Disclaimer: All copyrights, trademarked items, or recognizable characters, plots, etc. mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without their express written authorization.

WitFit Jan/Feb 2013

90's Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll

Word Prompt: Plate

-PoM-

"You finished with that copy yet?"

It was hard not to roll my eyes at Marcus, The Rocket's copy editor, but common sense prevailed. I grabbed the stack of paper that had been finished over an hour ago and handed it over.

"Perfect. Now I can go to lunch."

"Asshole," I muttered when he was out of hearing range.

Peter's warning the day at the coffee shop, which I'd initially thought a joke, was one I'd learned was not to be taken lightly. Marcus was loud, obnoxious, and overbearing; put plainly, he was a dick. Couldn't even do his own work—oh no—he dumped it on my desk umpteen times a day, usually covering up the work I already had on my plate in the process.

However, even though I was working for pennies, basically, and had to put up with Marcus, I didn't mind the reading. The Rocket was a fun place to work, really. Most of the people were cool, and I'd been welcomed easily . . . had to go get a lot of coffee orders, but I figured it was putting in time. Someday I'd be able to send an intern for coffee, and I wouldn't even feel bad about it.

The bonus, above the experience of working for a magazine, was learning so much more than I thought I knew about national and local talent. CDs and EPs were parceled in all day long, and the columnists were absolutely game in letting me take them home to listen to when they were through reviewing them. Proofing their columns for Marcus let me see their processes, and I learned some things about my own in return.

Funnily enough, my absolute favorite column to assist on was the one where a staff writer spent most of his time bashing local bands in an attempt to increase his readership. He was harsh, and definitely incensing, but his negativity wasn't all bad—some of the things he disliked were honest criticisms, and points of reference to work on.

He pissed off the local bands like crazy, but somehow it just . . . worked.

"Morning, Bella."

I looked up from sorting my work into neater piles now that Marcus' was gone. "Hey, Peter."

"How's your day going so far?"

"Not too bad." I smiled, quietly cursing Marcus and his lazy ass.

"Good, good. This is what I want to hear." He parked himself on the edge of my desk and began sorting through a folder. "Listen, Bella, I'm really impressed with your work ethic. You've eased into this hectic place remarkably well, and most of the staff have nothing but good things to say about you."

I didn't ask what 'most of the staff' meant: we all knew Marcus thought I was worthless.

"I'm happy to hear that," I said. "I really like it here."

"Excellent. You're a good fit, kid. I think you'll do well when school is done and you're applying for work. And, on that note, what would you say to taking on a bigger assignment?"

Excitement pitched in my belly, and I worked on tamping it down. Didn't want to smile like a loon. "Sure. That would be cool."

He extracted a CD from the folder, tossed it on my desk. "I want you to review this for me."

An all too familiar, cool blue picture of the rock cliffs in LaPush with original graphics stared up at me. I knew this album like the back of my hand; had the melodies of all four songs running on a constant loop in my thoughts all day long.

It was the guy's EP. The one they were promoting on tour.

And, if I wasn't mistaken, a total conflict of interest. There'd been a class on this at school just last week. There was no way in hell I could do a review on my boyfriend's band.

"I— I'm not sure if I can do this. ."

"Of course you can. I've read some of your journals, remember? I think this would be a good fit for where your musical tastes lie. You have a lot going on at the moment, I realize this, but I'm giving you an opportunity here, Bella. Mind you, I'll review it and see if it'll even fly. At this point, it's only an exercise."

During my week-long stint at The Rocket, I'd engaged with my co-workers, but hadn't divulged that I was dating Edward. It seemed like if I did I would be bragging, or trying too hard to build a name outside of my own work. So I didn't think it was possible that Peter knew.

Obviously, I took too long in answering. Peter stood and placed the folder on my desk. "I understand that this might seem like a big deal to you. My first review was nerve-wracking, and I rewrote it so many times that it ended up sounding detached. Why don't you take this home this weekend, see what you think. The deadline on this isn't immediate, and you can give me your answer on Monday."

A breath of relief left my lips. "I think that I'll do that. Thanks for being so understanding—I'm just being silly, huh?"

He smiled, and it was a kind one. Not condescending, not like he was disappointed. Peter was a good dude, and I was glad to work with him. "Not silly at all. For what it's worth, I think you'd give some of my staff a run for their press badges. Have a good weekend, Bella."

With those words he departed my cubicle, and I reached out to grab the folder he'd left on my desk.

It was mostly clippings of show reviews, some press releases from the tour stating that they were the opening act to a larger band. The releases had Jasper written all over them. Small time stuff, and I knew that this write-up would be one of the first in one of the local music magazines.

It was an opportunity not just for the guys, but for myself, as well. Peter had unknowingly picked out something I could shine on because I knew the music better than maybe anyone else besides the guys. I could do this, and I could do it superbly. I just wasn't sure that, ethically, I should.

-PoM-

Your comments deserve all the love.

All Apologies - Nirvana

xo