The disclaimer telling you that I don't own any Archer characters is off writing a book. Just more madness from my tiny little mind.
From The Memoirs Of Mallory Archer
Mallory was in Archer's room. Sitting at comfortable chair with a small table in front of her. There were several papers on the desk and she was writing on some papers. "Hm…Now should I put the incident with the ping pong paddles at the end of this chapter? Or at the beginning of the next one?"
"What are you doing Ms. Archer?" Gladys asked as she walked in to do her usual rounds.
"Working on my memoirs, Gladys," Mallory told her. "I'm tired of just crying and doing nothing. I might as well do something productive." She showed Gladys the page she was working on.
"Secrets in Silk?" Gladys looked at the title.
"I know what the public wants and I am ready to give it to them," Mallory told her. "Which ironically describes a lot of my missions."
"Oh, from when you were a spy in World War Two?" Gladys asked.
"And my career after," Mallory said. "In fact, one of the chapters I'm working on is when I infiltrated the Playboy Club."
"Didn't Gloria Steinem do that?" Gladys asked.
"Where do you think she got the idea from?" Mallory looked at her. "Besides I didn't go undercover as one of the hostesses. I went as a chanteuse singer. Saturday nights were big for entertainment."
"Really?" Gladys asked.
Mallory explained. "All I had to do was wear a slinky black dress, belt out a few Burt Bacharach tunes and I had them eating out of my hands. And other areas of my body."
"Oh you!" Gladys snickered.
"Got some good tips too," Mallory went on. "And I don't just mean for spying."
"Who were you spying on?" Gladys asked. "Russians? Communists? Radical terrorists?"
"Some rich gentlemen I could blackmail," Mallory admitted. "But I was able to get a lot of information from them. It all went swimmingly until that fateful night I was invited to a Halloween Party at the Playboy Mansion. And started that knife fight in the grotto…"
"What?" Gladys gasped.
"It wasn't my fault!" Mallory protested. "That asshole bartender put absinthe in my cocktail! Not to mention that little bimbo with the fake tits was asking for it."
"Oh lord, Ms. Archer…" Gladys clucked her tongue.
"You should have seen the dents I made in those babies," Mallory grinned. "Apparently it took two plastic surgeons to fix the damage."
"You are so bad!" Gladys snickered.
"I'm telling you this is going to be a best seller for sure," Mallory said. "I've been working on my memoirs for years but never really had the time. Well that and the idiots burned my original rough draft."
"I believe that," Gladys nodded.
"I've read over a dozen so called best sellers since I've been watching over Sterling," Mallory told her. "And my life is ten times more interesting. This has it all. Sex, violence, intrigue, adultery, scandal, drugs, secret affairs, back room deals, back room hookups…"
"You said sex at least three times," Gladys pointed out.
"Again, I know what my readers want," Mallory reiterated. "This book has parties in it that will make Gatsby's look like a silent retreat. And the Valley of the Dolls look like a Girl Scout Jamboree."
"I could say the same about the last Hospital Fundraising Dinner," Gladys remarked.
"I didn't know they let nurses into those things," Mallory blinked. "I thought only doctors and administrators were invited."
"Let's just say we have a very aggressive Nurse's Union," Gladys said. "And a very persistent Vice President who happened to see two married hospital administrators have a very passionate affair in the broom closet. And taped it with her phone."
"Who's your vice president?" Mallory asked.
"You're looking at her," Gladys said. "I thought about becoming president but honestly between my family, my church, my online cooking classes, my online Spanish class, my monthly wine and book club, my weekend wine and movie club and refereeing the local roller derby I just don't have the time."
"You're a roller derby referee?" Mallory was stunned.
"I have a life outside this hospital you know?" Gladys defended. "I'm also one of the medics."
"Okay now I get it," Mallory sighed. "Does the job pay well?"
"Not that much but it does have certain perks," Gladys told her. "Obviously my family gets to see the games for free. I get free food from the concession stand. Which means at least two nights a week during the season I don't have to cook. And we have some damn good pizza and meatball sandwiches at our arena. And it's next door to a good Chinese takeout."
"Huh," Mallory blinked. "I never got into sports myself. Well, not the kind where you get a trophy."
"I guess your idea of running around is very different than most joggers," Gladys remarked.
"You'd be surprised how the two activities overlap," Mallory shrugged. "Hang on. I did get a trophy once in Thailand…I should put that in the book."
"Your book does sound more interesting that a lot of books I've read," Gladys admitted.
"Let me bounce this off of you," Mallory picked up a paper and looked at it. "It's an excerpt describing this party I went to that my good friend the socialite Sophia Von Vanderlark was hosting."
"Sophia Von Vanderlark?" Gladys paused. "Where have I heard that name before?"
"It'll come to you," Mallory sighed. She started to read. "I breathed the crisp fall air as I walked into Vanderlark's upper East Side apartment with my good friend Stratton Whitehall The Fourth. This was just before Stratton was to announce his run for the Senate and with my help I was sure he would win."
"Stratton Whitehall," Gladys realized something. "Wasn't he the one that got caught having multiple affairs with other women, found to have a ton of drugs on him as well as that bizarre drunken incident with a giraffe at a zoo?"
"Causing him to drop out of the race," Mallory nodded. "You remember that?"
"It's kind of hard to forget all those pictures of a half-naked man being run over by a giraffe with six tranquilizer darts in his butt," Gladys said.
"I have to give Woodhouse this," Mallory paused. "That was one of his more creative ideas. He may have been a dope fiend, but under that drug addled brain there was a shrewd mind."
"What?" Gladys did a double take. "That was you? Wait you just said…"
"That I was backing him, yes," Mallory nodded. "Until I found out about all those other women the following week. Who do you think gave all that info to the papers? And planted all that heroin on him. Okay that last part was more Woodhouse but still…"
"Good lord," Gladys was stunned.
"Let me skip ahead," Mallory waved. "I'll jump over my description of the tacky 70's décor that was in style back in the day. Ah, here's a good spot. As I made my way to the Swarovski crystal punch bowl I was surprised to see Olympic gold medalist Bruce Jenner talking with my good friend Cornelia Guest. The charming young Adonis with the dazzling smile and broad shoulders would be the perfect conquest to an otherwise mediocre night."
"Unfortunately, the magic that I hoped for didn't happen that night," Mallory read. "Bruce wasn't interested in me. However, he did love my outfit. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about women's fashion. Commented on my shoes all night."
Mallory paused. "In hindsight, that should have been a clue."
"You think?" Gladys asked.
Mallory kept reading. "After I realized Bruce wasn't interested, I decided it was time for me to find my date. Or at the very least a better replacement. There were plenty of gorgeous eligible men at that party, and I was determined to find my way under one. It wasn't long before I heard shouting. Sophia's voice being the loudest. I went to investigate."
"I found Sophia in a terrible argument with her social rivals Melinda De La Mans and Helene Bouvier, a very distant cousin of Jaqueline. Apparently, Sophia was upset about the rumors they were spreading about her and her husband's marital problems. Since I was the one who had informed those women about those very same marital problems, I thought it would be prudent to stand out of sight in the back of the room."
"It turns out I was one of the few women in New York who hadn't slept with her husband. To be fair I probably would have if he wasn't such a horrible kisser. We shared a brief make out session in the kitchen one New Year's Eve. With his bad breath and quivering lower lip, it was like kissing a dead cod. Only the cod would have had more stamina."
"As it turned out, I was wise to be discreet. Unlike Melinda who not only admitted to having an affair with Sophia's husband at the top of her lungs, but that she was also taking Sophia's longtime chef Henri for her own."
"Sophia responded by grabbing a heavy nutcracker off of a nearby shelf and bludgeoned her to death in less than a minute. Then she chased Helen around and almost killed her as well. I will never forget the sight of blood on the caviar."
"Oh, now I remember," Gladys realized. "That's where I've heard of her before. The Nutcracker Suite Murder. You were there?"
"Yes!" Mallory groaned. "I got blood on my new Chanel dress and Lacroix shoes. You know I was never reimbursed for the dry cleaning and replacements? It's the very least Sophia could have done."
"I think she had other things on her mind," Gladys told her.
"Please," Mallory waved. "She had six lawyers who each had three assistants and fifteen unpaid interns between them. You're saying one of them couldn't run over with a check?"
Mallory grumbled. "She sure had time to write the checks for that seven-thousand-dollar prison jumpsuit she wanted to wear. Shame the warden wouldn't allow it."
"What happened to her after she was convicted?" Gladys asked. "Is she still in prison?"
"Oh, she got out years ago on a technicality," Mallory sighed. "But she was never the same after prison. A year later she got busted on a drug charge. Her lawyers got her off of that but society had just dropped her dead. I told her not to get that face tattoo."
"Oh my," Gladys gasped.
"She died a few months after that in some shoot out with some gang lord over territory in Acapulco," Mallory remarked. "On the up side her mansion didn't have nearly as many bullet holes in it as I thought it would have. I was able to have it fixed up and flipped for a tidy profit."
"You're joking?" Gladys did a double take.
"Well I did spend half a summer there," Mallory admitted. "But the lighting was so bad on the east side it just wouldn't do. And the drinks at the nearby restaurant were not up to par. It was almost a relief when I had to leave to pick Sterling up from some camp he got expelled from."
"Your life gets more and more interesting the more I know about you," Gladys realized.
"Exactly!" Mallory nodded. "My life is a gold mine just waiting for the first prospector to strike it!"
"What about your son?" Gladys pointed. "What about your memories of him as a child?"
"Why would I write about that?" Mallory asked. "Oh wait, you want me to play up the mother whose beloved son is in a coma angle?"
"Well that's one way of looking at it," Gladys sighed.
Mallory thought. "You may have a point. A lot of people are suckers for sentimental crap like that. I should find a way to shoehorn that in. If I can think of an instance from Sterling's childhood when he didn't completely disappoint me."
Gladys was stunned. "There has to be at least one!"
"Hmm…" Mallory paused to think. "Well there was the time…No wait. Not the time when he set my sister's house on fire. To be fair I ordered him to do it. But I'm not so sure minor arson would be well received by the public."
"That's a good instinct to have," Gladys told her. She decided to go back to work.
"Oh, I know," Mallory paused. "How about the time I had to spend half of my night comforting Sterling the crybaby when I forgot to pick him up from the train station on Christmas Eve?"
"What?" Gladys asked.
"I just moved to a new apartment with a new boyfriend and I was busy getting things ready for the holiday," Mallory explained. "I had at least five parties and two charity functions to go to that week. Woodhouse was away for some reason. He was either in the hospital or visiting someone dying in the hospital. Or was he dying in the hospital but recovered?"
"Woodhouse is your old butler, right?" Gladys asked.
"Technically Woodhouse was a valet," Mallory corrected. "Mr. Belvedere was a butler. Woodhouse was a hopped up old dope fiend who would do anything for a buck. But to be fair, he cost a lot less than you would think. Even when I had to bail him out."
Mallory waved. "Anyway, I'm getting ready to go to a party and the next thing I know the police call my phone demanding I go down myself and pick up my child. I had to schlep down to the police station and donate to the police fund so I wouldn't be charged with child neglect. All because Sterling couldn't figure out how to call a cab!"
"How old was he?" Gladys asked.
"He was nine," Mallory snapped. "He knew how to use a phone! He could have called my number and asked me for directions to give to the cabbie! I would have sent someone down to pay the cab and bring him up to my new apartment. But nooo! Because he didn't think I was late for my party, I got a lecture from some snotty cow with a badge and was out over fifteen grand!"
"How horrible," Gladys said simply.
"Not to mention he really killed the mood with me and my new boyfriend," Mallory groaned. "Boy did I get an earful from him about that!"
"Uh huh," Gladys remarked.
"The rest of the week was not much better," Mallory groaned. "Sterling had a hissy fit and almost burned the Christmas tree down. Then he got into my scotch and drank half a bottle. And broke the other half. He peed in his bed almost every night. Thank God Woodhouse got back from the hospital early."
Mallory realized. "Oh! I remember now! He was doing an errand for me by sending some flowers to a friend of mine who was in the hospital. And killing another man in another room at that same hospital. Then wouldn't you believe it? Some jackass in a moped ran over his foot as he was leaving. Poor Woodhouse hobbled around for almost a year."
"Back up…" Gladys did a double take. "Woodhouse killed a guy?"
"Oh, don't worry," Mallory waved. "In the first place, the target was a commie spy bitch. Old rival. It was actually a hit job requested by the CIA. And I gave Woodhouse more than his share of the commission. Second, Woodhouse had killed a lot of people before that. During the first World War he scalped like twenty or thirty Germans. In one night."
Gladys was still stunned. "And this was the man you chose to watch your child?"
"He knew how to cook, sew, pour a drink and kill Germans," Mallory was confused. "What more do you need?"
"I see…" Gladys winced. "Continue."
"Looking back on it now it was so obvious that this man…" Mallory paused. "I can't remember his name at the moment. Anyway, this man and I were obviously not suited to each other. Living together was a huge mistake. He was always complaining. Sterling left his stupid toys in the hallway and I stepped on them. Sterling talked back to me. Why do you have that creepy Woodhouse looking after Sterling instead of getting a real nanny? Why don't you ever cook instead of drinking Scotch all day? How many men have you actually dated? What do you mean you know Woodhouse occasionally does heroin?"
"Uh huh…" Gladys' eyes widened.
"I told him that the school wouldn't take him back for at least two weeks," Mallory groaned. "And if I had to put up with him, he had to as well. Then Sterling with his impeccable timing threw up on his shoes."
"Uh huh…"
"Then the dope says to me," Mallory went on. "If I wanted to hang around a mother and her brat, I'd be at home with my own wife and kids! Can you believe it? I had no idea that man had children! Or was married! He lied about having a family and a wife!"
"Interesting the order you're shocked in," Gladys remarked. "Continue."
"The next thing I know I'm setting fire to his suits and Sterling is kicking his leg," Mallory added. "I told him to get out but then the jerk had the gall to tell me the apartment was in his name and I had to leave. Oh, I left all right. But not before I stole his credit cards after Woodhouse knocked him out with some of his stash. It was satisfying to see that jerk foaming at the mouth on the floor."
"Oh my…"
"I did what any good mother would do," Mallory said. "Took my son to the Plaza where I charged the hotel room to the jerk's credit cards. Then took my son to an extravagant ice cream place where they charge a thousand dollars a sundae. Again, on the jerk's credit card. Had Woodhouse call an anonymous tip to the police framing the jerk on a dope charge."
"What?" Gladys was stunned.
"That's right," Mallory nodded. "Mess with me and my kid and I'll trash your reputation and credit rating. Boy he must have had a hard time explaining that to his wife!"
"I would imagine so," Gladys was still very shocked.
Mallory went on. "I heard his wife divorced him and took him for whatever he had left. He ended up getting fired from his lucrative job. Got hooked on drugs for real then jumped to his death off of the George Washington Bridge."
"Oh my…"
Mallory started to sniff. "That afternoon in the ice cream place was a good day. Sterling and I had such fun giving orders to the snotty waitstaff. I managed to teach him how to shoot a jelly bean into someone's nose. Then we walked by the park and insulted the homeless. That was a good day."
"I should write a book," Gladys muttered under her breath.
"You're right Gladys," Mallory brightened. "Writing Sterling into the book would help me!"
"I can think of a lot of things that would help you," Gladys remarked. Under her breath she added. "And know the right doctors to prescribe them."
"That should soften my image just enough," Mallory grinned as she worked on her papers. "This mother angle is a great idea. Gives me a new dimension other than beautiful sophisticated globetrotting kick ass spymaster. Makes me more human."
"Interesting choice of words," Gladys groaned as she left the room.