A/N: No more self pity, no more apologies. It's time to 'damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead'. By the way, I don't own these characters, which belong to Steven Levitan Productions, Brillstein-Grey, Sony and NBC...SO STOP ASKING!
MR GALLO GOES TO WASHINGTON
Based on characters created by Steven Levitan
Jack Gallo, publisher of Blush Magazine, emerged from his office, plastic cup of blue slushie in his hand and asked around the straw in his mouth, "Dennis, what do the latest polls say?"
Dutifully, Dennis Finch pulled the results of the latest NY Daily News poll up on his all knowing, all powerful lap top and reported, "If the election were held today..."
"Yes?" Jack asked impatiently.
"You'd carry the bullpen."
"Still behind, huh?"
"Ah...yep. According to the latest poll, sixty seven percent of voters are for Berkeley, twenty percent for you, ten percent undecided and three percent are still holding out hope that cloning can be perfected by November and they can vote for Kennedy."
Dennis closed the poll result window, adding under his breath--barely--"Same as it was five minutes ago."
"I can't understand it, Dennis, I really can't. I mean, it's been a week since Trump decided not to run for the office and I've actually fallen farther behind. I ask you, what do I have to do?"
"How about creating a sex scandal."
Jack considered this, then shook his head. "No, no, Cal Berkeley's a boy scout."
"No, I meant for you."
Jack looked wide-eyed at Dennis. "What?"
"Hey, look what it did for Clinton."
Eyes still wide, and with his head shaking, Jack disappeared back into his office as Elliot DiMauro approached from across the bullpen, waving a stack of photos and calling out, "Jack, wait a minute...Hey, Jack...", the final part at a closed door.
"Man," he moaned.
"Tell me about it, Charlie Brown," Dennis agreed, commenting on Elliot's choice of sweater that morning.
"How can we get anything done with him tied up with running for Congress?"
"Same way we've been running it for the last eight years or so. Maya, Nina and you run the magazine, I forge his signature. By the way, Jack approved a five percent pay raise for the four of us. I'll let him know next week."
"Thanks, brother."
"No sweat. As for the photos, leave them here, I'll initial them in a second."
Elliot handed Dennis the photos, giving him a hard look. "You seem depressed."
"It's just this whole election thing. I thought maybe he'd play with it a day or two, then give up. Kind of like when Dad decided he was going to marry Nina."
"Or that time Jack decided he was going to sail around the world."
"Yeah. This time, though, Nina can't accidentally try to sail his yacht up Wall Street."
Elliot's thoughts drifted back and he smiled a wistful smile, "Yeah, I remember that. You know, I was there and I STILL don't know how she did that."
"Thanks to the case of Smirnoff, neither does Nina," Dennis added.
"Yeah, but that traffic cop was sure surprised, wasn't he?" Elliot continued.
Elliot reached across the desk and slapped Dennis on the shoulder. "Don't worry, pal. At least you know it can't last past early November."
Turning to the mail before him, Dennis muttered, "Yeah, I guess so."
Behind them, with a soft 'ding', the elevator doors opened, disgorging its passengers, including Maya, who this morning was wearing a silk blue blouse, navy slacks and a smile warmer than usual for one who had just gone to lunch.
"So, Maya," Dennis greeted her, "Skyrockets in flight, huh?"
She smiled a shy smile. "Maybe."
Dennis jumped in place. "EWWWW...GROSS...Tell me more. Sights, sounds, eight by tens, VHS..."
"So," Elliot asked, "You and the congressman, huh? Cozy."
Maya's shy smile became a steel glare. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, defensively.
"I'm just saying that, y'know..." He looked back and forth from Maya to Dennis, who was giving him no support, just standing there, looking at him with a cocked eyebrow, "I'm just saying that...well...maybe he's just doing it because...well..."
"Why, Elliot?" She was mad now, "It couldn't be that he thinks I'm attractive and smart and witty and..."
"OK," Dennis laughed, reading Elliot's 'for Christ's sake help me!' expression and stepping in between them, "He's had enough. Neutral corner, there, spark plug. You," he turned to Elliot and nodded towards his studio, "I'll be in with that shoehorn to get you foot out of your mouth in a second."
"Well, you know what I mean..."
Maya jumped forward, prompting Dennis to put his hands on her shoulders. "Elliot, I can't hold her back forever."
Dennis watched over his shoulder as Elliot returned to his studio. Once he was out of sight, he let go of Maya.
"He means well, Maya," Dennis told her softly, "I think what he means in his own, inimitable, insert brown loafer 'A' into mouth slot 'B' kind of way is...well...I don't...I mean we don't...want to see you get hurt again."
It was a tone of voice without any hard, cynical edge to it, a tone he saved only for Maya. A secret he kept only to himself...and known by Maya, who knew but never let on she did. It was the only way she knew when he was serious.
"Dennis, I appreciate it. I know what he meant, but why couldn't he say it like you just did?"
He nearly whispered his answer, "Because he doesn't know you as well as I do."
"Don't worry, Dennis," she answered, just as quietly, taking his chin in her fingers and lifting his head up so he looked at her in the eyes, "I'm a big girl. I won't let him hurt me like Elliot did. It won't happen again."
She smiled at him, then headed for her office as he melted in the middle of the room, a blue shirted, blue tied, black slacked puddle in the center of the bullpen.
I hope so, he thought, because I think seeing you the way I saw you that night would kill me this time.
Just before she reached the door of her office, she felt down the side of her slacks and stopped.
"Dennis," she asked, turning around, "Have you seen my keys?"
"What I look like, Yale, the God of lost keys?"
She walked into her office and dumped her purse on her desk. She sorted through the pile of pens, scraps of papers and assorted pieces of her life as Dennis watched from the door. As she did, she muttered, "Oh, no..."
"What keys are missing?"
"All of them. All my keys, the keys to Dad and Allie's place here in town, everything..."
"When did you have them last?"
"When I locked the door to my apartment last night before going to see Cal."
"Maybe you left them at Cal's by accident."
"I hope not. He's going back to D.C. today and will be gone until the weekend."
"Well," he said, sly smile on his face, "It looks like you'll be spendin' the night with ol' Finchy..."
She shot him one of her dagger stares.
"...Or I can call a locksmith to have him meet you at your place, too."
Two men, both in black business suits, stood before an apartment door. They had been unchallenged by anyone save for a woman carrying a white poodle down the stairs. The woman, a lifelong resident of Manhattan, had learned never to ask or tell anyone what she'd seen.
The first man stuck a key in the slot. It didn't fit.
"Damn."
"Hurry up," the second urged, looking about, "I don't like day jobs."
"They aren't marked."
"Because they're hers, you idiot. Now, try another, fast."
The third finally did the trick and they rushed in, locking the door behind them.
"What are we looking for?" the first, a short, rotund man, asked.
"Anything that looks personal," the second, a tall, lean man answered, "Papers, pictures, anything."
"Y'know, Bud, I don't get it. Why does he want us t' do this? He think he's that big a threat?"
"No, of course not, Lou. He just wants a little insurance..."
A/N: You folks are smart, I think you get it, but at least I left some questions unanswered. Are they at Maya's place, or Allie's, or are they at Jack's and the keys they have aren't Maya's at all? Are they from the Berkeley campaign or free-lancers or maybe even from the Gallo campaign and they're actually in Berkeley's apartment? And, what does Finch mean by 'seeing you the way I saw you that night'? What night, and what, exactly, did he see? All reviews are read, considered and appreciated, so keep it up. I know I will. So, until next time, fellow perusers of the adventures of the staff of Blush Magazine...