No Dave Day
“How are things going with the Connard murder?” Tom asks, while inattentively checking his notes. He’s perched on a corner of his desk and all his colleagues are sitting around him. It’s ten in the morning and everybody’s having their usual morning coffee in the meeting room. It’s one of the most important moments of the day, when the biggest stories – the ones the newspaper will probably feature – get selected. And right now, the Mary Connard story is the big one. She’s a woman of thirty-three who found her husband in bed with another woman and killed him by stabbing him twenty-six times in the chest. The authorities apparently found a horrific murder scene, and there was a public outcry at the violence of the crime. The story made headlines in all the newspapers, including The Chronicle, so what’s left to do now is to find out if there have been any developments that are worth reporting, or if it’s better just to write about the elections. “Dave?” says Tom, when he realises nobody has been listening to him.
“What?” Dave replies, evidently distracted, while he tries to stop looking at the door.
“Are there any new developments in the Connard case we need to talk about?”
It’s almost silent in the meeting room, and Dave can hear the other journalists chatting by the coffee machine. Albert, Ben and he’s almost sure he saw Nicholas.
“Dave,” repeats Tom, losing patience at being unable to attract his deputy’s attention.
“Yeah, sorry,” Dave finally mumbles, opening a folder to take a look at it. “The police confirm that the man bled to death yesterday at three in the afternoon,” he reads without much conviction. “The neighbours have confirmed their statements. Hmm…” He ponders while reading his notes. At that moment he hears a laugh which immediately seizes all of his attention. Was that Sam? “I…” he tries to resume, but then gives up, shaking his head. “No, there’s no news on the story. They haven’t announced when the trial is going to start, so maybe we should leave it for now.”
“Okay,” Tom snorts. “In that case, let’s focus on the next thing. Howard, can you take care of it?”
“Sure, I’ll go and write a draft with a couple of quotes,” a slightly balding guy in his late twenties replies while jotting something down in a notepad.
“Okay, let me read them when you’re done,” Tom says to him in a flat, almost weary, voice. It’s not a great time for him – he’s haemorrhaging money because of his divorce and the alimony payments to his ex-wife and he’s had to move into a motel in the suburbs which he’s sharing with a gang of cockroaches. He can’t even remember the last time he rested his head on a pillow without wondering what that strange squeaking sound behind his ear was. “Let’s stick to this schedule then,” he continues to those still in the room. “And we’ll talk again if there’s any update.”
“Should I add those edits to this morning’s accident?” asks Frederic, raising his pencil.
“Yes, but before correcting anything, let Dave read the piece.”
“Okay,” the boy nods while gathering his stuff and putting it in a briefcase. The others leave one by one and return to their cubicles. Tom and Dave are left alone. Tom is still sitting on the corner of his desk, holding his documents. Dave is standing by the window, trying to focus on a few depositions he gathered from the police and the firemen. It’s quite hard though, with all the noise coming from outside.
“Have you talked to Jonathan?”
“No, I haven’t been able to get through to him,” Dave replies, while distractedly checking the corridor. Yes, he’s looking in the same direction again and his eyes always inadvertently end up on the same spot.
“Try calling him again – maybe he knows something,” Tom suggests. “I’m still not 100 per cent convinced that we shouldn’t follow up the murder story, but I want something new to publish.”
“We could go over to the D.A.’s office,” Dave proposes, while playing with a pen.
“That wouldn’t be a bad idea. Send someone over in the afternoon, but let’s not make the same mistake we made last time, okay?”
“Of course not, don’t worry…” While he’s talking, he hears Sam’s voice. This time he’s sure it’s her. She’s kidding around with Ben and possibly flirting with Nicholas. Didn’t she say she couldn’t stand him? Dave loses all his concentration without even realising it and forgets Tom’s question immediately. “Yes, I…” he stammers. “I can ask for a special authorisation for…” At that moment he sees her by chance, as she’s standing only a few steps away from the door; he notices Ben’s hand on her shoulder and that makes him explode. “What the hell, does that seem like professional behaviour to you, though?” he says, throwing his pen down amongst the folders on the desk.
“No, behaving like that isn’t very professional,” replies Tom whilst noisily browsing a few pages.
“How long has she been screwing around in the corridor? Is this what we pay them for?”
“It’s a controversial subject,” The Chronicle’s editor continues without realising that Dave is talking about something else entirely. “He’s not the only one whose career was built on exploiting the taxpayers.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Dave checks the time. “She’s been there over fifteen minutes. This is absolutely not professional. What the hell is going on with her? She wasn’t like this when we hired her!”
“Who are you talking about? Judge Swart?” Tom finally asks. He then follows Dave’s eyes and ends up looking at Sam, who’s chatting with a couple of reporters by the coffee machine. “Errrr… Dave,” he asks abruptly, trying to sound casual, “how is it going with the no women thing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that I hope I wasn’t asking ask too much of you after that Walker incident,” he says cautiously.
“Are you joking?” Dave asks sarcastically, but Tom senses that his reaction is too defensive – he doesn’t trust him when he behaves like that.
Tom starts wondering if that girl in a blue dress by the coffee machine… and her smile… “Who knows,” he wonders.
“If you think I can’t even…” snaps Dave, not sure where Tom’s questions are actually going. “Listen, I promised you I wouldn’t get involved in any relationship until after the elections, and I can assure you that—”
“I know, I know,” Tom stops him from apologising. “I’m not saying you won’t keep your promise.”
“What are you saying then?”
“Nothing, just that I got a weird feeling that maybe…” he says vaguely. “I’m just starting to wonder if you actually might need to get away for some time.”
“Get away from what?”
“From yourself.”
“What do you mean from myself? I don’t follow you. And anyway, what for?”
Tom changes the subject immediately and heads towards the door.
“We’re done here, right?”
“Yes,” Dave replies, frowning.
“Great. In that case, if you don’t mind, I need to rush off. I have a golf match with O’Neil and a lunch with Tony Perez on my schedule,” he explains while checking the time. “Dave…”
“What now?”
“I appreciate your commitment, but try and relax a little. You’re way too tense,” he suggests with a wink just before leaving.
“What the hell do you mean?” Dave says, demanding an explanation, but Tom is already too far away to be able to hear him.
“Oh… Good morning Sam.”
But he’s still not far enough away for Dave to hear him, unfortunately. From the corridor, the editor’s voice reaches the meeting room as clearly as if there weren’t three offices between them.
“Good morning, Mr Mayer.”
“You look absolutely lovely today,” says Tom with unusual gallantry, just as Ben and Nicholas did before him. Sam probably hadn’t been expecting anything like that, so she barely replies. He can’t see her, but Dave can imagine what’s happening very well. He knows all of her expressions and reactions. Her lips bend upwards in a smile, she tilts her head over to one side and two dimples appear on her cheeks. That’s how she always reacts when someone gets too close to her. The scene is so clear in his mind that he could reproduce it in every detail. It’s normal that he’d know, though – they’ve been working together for… how long? Four? Five years? He can’t be sure exactly, but he knows it’s been a long time, because he can’t remember a single day at The Chronicle without her. Sam has always been there, a constant and reassuring presence. So why is she behaving like that now? Dave doesn’t know the answer, but he does start to wonder if perhaps it’s not her who’s the problem. Maybe Tom is right. All these problems, the Fashion Week, Councilman Walker, Madeleine and that stupid bet with Brian are getting under his skin. And it’s been only one month.
One month since he last touched a woman. And that means that there are still two to go. How can he manage for another two months if he’s already losing his mind? Because, come on, Sam Preston is… well, she’s just Sam. If he starts even thinking about her like a… well, like a woman, then he’s really up the creek without a paddle. Another day like this and he’ll be watching amateur porno videos on the internet like some dumb horny teenager.
He breathes in noisily and rubs his temples, closing his eyes for a moment and desperately trying to bring the reactions of his body, which this long inactivity has caused, back under control.
It’s terrible, unbearable.
He feels like a lion in a cage, as though there is an incredible amount of repressed energy waiting to explode.
“Okay, that’s enough,” says Dave to himself, as he starts doing pointless relaxation exercises while hiding his face with his hands, not realising that the door is opening. He doesn’t even hear the dull sound of high heels walking around his desk, nor the swish of a dress as two long, elegant legs approach him. Only when a familiar voice snaps him back to reality does he notice that he’s no longer alone in the room. Underneath the way she says his name is a sort of buzz full of unspoken promises of which he vaguely remembers the outcome.
“Are you having a tough day?”
He raises his head and finds himself in front of Tiffany, who’s sitting on the edge of the desk and wearing a dress that is so short that it doesn’t leave a great deal to the imagination. His eyes instinctively go from her legs to her bustier and when they reach her neckline his expression grows desolate.
Tiffany realises that she has obtained the desired effect. Tiffany smiles. She wasn’t expecting to find him on his own and she is planning to take full advantage of her good fortune.
“Err… yeah,” stammers Dave, compulsively tidying up folders on the desk to occupy his mind. He clears his voice. “The usual, you know. How about you? Have you already checked those court documents I gave you?”
“Actually I haven’t,” she admits with a sigh. “I haven’t had time yet, but tomorrow should be pretty quiet, so I ought to be able to get round to it then.”
“Good,” Dave nods. “Good,” he repeats to convince himself while indecorously trying to escape. “Okay, great, well in that case, we can talk when you’re done with them – I’m going to… er, shoot off back to my office to take care of all these folders instead,” he says, nodding at the pile of documents in his hands.
“Dave… Dave, wait,” Tiffany says, while squeezing herself between the armchair and the drawer, blocking his way. “You said you were going to call me.”
“I said what?”
“Yes, don’t you remember?” she insists, moving closer.
Dave instinctively takes a step back and finds himself against the wall with only his folders to shield him. “Tiffany, I’m busy right now.”
“But you said you liked me,” she moans, clearly having no intention of desisting. She raises a hand and slides her fingers across the front of his shirt, caressing his chest while she plays with the buttons. “I dreamt about you yesterday…” she whispers, biting her lip.
“Ti… Tiffany,” Dave tries to stop her with a stern voice, realising he just lost the ability to salivate. “Look, I’m really, truly sorry, but right now I just can’t…” He can’t come up with anything resembling a decent excuse, he can only take her wrist gently and push it away. The old Dave would have already dragged her into some broom closet, but the new Dave can’t behave like that. He has priorities now, and solid principles. He has to keep his position.
That’s at least what he keeps obsessively repeating to himself while he tries to get discreetly to the door without losing face completely.
“But… Dave…” she insists, dissatisfied, “what about our date?”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule,” he says apologetically and grabs the brass door knob. The corridor is just a couple of steps away – he only needs to get a foot outside and he’s safe! “Forgive me, but I am just overwhelmed with work right now!” he repeats, holding the folders up as though to indicate the reason why he’s in such a rush. “See you later, okay? Okay, cool,” he says, answering his own question without giving her a chance to say anything and taking advantage of her momentary surprise to open the door, go out and close it behind him in a panic. Only then does he realise that he has just shut himself in the photocopying room.
“Damn it!” he curses with gritted teeth and angry eyes. He knows that there’s no way he can get out of this by himself and that he needs some help, so he takes his phone from his trousers.
“Hi there, this is the suicide prevention help line,” answers Brian after a couple of rings. “My bank account number is…”
“Remind me,” Dave whispers. “Please remind me why I’m doing this, I really need to hear it,” he begs while dropping down wearily onto a stool and banging his head heavily against the door.
“What exactly are we talking about?” asks Brian, pretending not to understand what his friend means.
“I’m scared that I might do something stupid. That I might not be able to hold off until tonight.”
“Well, you’ve already lasted much longer than I’d imagined,” Brian consoles him. “Don’t blame yourself, nobody was really expecting you to be able to go through with it.”
“It’s horrible, I’m not joking. I’m surrounded,” he complains, pressing his forehead on the door. “They’re all ganging up on me. Even Sam.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah… You should see her. I’m sure she knows what I’m going through. You know what women are like…”
“No, to tell you the truth, I don’t actually. What are they like?”
“They’re sly. They understand when you’re afraid and that’s when they decide to attack you!”
“Okay, you’re actually starting to worry me now,” responds Brian in a serious tone.
“I need a way to get myself out of all this,” murmurs Dave with renewed determination. “I have to find a way to handle it. Maybe I could take a couple of weeks off… or work from home. I could do that if I had a good excuse. And I’m sure Tom would have my back.”
“You can try, but remember that you’ll have to take care of the opening of Fashion Week,” Brian reminds him sadistically.
“Oh shit!”
“It starts tomorrow, right?”
“Shit!”
“Aren’t you happy about it? It’s the ideal excuse to overwork. Maybe lock yourself in at home to do it. Call that girl… what was her name?”
“Who? Sam?”
“Yes, her!”
“No!” Dave replies categorically. “Sam has to stay out of this. I need to do everything by myself.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Abstinence must be hard on you, right?” Brian replies, imagining why his friend doesn’t want to see her.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve never seen her, but you said…”
“What did I say?” snaps Dave, starting to get pissed off.
“Didn’t you choose her because she’s ugly?”
“I never said that she was ugly.”
“Okay, but you said that she was some sort of monster.”
“Brian, I never said anything like that!” yells Dave, finally losing his temper.
“Let’s just say she’s not particularly sexy, then…”
“Come on, Brian…”
“… but she’s a beautiful person,” Brian continues stubbornly, amused by Dave’s sudden irritation.
“You’re an asshole, Bri!”
“Relax! I’m not going to tell anyone,” says Brian, teasing him pitilessly. “And anyway, they all look the same in the dark.”
“Sooner or later you’re going to explain to me why the hell I haven’t deleted your number yet.”
“Because you’re secretly in love with me.”
Dave bursts out laughing.
“So?” insists a delighted Brian. “Have you decided what to do?”
“I think so.”
“No assistant?”
“No, I’m going to enjoy some solitude.”
“I feel really sorry for you.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Are you coming to poker night tomorrow?”
“Is it at Matt’s place?”
“Yes, at nine. Bring some beers.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow then,” says Dave, then hangs up. He’s feeling more relaxed now and he takes a deep breath.
It was just panic, just a bit of good old panic. Tiffany, Sam, the heat – especially the heat, since the air conditioning is always broken… Anyone could lose his mind in these conditions. What’s important is recovering control of the situation and getting himself back on the right track without letting himself get side tracked. And that is precisely what he’s planning to do: go straight home and lock himself in the house until things have changed. It’s a perfect plan. He feels totally confident when he opens the door and walks back into the room, but then he realises he’s not alone any more. On the other side of the desk, just by the filing cabinet, Albert and Nicholas are searching for some document.
“We should double check this,” one whispers to the other, while browsing the folders. They haven’t noticed him and go on with their research.
“No, there’s no need, I already asked: they can get it directly from the courthouse,” the other replies, indicating something on a piece of paper he’s holding in one hand and then scratching his eyebrow with the other.
He watches them discuss what to do – everything seems to be running as normal.
Dave heads towards the corridor, absolutely indifferent to what the two men are talking about. He’s determined to go back to his office and let them get on with their work.
“Hey, do you think Sam is seeing someone?”
When he hears that question though, he stops at the door and can’t help waiting to overhear the answer.
“I don’t think so,” replies Nicholas distractedly.
“Do you think it’d be okay to ask her out? I’ve got two tickets for a show this Saturday,” Albert admits, sounding embarrassed.
“Sure, why not? Ask her and see what she says,” suggests Nicholas, but before he can finish his sentence, The Chronicle’s deputy editor is already running down the hall in search of his assistant, determined to look everywhere, if necessary.
“Where the hell is Sam?” he yells at Jane, after having almost knocked the door of her office off its hinges.
“Sam? She left about thirty minutes ago. She asked for half the day off because she has a dentist’s appointment.”
“And who authorised that?” he says, glaring at her while he calls Sam’s number on the phone. “Hello? Sam? What do you mean ‘who is it’? It’s Dave, who were you expecting? What the hell were you thinking of asking for half a day off? I don’t care if you’re busy – you’ve got work to do tonight!”