2010-09-12: Concession Stand



Date: September 12, 2010


Employer and employee push each other's buttons and limits.

"Concession Stand"

High Rise Apartments, Greenwich Village

He had a night of no calls and probably much in the way of pleasure. Life is sadly on it's way out of pleasure and into painful professional. At 7:45, Evette was walking out of the cafe with two cups. At 7:55, she was walking towards George's apartment. So it is easy to reason that the knocking at eight in the morning, exactly at that time; is Evette. Though knowing that woman, she already has spare keys to his apartment made and in her hand or something. She leans her hip against the door frame as she shifts the coffee to pull out her phone. There is a ringing to come with the knocking. "Yeah, you can stop forwarding his calls to me. I'm here. I… I don't know if he's up, but he will be."

Given their experience on Friday, it would've shocked George if Evette hadn't at least called at 8:00 exactly - and it only moderately surprises him that she's shown up in person. He opens the door just as she steps in front of it - was he watching for her through the keyhole? - but only as far as the chain, still attached, allows. Just far enough to reveal that his hair's mussed and his clothes are not drawn from the Evette-Approved Wardrobe (tm).

"Yeah, I'm up," he mutters. He's already had his first cup of joe for the day; the last traces of its scent are just now dissipating. "Any emergencies that can't wait another fifteen minutes?" It's like he's deliberately testing the limits of her patience.

Evette holds over the coffee to him. "Yes." That word leaves her lips in a clip as she looks around the apartment building. Then she turns her blue eyes to him. "Open up as the emergency is that both these cups of coffee are burning my hands and I need to set them down." There is a lift of her brows. The woman is immaculate. Her suit is perfectly pressed, her hair perfectly done. It's a weekend and she still looks on Monday to Friday schedule.

Without another word, George ducks over to one side - a metal tray is slipped out through the crack in the door, then he closes and locks it quickly enough to preclude any further argument. Well, she'll probably continue yelling at him through the closed door.

Inside the apartment, there are noises of footsteps, clothes being taken down from hangers. And somewhere nearby is the distinct sound of female laughter - but is it coming from his place, or the one next door? Maybe the one down the hall? It's a decent apartment building, but the walls seem like they could do with some renovating.

Evette doesn't yell that would cause a scene. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes on the other side of the door. The coffee cups are set on the floor so she can shake her warm hands. Eve dials the phone. "Hey, what do we have that we can run for situation tango?" She cants her head to listen. "Okay, cue up some of that stuff and be prepared if I need it." There is a low laugh under her breath. "Riiiight. I'll do just that." She clicks the phone closed and taps her foot on the ground.

True to his word - probably anticipating some sort of psychological warfare if he wasn't - at 8:15, the door opens again and George steps out, this time properly dressed and - visible for a split second, before he slips the fedora into place - combed. And the door's locked again, just as quickly. "So! What's on the agenda today?" The coffee cups are picked up again, followed by the tray, which he tucks under one arm after handing Evette's cup back to her.

Evette looks at the door and then just gives him that 'seriously' look. "Fuck, you really couldn't keep it in your pants?" She.. swore. Evette actually looks like she's going to cry for a moment and then ignores the coffee for her phone. "Hey Jonas, yeah, it's Eve…. he's fine, still in California.. yeah.. hey look I have a situation.." She takes a step away and pinches the bridge of her nose. "If you hear anything coming down about any Congressman, sit on the story and tell me before you publish it or anything." She sighs. "Right, fine.. dinner.. we can do dinner if needed. Just you know, sit on it and be ready to kill it. Thanks."

George arches a brow. California? More to the point— "Look, I'm going to keep telling you this until you believe it. I am not trucking a different girl in and out of here every weekend. Not two girls, either. So ease up, all right?" George shakes his head, taking a sip of coffee as he heads toward the elevator. "Agenda?" he adds, turning around with his back to the door. "What is on it?"

"You shouldn't be trucking any girl. Do you really not care about this election? You just ended things with the blonde and now you are moving on… during an election? You are bringing women home. I don't care if it is just one. I don't care if she paid you. I care what it looks like, not even what it is." Evette takes a breath and shuts her eyes. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter to you." She pivots on her foot. "We have a meeting at nine, I thought you might need to grab something quick to eat. You were going to talk on the strike and ending it beforehand." She offers lightly. "I've already made comment that we won't be talking about your relationship with the starlet. I said that you two ended things equally and that there was no more comments to be made." She walks back towards the elevator now as she flips through something on her phone. "We have to go canvas and rub some elbows with people. Please let me know if I have to kill stories. It's not just your career you are messing with now."

"That was four months ago—" but then George just shakes his head, deciding there's nothing to be gained in arguing the topic further. "I've already had breakfast, so that eases things up a little. But we should have someone run food and supplies to the strike line, a personal appearance would be nice but only if it works out."

A glance over toward Evette's screen. "Always leave some slack time in the schedule. These are people we're dealing with— they're not under perfect control, any more than I am." Maybe he is pushing back on purpose. "And have you tried a notepad? I can write faster than I can type, but—"

"I type faster than I write, including shorthand." Evette offers before she looks over at him. "Of course you have. It doesn't matter if it was a year ago, George. This isn't normal life. This is politics. You give them anything to use against you and they will. How well liked is the very public relationship you just ended? How about the star? You want to give Dennis something to jump on and attack?" Evette is speaking calmly and her eyes are not showing her thoughts right now. Then she sighs. "Look.. I know they are people. However, it is already September. Now I can close this for you or not. I went to school for it. I have degrees on my wall. If you would just let me do my job and suck it up for a few months, you'd be fine. Seriously, can't you go that long? We could get you into an addiction place if not." Her blue eyes shift to look around the area to make sure there are no cameras in sight as they have it out a bit.

"I came recommended, you hired me. I don't tell you what to filibuster on. You don't tell me how to run the public's opinion of you. I'm sorry you don't like me. However, I'm use to it and you only have to put up with me until November." Evette looks at him for a moment or three. Then she turns to walk away again. The coffee cup left pretty much untouched on the side of the trash can. She types a bit more and then seems to be shifting stuff around as her eyes focus on the phone over the man.

It's a tricky spot for George to be in. On the one hand, he's been through this before, and a decent first term besides. On the other, Dennis is easily a more serious threat than his opponent two years ago ever was. On the gripping hand, he has his own way of bringing about an October surprise— but he can't tell her that, can he? If only one of them could read minds…

"I could be perfectly behaved for the next couple months," he replies, as the elevator car descends with maddening slowness. "But people would know it's an act— there's a difference between good presentation and rattling off a script. I appreciate where you're coming from, but the playbook needs to be updated a little."

Evette takes a deep breath and let's it out slowly. She just sort of looks over at him for a long moment. Then she looks straight ahead. For an awkward moment there doesn't seem to be anything to be said. "You were engaged in public to this other woman. You made the scandal George, I'm trying to clean it up. The least you can do is wait until after the election." She looks back over to him. "After November you can fire me and do your own thing with as many people as you want. I have a lot of eyes on me as well." Her eyes lift up to the corner of the elevator and then back down to him. "I cancelled a meeting at last minute for you. It isn't as if I haven't tried to give a little. I need you to give a little. I didn't get all of this started. I didn't talk wedding plans in front of the press. You did that." She looks him over almost pleadingly and for a moment, she looks human. "I'm not asking you to be my friend. I'm asking you to be professional and make some sacrifices. Who do you think answers your phone when you are off work? Don't think I don't sacrifice for your campaign. You'll have all my time and energy that you need and want, regardless of hours. I'm asking for something like a month and half, perhaps a bit more. Is that really too much to ask of you for your election?" If she can read minds, it isn't coming out.

It's pretty much all been said before - mostly when he was talking to himself over the summer, in fact. "Yes, dear," he murmurs, playing up the weariness a bit for effect as he presses his fingers to his brow.

Then his phone rings. Oh, right, she's only covering it during his (alleged) off hours. "Hello? --Well, yes, he's expressed sympathy for the Tea Party movement since at least the beginning of— Claiming it as his official affiliation? Well, unless his office put out a press release directly— No, no further comment at this time. —No, thank you." With a shake of his head, he hangs up and turns back to face Evette. "Who do they think I am, Gingrich's babysitter? I swear I've been getting two of these a day like clockwork ever since Murray won the special."

Evette smiles. It is a sincere smile that lights up her features and is the first time he's seen it. For a moment, short moment, it almost looks like she's going to hug him out of glee. "Really? You'll really listen to me?" Eve doesn't actually hug him, thankfully. The girl does however do the happy dance which involves a lot of hopping up and down in her heels. "Thank you. It's just one less thing I have to worry about."

The smile is wiped as she hears the conversation and seems to switch back into professional mode. Actually, she blushes a bit. "Um.. sorry about that." It was almost like his potential giving in was like winning the election. "If you want, we can have them forward those to my phone. I would be more than happy to make comments where needed." There is a pause. "We should get together to iron out your thoughts on everything more fully. I want to be able to comment on personal issues and views without accidentally contradicting you."

"Mmm, that could take a while," George muses. "There's a lot of ground to cover— and we can't know all of them in advance, that one came totally out of left field, for instance. How about over lunch? Le Bernardin, your treat." Whose treat is important, because the place is painfully expensive - not that either of them couldn't afford it. Eh, she probably has a location already scouted out anyway.

Evette blinks very slowly to that and turns to study him. "Le Bernardin?" She asks in a hesitating manner. It could have to do with the price. However, she turns her phone around to show that she has a note on them already. "Are you reading my mind? Because if so, I have to think nicer thoughts about you." Wait…was that a joke? Then she nods her head. "Lunch sounds like a wonderful idea, but you know.. you pay me. That implies you have more money." There is a slow smile, "Not that it's not a business expense." She hmms and looks back to her phone. "I know I'm.. how do you say.. a bitch. However, you'll get elected and I will try to do a bit for you. If you want me to field your calls, I can."

"It would help," George admits, "but pass it to me if it hasn't already been covered. Maybe this will work out after all." The question of the bill is waved off— she's right, it does come out of the same fund in the end, and it'll hold up all right as long as they don't splurge every day. Once a week should be more than enough, really.

Evette gives a soft smile to that. "Great! I can do that, I don't want to speak for you on the matters too much as you'll look like a puppet." There is a wrinkle of her nose to that idea. "Maybe after we talk about your personal views I'll also have a better hand on the election and issues at hand." As well, she might realize he's not a lying sack of crap that she thinks him to be. The thought isn't spoken, but it is like the elephant in the room that everyone knows is there.

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