Lara Sinclair (larasinclair) wrote in spidermanrpc,
Lara Sinclair
larasinclair
spidermanrpc

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Noontime Noodlings.

Parker hasn't been in the office for a couple of days now. I heard he was jonesin' for that Watson girl that went missing...something about an alleged abduction. What? By aliens? No, no...by "not-so-little green men" -- or "goblins" -- whichever you prefer.

In Peter's stead, Jameson's upped the workload. Elliot Adams -- the photographer chick I wrote about a few entries back -- has been trying to cover both her assignments and Parker's. I have to give her credit for that.

I covered the WTC design announcement yesterday morning. McDermott was there on the panel, smiling indulgently with that 50-billion watt grin. I sat a few rows back and on the outside so that I could be as far away from his line of vision as possible. It worked; that is, until after the announcement was over. He came off the stage and slid in my path as I was walking out the door.

"Looking for a scoop, Mizz Sinclair?"

I smirked, "I already have one, Mizzzter McDermott."

He chuckled and leaned against the door jamb, "I believe you still owe me dinner...how about it? Off the record, of course."

"Of course," I said sourly, trying to make eye-contact with El so that she could rescue me from this situation.

An investor came up behind me, sidling between us and thrusting his greasy palm toward McDermott's face. Ian gave me a look of amused repentance and shrugged, mouthing the words "I'll call you" while simultaneously fending off the eager investor. I rolled my eyes and shuffled out, helping Elliot gather her camera equipment and pack it in the back of the taxi.

On the ride back to the Bugle I fanned through my notes and began to pen out the makings of my column in the margins. El kept her gaze pinned out the window, watching the buildings rush by in a swirling torrent. We made the evening edition and got to go home early. I fine-tuned my Daedalus article and finished up some of the paperwork regarding the welfare status in the city. Routine. Duty. Repeat.

I almost found myself wishing McDermott would call...but kept dismissing myself of the notion that he would. Those spoon-licking higher-ups can't even operate a telephone, let alone carry on an extensive conversation that doesn't involve talking about "what so-and-so did on his yacht last summer".

Still, it would be nice to hear his voice again...

...as annoying as it is.
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