say."
Davey stood. “No. No questions."
“All right.” Puff. “Thank you for coming in."
“Sure.” He tried to smile as he stood, but failed. He turned and started toward the door.
“Owen?"
He stopped. “Hm?"
Miss Schuman frowned as she stamped her cigarillo out in a big brass ashtray to her right. “You feel all right? You look pretty pale."
“I feel ... yeah, I feel fine."
She removed another cigarillo from the box and stuck it between her lips. “Are you eating right?” she asked, producing a butane lighter from somewhere in the folds of her billowy dress. “You know, your body might be trying to tell you something. You should pay attention to your body, Owen.” She flicked the lighter and held the flame to the tip of her cigarillo. “It's not a bad one,” she added with a sly smile, “you should take good care of it.” She exhaled and waved smoke at Davey. “I've got a diet at home you might like to try. Maybe I'll bring it in tomorrow. Or maybe you'd like to come over to my apartment some time and I can show it to you."
Davey said nothing as he reached for the doorknob. Chad Wilkes's smug smile flashed behind his eyes.
“I do have one question, Miss Schuman."
“What's that, Owen?"
“Well ... Fritz's old job? I understand you gave it to Chad Wilkes."
She sniffed. “That's right."
“Well, you know, Miss Schuman, I've been here for quite a while now. I hope to stay in this business. Make advances. I thought that, by now, I would've moved up a little here at Penn. I thought that I would be considered for that job."
“You were considered, Owen. You were. But Chad has a good eye. He knows what we're looking for, he's picked some winners. He ... well, he knows ”— she cocked one thinly penciled brow, speaking deliberately —“ what I like.” She leaned toward Davey, making no attempt to hide the scrutiny in her eyes as she looked him up and down slowly. “You know, Owen,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, “we hardly know one another. Maybe if we spent more time together ... you would know what I like, too."
I can ' t believe what she ' s saying , he thought.
“And next time,” she continued, “maybe you'll get the assistant-editor position."
They know they can shit on you, so they're going to!
“Maybe some weekend soon,” she went on, “we can have dinner. Spend some time outside of work, you know, getting acquainted."
They know they can shit on you....
“What do you say, Owen?"
... so they ' re going to .
He thought of Beth's last words to him: You ' re gonna have to start grabbing things by the short and curlies .
And of Casey's gentle scolding: You have no spine .
Of Chad Wilkes's smug smile, and of the girl in the booth, of her breasts and her jet-black hair, and something seemed to uncurl inside Davey. He wasn't sure if it was confidence or anger, or both, but it was sudden and strong and it pushed the words up through his mouth.
“Not on a bet."
Miss Schuman blinked slowly. “I'm sorry?"
“I said: Not. On. A bet .” Quietly, but firmly.
The corners of her mouth twitched. She clearly did not know how to react.
“Miss Schuman,” Davey said, “I think it's time that I — "
What? his mind demanded. Time that I what?
“Yes?” she prompted.
“Moved on. I think it's time that I moved on."
She chuckled. “To what, Owen?"
“To a new publisher, I suppose. There doesn't seem to be anything for me here."
“And what makes you think there is elsewhere?"
Pause. “I'll turn in my two-week notice before I leave today.” He opened the door.
“That won't be necessary."
Davey half turned to her.
“I don't like your attitude, Mr. Owen. If you want to be rewarded for your work, you must do something to deserve it. So far you haven't.” Puff. Smile. “Chad has. If you're going to go around with your nose in the air making rude remarks to your superiors, then I'll let you go now so you won't
Davey stood. “No. No questions."
“All right.” Puff. “Thank you for coming in."
“Sure.” He tried to smile as he stood, but failed. He turned and started toward the door.
“Owen?"
He stopped. “Hm?"
Miss Schuman frowned as she stamped her cigarillo out in a big brass ashtray to her right. “You feel all right? You look pretty pale."
“I feel ... yeah, I feel fine."
She removed another cigarillo from the box and stuck it between her lips. “Are you eating right?” she asked, producing a butane lighter from somewhere in the folds of her billowy dress. “You know, your body might be trying to tell you something. You should pay attention to your body, Owen.” She flicked the lighter and held the flame to the tip of her cigarillo. “It's not a bad one,” she added with a sly smile, “you should take good care of it.” She exhaled and waved smoke at Davey. “I've got a diet at home you might like to try. Maybe I'll bring it in tomorrow. Or maybe you'd like to come over to my apartment some time and I can show it to you."
Davey said nothing as he reached for the doorknob. Chad Wilkes's smug smile flashed behind his eyes.
“I do have one question, Miss Schuman."
“What's that, Owen?"
“Well ... Fritz's old job? I understand you gave it to Chad Wilkes."
She sniffed. “That's right."
“Well, you know, Miss Schuman, I've been here for quite a while now. I hope to stay in this business. Make advances. I thought that, by now, I would've moved up a little here at Penn. I thought that I would be considered for that job."
“You were considered, Owen. You were. But Chad has a good eye. He knows what we're looking for, he's picked some winners. He ... well, he knows ”— she cocked one thinly penciled brow, speaking deliberately —“ what I like.” She leaned toward Davey, making no attempt to hide the scrutiny in her eyes as she looked him up and down slowly. “You know, Owen,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, “we hardly know one another. Maybe if we spent more time together ... you would know what I like, too."
I can ' t believe what she ' s saying , he thought.
“And next time,” she continued, “maybe you'll get the assistant-editor position."
They know they can shit on you, so they're going to!
“Maybe some weekend soon,” she went on, “we can have dinner. Spend some time outside of work, you know, getting acquainted."
They know they can shit on you....
“What do you say, Owen?"
... so they ' re going to .
He thought of Beth's last words to him: You ' re gonna have to start grabbing things by the short and curlies .
And of Casey's gentle scolding: You have no spine .
Of Chad Wilkes's smug smile, and of the girl in the booth, of her breasts and her jet-black hair, and something seemed to uncurl inside Davey. He wasn't sure if it was confidence or anger, or both, but it was sudden and strong and it pushed the words up through his mouth.
“Not on a bet."
Miss Schuman blinked slowly. “I'm sorry?"
“I said: Not. On. A bet .” Quietly, but firmly.
The corners of her mouth twitched. She clearly did not know how to react.
“Miss Schuman,” Davey said, “I think it's time that I — "
What? his mind demanded. Time that I what?
“Yes?” she prompted.
“Moved on. I think it's time that I moved on."
She chuckled. “To what, Owen?"
“To a new publisher, I suppose. There doesn't seem to be anything for me here."
“And what makes you think there is elsewhere?"
Pause. “I'll turn in my two-week notice before I leave today.” He opened the door.
“That won't be necessary."
Davey half turned to her.
“I don't like your attitude, Mr. Owen. If you want to be rewarded for your work, you must do something to deserve it. So far you haven't.” Puff. Smile. “Chad has. If you're going to go around with your nose in the air making rude remarks to your superiors, then I'll let you go now so you won't
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