Stain [H.S] - Major Editing

2

"Where are you?" said an agitated Fry on the other line. "Of all the days, you had to pick today to be late. Fabulous move princess."

"I know, I know! I'm already pissing my pants here and you're not exactly helping." I jogged along St. Clare's street, and ran through the crowd on the crosswalk, my courier bag swinging at my side.  

"Where are you?" He asked me again. "You know, Chief Morrison's very impatient. He doesn't wait for anyone." He said, and I rolled my eyes. "This is supposed to be the most important day of your life. And you, Alice Walker, are late."

"I heard you the first time, beeswax." I grumbled, speed-walking as I clumsily fixed my brown hair into a ponytail. "I forgot to set my alarm clock last night."

Over the heads of the people walking around, I could now see the sign,

The Global Statesman

Embossed elegantly on a bronze plaque, the highly intimidating sign and coat of arms shone above the glass doors of an old-fashioned, squat building, and I've never felt that nervous my whole life.

I got off the sidewalk and ran along the edge of the street, then across the congested avenue.

"I'm right outside the GS." I huffed.  My heart hammered against my chest as the bold sign got closer and closer.

"I'm hanging up, chica. Hurry to the second floor." Fry said and I shove my phone in my coat pocket.

There were desks and cubicles and stacked papers everywhere, telephones ringing, corkboards crammed up with important looking memos, and of course, the stressed out labor force.

I made my way through a narrow path in the middle of the cubicles, and then I saw Fry leaning outside an office with window blinds—the sight of his wacky pastel green hair and wide framed eyeglasses calming my nerves already.

"Come on," he said, pushing me inside the room. "You sit here and wait."

I nodded as I took a seat on a waiting chair. The room looked quaint, with magazines and newspapers on the coffee table and a pair of plastic fern plants on the corners.

Fry sat beside me and crossed his legs loosely.  Tousling his hair, he said, "This guy got in first, just a minute before you came in. Applied for the editor job too."

"Would he be the one to replace Jeff?" I asked.

"Yeah. Seems to be smart, radiates potential. Now, how're you feeling?"

"Feelin' mighty dandy." I said, grimacing as I wiped the sweat off my face with my hanky.

"Don't worry. I know you'll do great. Chief is an idiot if he doesn't hire you. You are exactly what the Global Statesman needs—a person that exudes brilliancy and originality." He says, holding my hand.

"Gee, thanks. I needed the confidence boost. I feel like absolute crap right now."

"Don't worry. Everything will be alright. Just be the Alice I know and love and I'm sure you'll have Chief Morrison in your pocket."

"Let's hope so."

.

Ten minutes later, I was reading a magazine article about the severe cases of acne when the door to the Chief's office opened and a tall guy around my age walked out; he had dark brown hair with unruly locks at the sides and he wore a pallid dress shirt with khakis and penny loafers. He kinda' reminded me of the daily businessmen in my favorite coffee shop—sharp looking, and always ready to impress.

I leaned over to Fry, who was busy playing a puzzle game in his phone, and said, "Is that the guy who applied for Jeff's position?"

He pressed pause and looked up. "Oh, yeah, that's him. Co-worker material, huh?"

"He looks friendly."

"Alice Walker?" A voice called from the inside of the office.

"That would be you, mademoiselle." Fry said with a smile. He patted me on the shoulder and wished me good luck.

I stand up and adjust the bag strap on my shoulder. "Thanks. I'm gonna need it."

.

"Miss Walker, what a pleasure." A formidable looking man with a notable moustache, powerful shoulders and a sleek haircut reaches his hand out for me to shake. He reminded me of J. Jonah Jameson, The Daily Bugle's editor-in-chief in Spiderman. Oh me and my imaginations.

I try my best not to snicker as I shake his hand firmly. "Chief Morrison."

I catch him raise an eyebrow. "Well, Miss Walker I assume tha—"

"Please," I interrupted him politely. "Call me Alice."

He nodded and smiled. I sat on a chair across his desk, nervousness starting to crawl up into my stomach.

"So, I assume you are here about the job opening." He said, clasping his hands together. 

"Yes sir, I am. I brought my resume here, my transcripts—" I opened my bag and took the files out, which was enclosed in a transparent folder.

"Bah!" He barked, startling me on my seat. "That won't be necessary." He stood up and placed his hands behind his back. "I can already tell that you would be a huge asset to this company. Besides, Fry Kinney showed me some of your sample essays yesterday. And I must admit Alice, they were quite impressive." He said, and I flush.  

Fry showed Chief Morrison my essays? That son of a—

"Your grandfather was the editor-in-chief of The Daily Sentry, yes?"

My eyes snap up. "Y-yes, sir. He was."

"Harrison Walker," He said in a reflective tone, looking out the window.

"Uh, Chief?"

He whirled around, grabbed a cigar, and sat on his red leather chair, brandishing a very pensive expression on his face. "Answer this question and you may begin working for me, Alice."

I was a bit taken aback.  This man just literally offered me employment without even looking at my transcripts. No "tell me something about yourself" or "What are your pet peeves?" or "How are you different from the competition?" What kind of black magic is this?

Don't get me wrong I wasn't complaining. I was just annoyed; annoyed by the fact that Fry had the balls to show him my essays without my consent. 

And Chief knew my grandfather. Was that supposed to be a good thing? Or a possible threat?  

Chief Morrison looked at me straight in the eyes and said, "What superhero would you be and why?"