"Ah, the baby has finally decided to give me a ring. How delightful."
My expression instantly soured as I held the phone to my ear. Was it only my brothers that made me want to unsheath curses that would make even a sailor flush, or was every family like that?
"Piss off, Steven. You're the one who called me."
"That I did!" the man on the other line conceded with crackling laughter. "Maybe if you weren't out getting plastered we could have already had this conversation."
"I wasn't getting sloshed," I quickly defended, though my voice deflated as I thought the better of it. Perhaps it was more sensible to have my brother assume I'd missed his call because I was out at the pub rather than getting ice cream with my boss. I'd never be able to explain my way out of that one.
With a sigh I picked the conversation back up. "Was there something you needed, Steven? If you're calling to rant about the latest episode of Top Gear, I really can't say I give a rat's arse."
"Put a sock in it, Arthur. As if I'd call a Nancy boy like you to discuss prime television."
I let out another long sigh, kneading my temples. It had been a long day, albeit a nice one of following Alfred to and fro, but I hardly needed it to end with an aggravating call from my brother.
"What is it then? Are you just calling to remind me that I'm a dunce?"
There was a snort on the other end and then a brief pause as Steven took a sip of something. I liked to think it was just a cuppa, but knowing my brother it was probably something a bit stronger.
"That wasn't quite what I had in mind, but thanks for reminding me, lad." Steven cleared his throat, like a verbal drumroll. "Arthur, you're a dunce."
"Dutifully noted," I said as I rolled my eyes and leaned back into the cushions. "But honestly, Steven, I'm zonked. What is it you want?"
"Alright, alright. I wouldn't want to keep the baby up past his bedtime." I didn't even bother to dignify that with a response so my brother continued. "I've gotten some information the masses are not yet privy to."
"Of course. Then let's have it, 007," I encouraged as my eyelids started to droop. I doubted my brother had anything of real value to say so I wanted the conversation over as soon as possible. That might explain why my groggy, passive mind didn't quite know how to react when Steven actually said something of worth.
"I've become aware of an employment vacancy not yet open to the public," Steven began, sounding quite sure of himself. He paused a moment as if for dramatic effect. "Pendleton Books is looking for a copy editor, Arthur."
For a moment I felt almost as if I were away, out of body and mind, like the words hadn't quite registered and were simply floating about me instead. After a minute Steven spoke up again.
"Arthur, did you hear me?" he asked, ready to repeat the news but I stopped him as the information sunk in.
"Pendleton Books?" I replied incredulously. They were a big time name in publishing, headquartered in London. No doubt Alfred had heard of them; half the books on the shelf in his office were probably issued by Pendleton. But how on earth had Steven learnt of such a position? It took me only a moment to put two and two together.
"That's a load of codswallop. You're pulling my leg."
My brother scoffed and it crackled through the poor connection.
"I call you from halfway round the world with a great job offer, and this is how you thank me?" Steven huffed. "No wonder the girls don't like you, Arthur."
I bit my lip but didn't reply. It was true that my brothers had played me for a fool as a boy, but Steven wouldn't be so cruel as to do it now, would he? He had been halfway decent when I was given the slip back in August…
"Honest to God, Arthur, they're looking for an intermediate level editor. You know my friend Tom who works on the sixth floor? His sister works for Pendleton and mentioned it in passing. He in turn happened to tell me, and being the dutiful brother that I am, I'm passing that information on to you."
"You're kidding…" was all I could think to say because my mind was stirring. An intermediate editor at Pendleton Books? That would have been my dream job. If only the vacancy had been around in the summer.
"I'm not, and I'd appreciate it if you'd sound a little less bored, and a bit more grateful."
"Steven, I…" I began but veered off, not quite knowing what to say. A job at a large publishing house would be marvelous, and no doubt would pay better than my internship, but…
"Fine, Fine. I see you're at a loss for words so I'll just forward you Tom's sister's number and you can thank me later."
Sometimes while reading a book, I often felt at odds with the choices a character made. Why on earth would you take the path with the smallest return, or with no known destination when you could simply make the right choice, the sane choice? I understood that those decisions were the ones that forced characters on long adventures and towards their own unique development but it nevertheless oftentimes had me throwing a book against a wall. That's a bit how I felt as the words rushed past my lips without any prior thought.
"Steven, I appreciate you telling me this, but I'm happy here."
My brother didn't respond. Maybe he was waiting for the full force of what I'd just said to sink in and for me to backtrack.
"What are you, crazy?" Steven replied after a terse moment of silence. "Arthur, this job's gotta pay at least double what you're making at the internship, not to mention you've got connections and a good shot." I chewed my tongue as my brother spoke. What he was saying was true, and quite honestly it hurt to hear. "Here's what's gonna happen. I'll message you this number, you're gonna apply for and get the job, then you're gonna give the Yanks the ol' two finger salute and get the hell out of there. Got it?"
The thought of bidding Alfred adieu so rudely and heading home was amusing for a moment, but the more I mulled it over, the more steadfast I became in my decision.
"Steven, I said it before, but I'm not interested. I enjoy the work here," I insisted as my mind traveled to manuscripts and felines before settling on the memory of a grinning face. "And the Yanks have been good to me, believe it or not."
Again my brother scoffed but it turned into a cough, sounding slightly less intimidating. When it passed he spoke up, sounding like the stern older brother that used to put me in my place.
"Well, Arthur, I can see you're not of sound mind tonight so I won't waste my time trying to convince you otherwise." I swallowed quietly and listened. "I'm gonna let you stew on this for a couple of nights, and when the muck in your brain has finally cleared, you give me a ring and I'll pass on her number. The position won't open to the public until the end of the month, so you've got until then."
I too lacked the energy to start an argument with my brother so I just tiredly nodded along to what he was saying, eager to end the call. "Ta, Steven."
"Don't thank me until you've come to your senses," he replied and I couldn't muster much more than a grunt in reply.
"Take care, Steven," I managed, and my brother paused once more, likely for another sip of something.
"Night, Arthur," his garbled voice finally came. "I hope you enjoyed your candy" were his last words, followed by the blissful din of the dial tone.
The week passed quickly, and in the blink of an eye, it was Friday morning. That was something I greatly enjoyed about working at Golden Gateway. Unlike my last position where I constantly eyed the clock waiting for a day filled with monotonous descriptions of granite countertops and hardwood floors to end, here each day brought new stories, and terrible puns on behalf of one blond superior.
I was prompt, as usual. I'd been arriving about twenty minutes early every day since my initial cock up on the first day. It seemed like an average, casual Friday, with Gilbert greeting me in his jeans and tucked in polo shirt. I myself had gone with a long sleeve number as the chill finally started to pick up in the mid-October air. It was hard to believe I'd already been working at Golden Gateway for nearly two months. Where did the time go?
As I ventured into the office and settled in, hanging up my coat, and clearing off some fast food debris that Alfred had left out from yesterday's lunch, a polite knock came from the doorframe. I turned to find Roderich standing there, his glasses balanced precariously atop his nose, dressed in a warm brown suit. Roderich didn't believe in casual Fridays, but he didn't badger anyone else about it. He was always timely and civil in the few interactions we'd had which left me with a rather vague but positive impression of him.
"Good morning," he greeted me, and I responded likewise. "Sorry to interrupt," he began, eyeing the ketchup packets and plastic utensils in my hands, before making eye contact once more. "I just wanted to say that I look forward to working with you beginning on Monday."
I blinked at him once.
"Pardon?" I asked, racking my brain for some hint as to what he was talking about. I didn't recall Alfred mentioning something about me working alongside Roderich the following week, but that didn't mean anything. In fact once I thought about it, I realized Alfred had been slipping in and out of the office quite a bit the past few days. Perhaps he'd been making vacation arrangements that he forgot to mention.
"Beginning next week, you'll be reporting to me," Roderich elaborated, as I merely stared in what I hoped was not a gaping or befuddled fashion. "Did Alfred not tell you that he's decided to transfer you to my apprenticeship?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, and I must have mirrored his expression.
"Alfred… had me transferred?" I questioned, mouth going slightly dry.
"Yes. He proposed the exchange early this week, and I just completed the paperwork this morning."
"I see," I replied, though I did not see anything at all.
Roderich folded his arms and looked slightly uncomfortable as if he'd spoiled something for me that he wasn't meant to. "I'm sorry," he said at once. "I thought Alfred would have discussed it with you."
I waved my soon-to-be superior off. After all, he hadn't wronged me. He was simply passing on valuable information.
"No worries," I assured him, as I tossed Alfred's leftovers in the bin. "I look forward to working with you."
With a nod Roderich was on his way and I was left staring blankly at fast food remnants in the rubbish bin.
"Good morning!" Alfred greeted, chipper as always despite his cold-flushed cheeks. He handed me the usual Starbucks Earl Grey and put his own steaming cup down on his desk before unzipping his vintage jacket to reveal a warm cream coloured sweater that hugged his body. I might have spent more time eyeing his trendy ensemble—which also included tight black jeans and a pair of brown leather Oxfords—if my mind hadn't been occupied with something a bit more pressing.
"Yes," I responded rather monotone. "And the last we'll be sharing together from what I hear."
Alfred froze where he stood bent over his monitor, in the midst of bringing it back to life. His eyebrows knitted together but otherwise he didn't look too concerned.
"Aw man, Roderich let it slip, huh?" he said casually, turning his attention back to the screen. "I mean I'm assuming it was Roderich since Gilbert probably can't even remember what he had for breakfast this morning, let alone an intern transfer."
"Did everyone in the office know about this reassignment besides me?" I asked, admittedly a bit too loudly, but at least it garnered Alfred's attention. So much so that for once he felt the need to close his office door, the tiny metallic click of the latch not doing much to soothe my ruffled feathers.
"Easy now, it's not a big deal," he did his best to assure me, but as he tried to lay a hand on my shoulder I jerked away. I wanted him to express himself through words rather than meaningless reassuring touches. He frowned slightly as he retracted his hand.
"Arthur, I am sorry I didn't tell you earlier but I wanted it to be a surprise," he explained, though I still eyed him dubiously. "Do you remember on Monday at the ice cream parlor?" he began, rubbing awkwardly at his cotton clad elbow. "You'd mentioned that you liked the fact that Golden Gateway experiments with many genres." I did recall saying something like that. "So I thought, hey, you've been working with me on historical fiction for a solid six weeks. Now's a great time for a change."
My eyes softened if only slightly as I stood silently and listened. I wanted to retort. I wanted to say something like "And you didn't think maybe I should have a say in the matter?" but the words died on my lips. What say did I have in this? I was only an intern, nothing more.
Meanwhile Alfred continued with a lengthy defense of his actions, insisting that, "As an intern you should try your hand at several genres, to see which works best for you!" He made some broad, unimpressive hand gestures as I stared blankly. "Roderich works mostly with horror and suspense novels which is something you'd never get with me," he admitted, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. "Anyway, I thought this was the best way for you to diversify and gain more traction with the company." He then paused to offer a small smile that grew with the words that followed. "Besides, if you're stuck with me all the time, no one else will realize what a brilliant editor you are."
My eyes widened at those words, and while Alfred may have continued to ramble on afterwards, my mind faltered, skidding to a halt at the phrase "brilliant editor." The last time I'd heard those words… The last time I'd been deemed a so-called "brilliant editor"…
Alfred was offering me a sheepish smile, so I just nodded at whatever he'd said after I stopped listening. It was probably just another string of false reassurances like it had been at my last job; something sweet to cover the sour right before they fired me.
I got to work, eager to bury myself in something other than the newest thoughts that were swirling around in my mind. But it didn't help that every time I looked up, Alfred was giving me the same type of pitying smile that Mrs. Spalding had given me the day she'd let me go.
My stomach turned at the fourth or fifth glance of that unnerving smile. "Excuse me a moment," I nearly stammered. I pushed back on my chair a bit too eagerly, eliciting a harsh screech from the poor old rickety piece of furniture, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I hastily made my way to the bathroom, and inside I lay my hands on the cool white granite sink a minute before turning on the tap and splashing myself with some water. I stared at my reflection in the polished glass.
"Listen to me," I told myself, looking down at the man speaking, whose hair desperately needed a trim. "This is not like back then. Alfred is not Mrs. Spalding. He's doing you a favor. Nothing bad is going to happen." I slapped myself, once, twice, three times, bringing color to my cheeks. "Stop being ridiculous."
For a moment my mind did drift, to the story of a girl, who, like me, had landed in a queer place and managed to make quite a mess of things in her time there. Just like Alice, I thought, recalling a line from the novel; despite giving myself tremendous advice, I very seldom followed it.
If I was to be honest, by Wednesday I'd decided that I rather enjoyed having Roderich as a supervisor, and in many ways I found him more agreeable than Alfred. He was quiet, clean, and polite. He offered well-thought out feedback, and encouraged me to delve deeper into the supernatural and gore filled tales that were certainly not my forte. Still, I would have never pinned Roderich as the horror type, and every time my eyes wandered over to a bookshelf full of the works of Stephen King, something felt off.
"How does one even go about learning the differentiations in gunshot wounds and blood stain patterns?" I wondered aloud, which was a habit I must have picked up from Alfred, because I'd most definitely never had any interest in engaging in friendly conversation with co-workers prior to meeting him.
Roderich glanced up from his work with a slightly startled look on his face as if he were surprised to hear me speak.
"A lot of research goes into the production of the horror genre," he said after a moment, returning to his computer. "Many of our authors spend months or even years researching topics from mythology to criminal affairs and medical texts." As I listened, I eyed a spot on the wall behind Roderich's head that held his framed Master's degree. "Unfortunately, for some reason they are not credited with the same level of intensive research as their counterparts in science or historical fiction."
"That's a shame," I replied quietly, more to myself than towards Roderich who seemed more interested in delving back into his files than in continuing the conversation. Not that I minded. I enjoyed the silent, if sometimes eerie atmosphere of Roderich's office, but oddly enough, sometimes I found myself straining to hear the incessant tapping of a pen on a desk, or the rather obnoxious zipping sound of an old chair swiveling round and around.
I shook my mind to clear it, but while it had already been a week, I found my thoughts returning to Alfred on multiple occasions. Though Roderich was nice enough, and seemed pleased with my work, I couldn't shake the doubt of Alfred's true reason for reassigning me. He had, after all, originally said that he intended to train me fully so, why...? The only reason I could come up with was that I hadn't performed. My work had not been in line with Alfred's expectations despite his assurances otherwise. Alfred transferred me to the polite but stern Roderich as a second chance, to improve my poor editing skills. I was only still here because Alfred was too kind to discard me within the month.
I let out a short exhale from my nose, determined to get back to work, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to fidget. I hadn't done anything wrong. No, in fact I was the perfect worker. Roderich commended my work just as much as Alfred had, which made the praise more credible. And who else worked overtime without the overtime pay? What other intern went out of their way to show up early every morning, tidying the pigsty of his boss' desk? But if neither my skill set or dedication were in question, then the only other possible explanation for the transfer would be that Alfred didn't get along with me. I bit down on my pen cap as I mulled it over. That had to be it… it was the only understandable explanation if I wasn't truly in line to be fired, and yet... Could Alfred really have been acting the whole time? I must have put quite the strain on him to force such a cheery façade for the last two months. How on earth had I not noticed before?
"Arthur," the calm calling of Roderich's voice brought me back from my thoughts. I was grateful.
"Yes?"
"I have a meeting with one of my authors and her agent," he said, packing away some papers into his leather briefcase. "She's a young girl of only 16 who produces magnificently. However, seeing as she is underage I have to get her to sign some extra documentation with her representative," he continued, though with a sigh near the end there. "If only her agent was less of a hassle."
"I could go in your stead if you'd like," I offered.
He shook his head immediately. "I appreciate the offer, but I think it best that you stay here and continue your work on that promising manuscript. Two men find themselves trapped at Disneyland during a zombie apocalypse, was it?"
"Yes. Doesn't quite sound like the most magical place on earth anymore."
My joke didn't go over terribly well as Roderich merely nodded while he buttoned up his coat.
"Very well then, carry on. Please lock the office upon your departure. I don't trust Gilbert to do so."
Nobody seemed to trust Gilbert to do much of anything besides be a nuisance.
"Of course."
Roderich made a point to close the door, sealing in a quiet work environment, and I hastily returned to the task at hand. Still, for the first time since I began work at Golden Gateway I found myself looking up at the clock, and every once in a while, expecting to find a National Parks calendar tacked next to it on the wall.
The rest of the week passed without incident and before I knew it, it was Monday once more, but something was different about that Monday morning.
"The heater's broken," Roderich informed me as I went about removing my coat. Thinking twice, I decided I could use some extra warmth and sat down with it hanging off my shoulders. "Gilbert's arranging repairs but they likely won't arrive until at least mid-afternoon."
That prediction proved true, and by 2pm I was feeling a little chilly and a tad bit adventurous as I made my way to the break room. I doubted the office maintained an electric kettle so I thought I'd try my hand at brewing myself a cup of coffee. I did not, however, expect to find a familiar face standing in front of the coffee pot, watching the brown liquid drip into the glass decanter.
"Hiya!" Alfred greeted me with a smile. "Long time, no see!" he said, though that wasn't really true at all. Oddly enough, since I'd departed from Alfred's office, he continued to bring by a steaming cup of tea every morning. The only difference now being that he also brought around a cappuccino for Roderich and a pumpkin spice latte for Elizabeta. I didn't quite know what to make of this behaviour, but chalked it up to Alfred's kind demeanor and the increasingly cooling temperatures. Still, despite the intermittent tea bringing, this was the first time I'd been alone with Alfred since I took up my new role at Roderich's side.
"Good afternoon," I began lightly, not quite knowing what to say. Alfred was likely just forcing some friendly chit-chat, so I felt compelled to do the same.
"How's it going?" he asked, as the coffee continued to brew in the background. "You know, besides the whole freezing your balls off thing," Alfred continued, and I realized he had his suit jacket buttoned up, something he never did unless he was reporting to a management meeting. "How do you like all those spooky manuscripts? Now's definitely the right time for them."
Ah yes, Halloween was fast approaching, wasn't it? I'd been so occupied with work the past few weeks I hardly noticed that everything had become pumpkin scented, and now October was nearly over.
"It's nice. I had no idea there were so many methods for murder."
Alfred laughed, deep and throaty as usual. I twitched as I waited for him to still. Was this just a polite act?
"Never thought I'd hear those two sentences back to back," Alfred commented with a smile, sliding a Styrofoam cup off the stack stationed next to the coffeemaker. "Would you like some?"
"Please," I replied with a curt nod, wrapping an arm around myself in an attempt to feel smaller, more insignificant. Alfred filled the cup about an inch from the rim and held it out to me.
"So Arthur, I've been thinking," Alfred began as he handed me the cup of Joe, as they called it. Perhaps if I had still been working under Alfred I might have responded more playfully. Something along the lines of "Oh dear. I hope you haven't hurt yourself." But as it was, with these questionable circumstances, it hardly felt the place for any friendly banter. In fact, feeling quite out of place, I wasn't much in the mood for any chats at all.
"Actually, Alfred," I cut him off, taking a step back, and then another. "I really must be getting back to my work."
Alfred cocked an eyebrow and looked perplexed for a second, but it passed just as easily as it had come, and his face was quickly replaced with a smile.
"Always the busy bee," he said with a grin as he went about pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Well I guess I'll catch you later."
I barely managed a nod as I swiftly made my escape from the tension in the room… yet, had there been any tension? Alfred seemed perfectly civil, but then again, I simply didn't know what to make of him anymore. My confusion was only worsened a few days later when Roderich invited me to sit in on a meeting of the editors, when low and behold, a certain blue-eyed and smiling blond editor went out of his way to sit beside me in the second row from the back of the conference room. Warily I eyed him as he took his seat, completely disregarding the vacant chairs at the front of the room where he was no doubt supposed to be.
"I didn't know you were sitting in today," he said with that ever persistent smile. He crossed a leg over his knee and laid a memo pad on it.
"I can't say the same, seeing as you always attend these biweekly meetings," I replied with a small forced smile. "Speaking of, shouldn't you be near the front with the other senior editors?" I questioned. From where I was I could see Roderich and Elizabeta sitting in the front row, with a few of the agency's junior editors filling up the intermediate space.
"Oh pfft, nah," he answered, waving his hand in the air as if to emphasize it. "As long as I'm present and awake, management won't mind."
"I see," I relented, not much willing to inquire further. That disinterest, however, did not stop Alfred from pursuing a conversation.
"I got the latest chapter from Bella this morning," he spoke giddily, with eyes shining. "You wouldn't believe how she wound up killing Victor. It was a struggle just to pull myself away from my computer to sit in on this meeting."
And so the chatter dragged on, not just for the brief few minutes before the meeting, but throughout it as well. For forty minutes Alfred was constantly in my ear whispering commentary that ranged from "Hey look! That novel you edited is finally in post-production!" to "That tie, with those shoes? I don't know what Jonathan was thinking." Near the end of the meeting I was picking at my fingernails, itching to get out of the room and get some fresh air, but even then Alfred protracted the conversation. As the meeting concluded and the other employees returned to their respective offices, Alfred turned toward me, stilling me with a hand on my shoulder.
"You, me, Golden Gate Park, this Saturday," he declared with a blinding grin. "I can show you around and we could even check out the botanical gardens if you're interested." He gave my shoulder a small squeeze. "What do you say?"
I stared at Alfred uncomprehendingly. What was going on here?
"You want to go on another excursion?" I enquired as if I had misheard. But how could that be? No matter how I did the math, this result still did not make sense.
"Of course!" he chirped, eagerly flashing me another blinding grin. "Sorry for the short notice. I was gonna ask you the other day in the break room so you'd have a bit more time to prepare, but you seemed busy."
Indeed I had been busy… busy working for my new editor. This simply didn't seem to add up. I had understood the initial tour when I'd first arrived. That was just Alfred going out of his way to be polite to the newly arrived foreigner. But the additional outings, the trips to Alcatraz and the aquarium, those were friendlier in nature; they'd been companionable outings between co-workers. But if that was the case... how could it be that Alfred wanted to go on another day trip now that he'd ousted me from his office? The more I thought about it the more troubled I became.
"No." I at once decided, before fully processing it. I wouldn't go. It wouldn't feel right.
It might have been my imagination but Alfred looked crestfallen, if only for a second. After it passed he was laughing again, waving his hand around like it was no big deal, because it wasn't. I stood firm in my decision. Until I could parcel out exactly what my relationship with Alfred was, I wasn't willing to bother him with any further trips. "I appreciate the offer but I really haven't a free moment this weekend."
"No biggie," Alfred beamed. "You're busy, that's cool. Maybe some other time then."
I wasn't sure if that last part of his sentence was a question or a statement so I just made a hum of agreement before slipping out of the room and reporting back to Roderich. While I made my escape, my mind involuntarily began to run through memories of our time together, and I was temporarily transported back to greasy onion rings on the pier, personal but not altogether uncomfortable conversations, terrible puns, and to the soft pink potted tulip that sat beside a row of spices on my kitchen countertop. I couldn't deny that altogether the memories were pleasant and yet… I couldn't help but wish that they weren't. Maybe that would make things easier.
Upon reaching the office I was momentarily distracted by a brief discussion with Roderich regarding the contents of the meeting, and soon thereafter I was back in the depths of a manuscript. But despite my best attempts, my mind lingered elsewhere.
How strange it was that as I read page after page in a book built on thrills and suspense, my only thoughts were not on what would happen next, but on what had passed; a queer and incomprehensible nostalgia.
It was rather brisk at half-past 11 on a late October evening, and as such, I scrambled for my lighter after pulling a fag out of my pocket. I'd picked up a pack on the way home from the office and was already halfway through it. Some part of me was disappointed in myself, seeing as I'd been off the nicotine since my second week in America when the stress of moving had finally started to ebb. Not wanting to think about that, I squandered the thought away, suffocating it with lovely wisps of silver smoke.
I stood outside in the breeze for a moment, maybe two, before I dug my mobile out of my pocket. It wasn't hard to smoke and dial at the same time. He had been the first name in my recently rung tab after all. I let out a puff of smoke with a small faux smile as a tired grunt answered me in place of a hello.
"Good morning, Steven" I greeted, before skipping straight to the point. "Be a dear and send me the information for that position at Pendleton." I snuffed out the cigarette, watching the bright embers darken beneath my merciless sole. "I've had a change of heart."
