2009
Mmm, tuna salad sandwich on toasted raisin bread. Delicious. Taking my lunch break earlier today was exactly what I needed. Of course, it would be good if I actually ate out instead of sitting here in my office, staring out of the window, waiting for my already half used free hour to pass. But I enjoy the silence and the solitude. Just sitting here, watching people shuffle by below me, wondering what they are thinking, where they are going, who they are in love with. Okay, I don't let that romantic side of me slip out in public too often, but I have to say that I, Josephine Potter, am still waiting for love to come around again. I think sometimes that it's crazy of me to hope for it, and I know that I push it away time and time again. But I can't seem to stop my heart from wishing to be rescued from its nearly stagnant state. It's probably a lost cause anyway. I'm twenty-seven-years-old, living in New York City in a 3200 dollar a month studio that I can barely afford and haven't had a significant relationship in over five years. I blame the cesspool of men swimming around me, but is it really lousy men or am I just too caught up in a fantasy that will never come true? One thing still remains the same for me though - I think way too much. And another thing; I need to get rid of this picture of my high school boyfriend I have sitting on my desk before someone comes in here and accuses me of pulling a Mrs. Robinson act.
"Joey, I need a favor!" It's my best friend, Allison Moore. She and I work together at Theatre Link Group, a large production company that puts on half of the shows on Broadway. Allison is a riot to be sure. Uptight one minute, laid back the next, creatively genius and loves what we do. But as for her personal life, she's just as much of a basket case as I am.
"Yes, my dear?" I answer her jokingly, as I swivel my chair around.
"I have to meet with Saul Livingston in two hours and I need more background on him," she says out of breath, brushing her long dark curls out of her face and giving me a pleading look. "I have to know something other than the few shows he's written that I haven't seen!"
"You'll wow him like always," I laugh. She won't buy it.
"Background, please. I'd look it up myself, but I have a ton of phone calls to make for the benefit concert before I leave."
"Okay, but you owe me a favor."
"Hmm, I seem to recall getting you out of somewhat of a sticky situation two nights ago and haven't received any stipends." She taps her foot and raises an eyebrow.
I roll my eyes. She rolls hers back.
"Fine, we're even."
"Lovely! Bring it by my office when you're done?"
"Yeah, okay."
Allison scoots off as quickly as she came and I am plagued with the awful memory of Mere Braunstien's cocktail party he decided to throw mid-week. I barely escaped the clutches of that troll Jeffery Beithan, our new casting associate. He has been in hot pursuit of me since he arrived here last month and has not been shy about it. So, he, of course, cornered me at the party and started breathing down my neck and speaking lewdly in my ear. Just when I thought I was about to lose my bowels, Allison pulled him to the side and whispered something to him that sent him hurrying across the room and over to Belinda Sims. She told him I didn't believe in pre- marital sex and that Belinda would spread her legs for anything in boxers. It was only half a lie.
Okay, I better get this information before Allison has my head. I steal one more glance out of the window. Just as I'm about to turn back to my computer, my eyes zone in on a man, a tall brown-haired man in a dark blue uniform with his shirt open revealing a well muscled chest below a white undershirt. God, he looks just like Pacey. I blink. No, I'm just imagining things. I blink again. He's gone. That could not have been him. Ever since my sister, Bessie, told me Pacey had been accepted into the US Coast Guard Academy, a man in uniform causes me to do a double-take. I was so proud of him when I heard. Bessie said he went to community college for a year did pretty well all the while working on the boat of a retired commander. Within the next two years he was up in Connecticut training to save lives and finishing school. I don't know if he even finished, but somehow I think that he made it. Despite what he always thought, Pacey was the strong one. He was the survivor. I know if I had a family like he had, the venom-spitters that they were, I would have shriveled up into a self-pitying ball and sank into nothing. But not Pacey, he lived his life. He took care of himself.
But the question is what would he be doing in New York City?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Lieutenant Witter! Slummin' at the old MR office when you could be out rescuing drowning half-dressed women out on Montauk? This is your 'peak' season, is it not?" Lieutenant-JG Hank Rivera grins cheekily at me. He was my roommate back when we were lowly cadets at the academy. He was a great guy to have around to lift your spirits in typical times of Witter- woe. "I'm still angry with you for getting that assignment when I'm stuck here reading signals from distressed fishing boats in Guam," he laughs.
"Hey, it's not all fun and games, Rivera, eight to nine months out of the year Montauk is dead in the water. Not to mention, who gets to live in New York City?" I cock an eyebrow. There are so many reasons why that makes him the luckier man, but I won't go into that right now.
"Okay, you got me there, but I'd trade it in any day for a chance at those vacationing exhibitionists in the Hamptons."
"Ah, but you are forgetting how close it mirrors my hometown. Listen, I have to drop this off for my commanding officer," I hold up the manila envelope in my hand, "and then I'm off for the next four days. You want to come up with me for the weekend and hang out? You don't have to work, do you?"
"Nah, but I've got a better idea. You stay here with me. I've got the room. We can pretend we're civilians for a couple of days."
"Sounds sweet."
"Who's the package for?" Hank asks, his eyes trained for a long moment on his computer screen. He looks at it a little closer, his brow wrinkled.
"Commander Taglerini," I tell him.
"His office is on the next floor," he says without looking up. He executes a few more keystrokes, nods to himself, and refocuses on me. "I have to work until five. Meet me back here then."
"Will do," I chuckle. "See ya, man."
"Oh, Pace."
"Yeah?"
"I forgot," Hank grins again and lets his face fall seriously as he salutes me.
"You can't be serious," I say, groaning.
"You do out rank me, sir."
I laugh before turning toward the elevator. I can't wait to get out of here. I need the time to just regroup and get myself together, although I don't know if New York City will do the trick. Luckily, I keep a change of clothes in the trunk of my car. But all the same, I think I'll do a little shopping before the day is done. I just got paid, and I want to look good while I'm getting drunk.
Mmm, tuna salad sandwich on toasted raisin bread. Delicious. Taking my lunch break earlier today was exactly what I needed. Of course, it would be good if I actually ate out instead of sitting here in my office, staring out of the window, waiting for my already half used free hour to pass. But I enjoy the silence and the solitude. Just sitting here, watching people shuffle by below me, wondering what they are thinking, where they are going, who they are in love with. Okay, I don't let that romantic side of me slip out in public too often, but I have to say that I, Josephine Potter, am still waiting for love to come around again. I think sometimes that it's crazy of me to hope for it, and I know that I push it away time and time again. But I can't seem to stop my heart from wishing to be rescued from its nearly stagnant state. It's probably a lost cause anyway. I'm twenty-seven-years-old, living in New York City in a 3200 dollar a month studio that I can barely afford and haven't had a significant relationship in over five years. I blame the cesspool of men swimming around me, but is it really lousy men or am I just too caught up in a fantasy that will never come true? One thing still remains the same for me though - I think way too much. And another thing; I need to get rid of this picture of my high school boyfriend I have sitting on my desk before someone comes in here and accuses me of pulling a Mrs. Robinson act.
"Joey, I need a favor!" It's my best friend, Allison Moore. She and I work together at Theatre Link Group, a large production company that puts on half of the shows on Broadway. Allison is a riot to be sure. Uptight one minute, laid back the next, creatively genius and loves what we do. But as for her personal life, she's just as much of a basket case as I am.
"Yes, my dear?" I answer her jokingly, as I swivel my chair around.
"I have to meet with Saul Livingston in two hours and I need more background on him," she says out of breath, brushing her long dark curls out of her face and giving me a pleading look. "I have to know something other than the few shows he's written that I haven't seen!"
"You'll wow him like always," I laugh. She won't buy it.
"Background, please. I'd look it up myself, but I have a ton of phone calls to make for the benefit concert before I leave."
"Okay, but you owe me a favor."
"Hmm, I seem to recall getting you out of somewhat of a sticky situation two nights ago and haven't received any stipends." She taps her foot and raises an eyebrow.
I roll my eyes. She rolls hers back.
"Fine, we're even."
"Lovely! Bring it by my office when you're done?"
"Yeah, okay."
Allison scoots off as quickly as she came and I am plagued with the awful memory of Mere Braunstien's cocktail party he decided to throw mid-week. I barely escaped the clutches of that troll Jeffery Beithan, our new casting associate. He has been in hot pursuit of me since he arrived here last month and has not been shy about it. So, he, of course, cornered me at the party and started breathing down my neck and speaking lewdly in my ear. Just when I thought I was about to lose my bowels, Allison pulled him to the side and whispered something to him that sent him hurrying across the room and over to Belinda Sims. She told him I didn't believe in pre- marital sex and that Belinda would spread her legs for anything in boxers. It was only half a lie.
Okay, I better get this information before Allison has my head. I steal one more glance out of the window. Just as I'm about to turn back to my computer, my eyes zone in on a man, a tall brown-haired man in a dark blue uniform with his shirt open revealing a well muscled chest below a white undershirt. God, he looks just like Pacey. I blink. No, I'm just imagining things. I blink again. He's gone. That could not have been him. Ever since my sister, Bessie, told me Pacey had been accepted into the US Coast Guard Academy, a man in uniform causes me to do a double-take. I was so proud of him when I heard. Bessie said he went to community college for a year did pretty well all the while working on the boat of a retired commander. Within the next two years he was up in Connecticut training to save lives and finishing school. I don't know if he even finished, but somehow I think that he made it. Despite what he always thought, Pacey was the strong one. He was the survivor. I know if I had a family like he had, the venom-spitters that they were, I would have shriveled up into a self-pitying ball and sank into nothing. But not Pacey, he lived his life. He took care of himself.
But the question is what would he be doing in New York City?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Lieutenant Witter! Slummin' at the old MR office when you could be out rescuing drowning half-dressed women out on Montauk? This is your 'peak' season, is it not?" Lieutenant-JG Hank Rivera grins cheekily at me. He was my roommate back when we were lowly cadets at the academy. He was a great guy to have around to lift your spirits in typical times of Witter- woe. "I'm still angry with you for getting that assignment when I'm stuck here reading signals from distressed fishing boats in Guam," he laughs.
"Hey, it's not all fun and games, Rivera, eight to nine months out of the year Montauk is dead in the water. Not to mention, who gets to live in New York City?" I cock an eyebrow. There are so many reasons why that makes him the luckier man, but I won't go into that right now.
"Okay, you got me there, but I'd trade it in any day for a chance at those vacationing exhibitionists in the Hamptons."
"Ah, but you are forgetting how close it mirrors my hometown. Listen, I have to drop this off for my commanding officer," I hold up the manila envelope in my hand, "and then I'm off for the next four days. You want to come up with me for the weekend and hang out? You don't have to work, do you?"
"Nah, but I've got a better idea. You stay here with me. I've got the room. We can pretend we're civilians for a couple of days."
"Sounds sweet."
"Who's the package for?" Hank asks, his eyes trained for a long moment on his computer screen. He looks at it a little closer, his brow wrinkled.
"Commander Taglerini," I tell him.
"His office is on the next floor," he says without looking up. He executes a few more keystrokes, nods to himself, and refocuses on me. "I have to work until five. Meet me back here then."
"Will do," I chuckle. "See ya, man."
"Oh, Pace."
"Yeah?"
"I forgot," Hank grins again and lets his face fall seriously as he salutes me.
"You can't be serious," I say, groaning.
"You do out rank me, sir."
I laugh before turning toward the elevator. I can't wait to get out of here. I need the time to just regroup and get myself together, although I don't know if New York City will do the trick. Luckily, I keep a change of clothes in the trunk of my car. But all the same, I think I'll do a little shopping before the day is done. I just got paid, and I want to look good while I'm getting drunk.