This is another filler chapter. There's some important plot information in here but it's not prevalent until later in the story. Again, bear with me! The subsequent chapters are far more interesting (and juicy!).

Detta sat on her deck in the dark, a glass of vodka on the rocks in her hand and a lit cigarette stuck between two fingers. If anyone were with her, they wouldn't be able to see it but her cheeks were flushed thanks to her one hundred proof tan. The day would have actually been better if she had been fired. At least then she'd be free of him.

She arrived in San Francisco around mid-morning, expecting nothing but having to make an appearance. But, when she walked in the door, the west coast editor called her into his office and shut the door behind her. Never a good sign. He looked troubled, as if he didn't want to say what he had to say.

"Am I getting fired?" Detta asked him and he merely shook his head.

"I've gotten word from the east that I need to relay certain criteria for your column."

"Like…?"

"He said, and I quote, 'you are to stick with what tits knows best: shopping, make-up and hair.'"

"I should tear into him just for the tits thing. So, wait. What you're telling me is he wants me to dumb down my article? Not the best moves for him, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. He's trying to turn me into one of his mindless girls. The man's afraid of my brain. He's misogynistic!" West didn't reply but instead let her rant. "What am I supposed to do? I don't even know how to talk about that stuff. He knows my column gets a lot of hits from businesswomen and it's broadened his market. He's going to close it back up again if he makes me do this."

"He doesn't care. He says women need to stick to what they know and leave the intellect and politics to "us,"" he said, using his fingers to create quotation marks on the word 'us.' "I'll lose my job if I publish any of your real work."

"God. I'm going to have to subscribe to women's magazines now. Yes, I know I am a girl but I'm not that girly! What am I going to do?" Detta threw her head into her hands.

"Think outside the box."

"I'm sorry?" she said, looking up at him.

"The west coast edition of the Tribune accepts anonymous editorials. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to."

He gave her a sly smile before going straight-faced again, holding the door open for her to exit. Detta nodded, quickly trying to decipher that look, and walked out of the office. She started walking over to her desk, thoroughly depressed when she walked by the secretary's desk and, up in the corner, laid a Cosmo. Detta looked at it and then up at the girl.

"Could I borrow this?"

"Oh take it, darling. It's last month's anyway. No good to me now!"

Detta scooped up the Cosmopolitan and brought it back to her desk with her. She rummaged around in the drawers for a pad and pen and began flipping through the magazine, trying to determine what girly girls really liked. She was bored to tears by page ten.

"It's so superficial!" she wailed and threw herself onto the desk, face down in the magazine. She didn't care if anyone saw her or not. She had, basically, had her column wrenched away from her and then given back completely unrecognizable.

She spent the entire day pouring over that Cosmo, trying to come up with ideas for articles, thinking of ways in which to half-heartedly make it sound smart. But, no matter how she worded it, Judd Nelson's choice of jacket was sorely lacking on the intelligence scale. She gave up as the sun was going down and departed for Santa Carla. She'd been on her deck, drinking and eating chips since she got back.

Detta sat, wallowing in self-pity in the darkness. She felt deflated and rather buzzed. She didn't know what to do. He was forcing her out, trying to get her to quit so he could be rid of her but she wouldn't leave that easily. The San Francisco editor mentioned anonymous editorials. Perhaps she should utilize that tip. She took a drag off of her cigarette and exhaled, watching what she could of the smoke curl in front of her face. Nothing was helping her release any of her anger. The cigarettes just made her smell and the alcohol, while supposed to be numbing her, only made her brain act in fast motion. She couldn't shut it off and the last thing she wanted to do was drink herself into a stupor.

She stood up, placing her drink down and taking a final drag off the cigarette before flicking it away. She walked over to the banister and clamped on to it. She wrung her hands around the iron and crouched back, looking like she was going to launch herself over the rail. But when she came forward again, she didn't jump but opened her lungs and screamed. She screamed as loud as her vocal chords could manage, her voice bouncing off of the cliffs and out to sea. Perhaps it would have been wiser to scream into a pillow but, at that moment, Detta didn't care. With every particle of breath she let out, a piece of frustration left with it, floating away into the sky. The pitch of her scream was high but it didn't sound, at least to her, like a scream of pain or help. Just a yell of release. Thirty seconds. Miraculous for a scream but it felt like ages.

She sat back down in her chair and lifted her glass of vodka to her lips, wanting to wet her throat again. But once she started drinking, she sputtered the liquid back into the glass. Her throat was raw and the alcohol burned too badly for her to get it past. Amidst her coughing came a pounding on her front door. She quickly turned; surprised that anyone would even bother.

She stopped at the sink for a glass of water, all the while the pounding continued. She ran to the door and, keeping the chain on, opened it to see a startled Max raising his hand to pound again. Detta removed the chain and threw open the door.

"Max, what—"

"Are you ok?" he asked, panting.

"I'm fine." She looked confused. "What are you doing here?"

Max put his hand on the doorframe to steady himself. "I heard a scream."

"What do you mean…were you in the neighborhood?"

"I live right over there." He pointed to the sloping trees towards what Detta knew was another white house and a red Corvette in the driveway. "I didn't realize you had bought this house."

Detta was still in shock that her new boss was also her neighbor. "You heard me scream?"

"Of course! What kind of neighbor would I be if I just let that go?"

"Definitely not used to good neighborly conduct. I could probably get stabbed on the subway during rush hour and no one would bat an eye." Detta stared wide-eyed at Max.

"People are a little more friendly around here, Detta. You're not in New York anymore."

"No, but New York is right on top of me," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing. Forget it. Oh, I'm sorry! Would you like to come in? Offer you some water after your run?" She chuckled.

Max hesitated for a moment before stepping over the threshold and she closed the door behind him. She scurried into the kitchen to grab a glass of ice water for him and hurried back into the living room where he was waiting.

She handed him the glass as he asked, "So, why the scream?"

Detta smiled up at him. "Frustrated. I'm having editor issues, to put it lightly. Nothing for you to worry about though. Just something I have to deal with."

"Well if I can help," he drank deeply from the glass, "you just let me know." Detta smiled as he handed back the glass, ice cubes clanking. "Thank you. Give yourself a couple days if you want. Come back in when you're ready."

"Thanks, Max. I won't need long. Just a day or so for…research."

"Research?"

"Don't ask. I'm a little bitter about it."

He nodded and headed towards the door. "I must get going but now you know where to find me when you need me!" he said in his happy voice.

"Thanks. Have a good evening."

"You too, Detta."

She locked the door behind him when he left, doing the chain back up and ensuring that the deadbolts were secure. Old habits died hard. All she wanted to do now was sleep and her bed called her into a dreamless night.

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