FOTD, Butter Pecan 11: Jake of All Trades
Title: Jake of All Trades
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: FOTD (factotum: a person employed to do all kinds of work or business), butter pecan 11 (sour), fresh blueberries (Knowledge of human nature is the beginning and end of political education -- Henry Adams), pocky chain, cherry (structural weirdness; I hope successful), malt (Summer Challenge 106: "I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: 'O Lord, make my enemies ridiculous.' And God granted it." --Voltaire).
Word Count: 609
Rating: PG.
Summary: Jake at work.
Notes: This takes place during the year that Jake and Olivia are broken up, and yet is really more about Jake's job than anything else. Go figure. References Distortion. Yes, one of these will be expanded upon.
This date had been a mistake, for many, many reasons.
The first being, of course, that Jake was still in love with Olivia, however impossible that was, and he didn't see himself getting over that any time soon. Others included his low capacity for small talk, his lack of recent experience on the dating circuit, and the fact that the woman he was out with had just asked him what he did for a living, and he had no idea what to say.
"Everything," he said, at last.
"You can't do everything, silly," she said, and laughed.
"Um," Jake said.
--
"Ms. Hirschfeld," he said. "Was there something you wanted?"
"I'm almost done," she said. Automatically, he was sure, since she still had her nose in the budget report and hadn't looked up once in the twenty minutes he'd been in her office.
"I'm sure you are," he lied, "but did you need me?"
Now she glanced up at him, her hair falling out of her bun, reading glasses slipped to the very tip of her nose. "Jake?" she said. "You're late. I've been expecting you for twenty minutes."
"I've been here," he said, and resigned himself to a long night.
--
"Emma, if you put one more fucking thing on my plate..." Jake said.
"I wasn't going to," she said, and he looked up, to see her leaning casually on the filing cabinets he used as an office wall.
He narrowed his eyes. "Then why are you here?"
"Ms. Hirschfeld says you need to eat," she said. "What are you doing, anyway?"
"Everything," he said, through his teeth. "Rewriting reports, reading curricular stuff... apparently if I want something fucking done right around here I have to do it myself."
"Yes, well, make sure that includes eating," Emma said, unsympathetically, and left.
--
Jake looked down at the packet of papers, then back up at the man who'd handed them to him. "I'm sorry?"
"Look, it isn't difficult," the man said. "You put those in that woman's desk, you make sure the investigators--" he nearly spat the word-- "find them, and then I pay you a thousand dollars."
A thousand dollars was nowhere near enough to get him to betray Ms. Hirschfeld. Still... he might as well see where this led. "Sure thing, Mr. Clark."
Clark smirked.
Jake smiled, and mentally went over Ms. Hirschfeld's calender for her next available five minutes.
--
"Jake!" Emma hollered. "Another reporter for you!"
He winced-- Emma really needed to stop yelling across the office-- and picked up. "Jacob Foster."
"Cally Elliott, New York Enquirer," said a brisk voice. "Any comment on Gail Hirschfeld's alleged affair?"
Oh, God, not this again. Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. "First, she's not having an affair, that was her husband, don't you people fact-check? Second, it's her office, and she can do what she wants in it. Third, why were there pictures taken through the window? That's just creepy."
Before Cally Elliott could respond, he hung up. Fucking tabloids.
--
"...you've got a meeting at four-thirty, but end it by five, because you have to be home at five-thirty or Ivy will, and I quote, 'remove my kneecaps and use them for festive shoulderpads,'" Jake finished.
Ms. Hirschfeld glanced at him, a smile dancing in her eyes. "How creative."
"One of her best," he said, grinning. "Also, you owe me a raise. O'Brien tried to poach me again."
Ms. Hirschfeld nodded, thoughtfully, then said, "Tell me something; why do you always say no?"
Jake blinked. "I love my job," he said. "Festive shoulderpads and all."
She smiled. "Good to know."
--
"Actually, 'everything' more or less covers it," he said.
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: FOTD (factotum: a person employed to do all kinds of work or business), butter pecan 11 (sour), fresh blueberries (Knowledge of human nature is the beginning and end of political education -- Henry Adams), pocky chain, cherry (structural weirdness; I hope successful), malt (Summer Challenge 106: "I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: 'O Lord, make my enemies ridiculous.' And God granted it." --Voltaire).
Word Count: 609
Rating: PG.
Summary: Jake at work.
Notes: This takes place during the year that Jake and Olivia are broken up, and yet is really more about Jake's job than anything else. Go figure. References Distortion. Yes, one of these will be expanded upon.
This date had been a mistake, for many, many reasons.
The first being, of course, that Jake was still in love with Olivia, however impossible that was, and he didn't see himself getting over that any time soon. Others included his low capacity for small talk, his lack of recent experience on the dating circuit, and the fact that the woman he was out with had just asked him what he did for a living, and he had no idea what to say.
"Everything," he said, at last.
"You can't do everything, silly," she said, and laughed.
"Um," Jake said.
--
"Ms. Hirschfeld," he said. "Was there something you wanted?"
"I'm almost done," she said. Automatically, he was sure, since she still had her nose in the budget report and hadn't looked up once in the twenty minutes he'd been in her office.
"I'm sure you are," he lied, "but did you need me?"
Now she glanced up at him, her hair falling out of her bun, reading glasses slipped to the very tip of her nose. "Jake?" she said. "You're late. I've been expecting you for twenty minutes."
"I've been here," he said, and resigned himself to a long night.
--
"Emma, if you put one more fucking thing on my plate..." Jake said.
"I wasn't going to," she said, and he looked up, to see her leaning casually on the filing cabinets he used as an office wall.
He narrowed his eyes. "Then why are you here?"
"Ms. Hirschfeld says you need to eat," she said. "What are you doing, anyway?"
"Everything," he said, through his teeth. "Rewriting reports, reading curricular stuff... apparently if I want something fucking done right around here I have to do it myself."
"Yes, well, make sure that includes eating," Emma said, unsympathetically, and left.
--
Jake looked down at the packet of papers, then back up at the man who'd handed them to him. "I'm sorry?"
"Look, it isn't difficult," the man said. "You put those in that woman's desk, you make sure the investigators--" he nearly spat the word-- "find them, and then I pay you a thousand dollars."
A thousand dollars was nowhere near enough to get him to betray Ms. Hirschfeld. Still... he might as well see where this led. "Sure thing, Mr. Clark."
Clark smirked.
Jake smiled, and mentally went over Ms. Hirschfeld's calender for her next available five minutes.
--
"Jake!" Emma hollered. "Another reporter for you!"
He winced-- Emma really needed to stop yelling across the office-- and picked up. "Jacob Foster."
"Cally Elliott, New York Enquirer," said a brisk voice. "Any comment on Gail Hirschfeld's alleged affair?"
Oh, God, not this again. Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. "First, she's not having an affair, that was her husband, don't you people fact-check? Second, it's her office, and she can do what she wants in it. Third, why were there pictures taken through the window? That's just creepy."
Before Cally Elliott could respond, he hung up. Fucking tabloids.
--
"...you've got a meeting at four-thirty, but end it by five, because you have to be home at five-thirty or Ivy will, and I quote, 'remove my kneecaps and use them for festive shoulderpads,'" Jake finished.
Ms. Hirschfeld glanced at him, a smile dancing in her eyes. "How creative."
"One of her best," he said, grinning. "Also, you owe me a raise. O'Brien tried to poach me again."
Ms. Hirschfeld nodded, thoughtfully, then said, "Tell me something; why do you always say no?"
Jake blinked. "I love my job," he said. "Festive shoulderpads and all."
She smiled. "Good to know."
--
"Actually, 'everything' more or less covers it," he said.