He expected for her to groan, but that wasn't enough for Betty this time around. Her voice was scratchy and hoarse and far fainter than he'd ever heard it, but Betty clearly said, "Do you really care that much about the carpet?"

When Daniel didn't answer, she waved her away her own question in the universal sign of 'never mind' with a possible flick of 'I'll plot Marc's painful death on my own time and away from company premises', but Daniel didn't notice.

He was far too alarmed by the way his heart had jumped when Betty had spoken.

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