Ask Eleanor (Special Edition With Alternate Ending)

by Briggs, Laura

  The Sun Building was only a block and a half from TriCom’s Norlend Towers – a building which Haldon Media owned, and now favored for gatherings involving their minor players. A conference room on the fifteenth floor, a modest view of the city from its roof.

  Eleanor had forgotten her umbrella. The spare one was gone from her office – possibly carried away by Lucy by mistake – so she left without it. Her overcoat hanging open as she emerged from the elevator on the lobby floor, having made her departure as hasty as possible to avoid the curious stares of her coworkers.

  “So why did Lucy leave? Was she shouting in your office? What was the reason, Eleanor?” She didn’t want any of these questions to be manifested in the real world. Because there was no good reply for them.

  The glass lobby doors opened to a cold outside world. Rain was splashing from the awnings to the street and the sidewalks ahead as Eleanor closed two of the buttons on her coat, her steps pausing on the threshold of the cold rain.

  A whoosh of vinyl and metal from behind her. A metallic snap as a spring popped into place. An umbrella was now hovering over her head, its handle in Brandon’s possession.

  “You’ll be soaked if you go into the downpour,” he said, half-scolding. His coat was not buttoned, but hanging open over his rumpled suit, a hat pulled low on his brow.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I left mine –”

  “At home, presumably,” said Brandon. “Never mind.” He nudged her forwards, into the rain, where they walked onwards.

  “I’m surprised you’re going to this meeting,” she said. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.” It didn’t matter to Brandon what happened in the paper’s future. A reality which still carried a sting.

  “I wouldn’t, either,” he said. “That’s why I’m hailing a cab to go home after we get there.”

  “Then why are you walking there?”

  “Because you’re in distress and in need of an umbrella,” he answered. For a moment, she wondered if he had heard about Lucy’s bitter departure this morning. She fell silent.

  “About your assistant,” he said. “I assume ... you prefer her to go?”

  “I did,” Eleanor admitted. “I only wish she hadn’t been quite so disappointed about her experience.” She didn’t mention Edward’s name. She didn’t want to address the issue behind Lucy’s departure, when the inevitable truth of incompatibility could explain it away.

  Guilt was the reason why. Guilt, regardless of blame or circumstances. That was the reason why she shrank away from her ex-assistant's mention, conjuring images of Lucy's broken, betrayed expression.

  “Good,” said Brandon. “Now you won’t have to think of excuses to fend her off your work like a tiger. I won’t have to give you advice for it, either – although I’ll never have an assistant to drive off, will I?”

  There was a slightly bitter smile with this statement, which Eleanor noticed despite her discomfort with this topic. It awakened her from her thoughts and self-absorption at this moment; she touched his arm, lightly, before dropping her hand again.

  He cleared his throat. “I spoke to a friend of mine last night,” he said. “A friend with a public relations company. There’s talk of letting me do a sort of speaking tour. Appearances on sports and news talk shows, a few public addresses on war journalism and the military. That sort of thing.”

  “You? Speaking in public?” she repeated, surprised. Brandon, who did not give toasts, whose melancholy nature confined itself to short speeches in person or reflective diatribes half-muttered.

  “I spoke a few times in the past,” he answered. “Well, I thought, why not give it a try again? A good way to see if I can still think on my feet before I start rambling on paper again.”

  “I didn’t know,” she said. “I’ve never heard you give a speech at any of the dinner parties.”

  “A hidden talent,” he answered, gruffly. “We all have them. Now I won’t be idling away the hours in my apartment, peeling the paper from its walls.”

  “I’m happy for you,” she said. “It won’t be the same without you at the paper. I don’t like to think of your office with someone else in it.” She dropped her gaze to the pavement, where water splashed against the sides of her heels with each step.

  “Well, I’ll still be around,” said Brandon. “We’ll still see each other. Opening night at the opera and the symphony tickets. I have them to the Beethoven concert, you know. And there’s ... dinner parties and cocktails and refreshments. All the same as before.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” she said.

  “We’ll still have lunch together.” He glanced at her. “The Chinese restaurant.”

  “Of course,” she said. “There’s always lunch.”

  They crossed the street through the downward-traveling stream of rain, where the looming presence of the Sun Building seemed like a monstrous wet stone gargoyle to Eleanor’s eye. Faux historic architecture in its redesign, surrounded by magnificent buildings more subtly altered and damaged by time.

  “You’ll be traveling more often with your new endeavor,” said Eleanor. “That’s something I didn’t anticipate with your book, not right away, at least. I’ll have to send you an email when you’re away.”

  “Or you could always call,” said Brandon. “Sort of a long distance friendship – not a romance, I’m not implying that you –” a slight flush crept from beneath his collar as his words blustered, “– a friendship of multi-faceted forms. We’ve known each so many years, so we couldn’t stop now. No matter what happens in work and so on.” He ended this speech abruptly, jamming his free hand into his coat pocket.

  Eleanor suppressed a smile. They were before the Sun Building’s entrance now; Brandon was flagging down a cab moving slowly along the slick streets.

  “I’ll be going,” he said. He paused for a moment, in which Eleanor waited for him to say something else, ‘goodbye,’ or, else, ‘see you later.’ His rather stony expression had grown softer before he reached up and kissed her on the top of her head, a brief gesture from which he withdrew almost immediately.

  “Here.” He handed her the umbrella’s handle and stepped into the rain towards the waiting cab.

  “Brandon!” she began, feeling perplexed, no doubt for the seeming pointlessness of Brandon’s walk in this direction.

  “Keep it,” he answered, water rolling off the brim of his hat as he paused with the cab’s passenger door open. “When will I be going to a business meeting in the rain again?” With that, he climbed inside and slammed the door.

  *****

  They projected the future pages of the Herald on the screen – “they,” being the media assistants to the new assistant editor, a rising star from one of Haldon Media’s websites. Bitterman stood at the microphone, the main speaker for this event.

  “... the new interactive headline feature will be displayed at the foot of each headline news article, so readers can go online and leave feedback. A Twitter hashtag will also be listed, along with a cell phone scan to let them access instant updates to this story from our website...”

  The images on the screen zoomed in to this feature at the foot of a faux headline article, revealing the tiny embed of information which would connect readers to limitless possibilities, apparently. The image zoomed out again, then dissolved to a picture of the future Fitness & Lifestyles section.

  Larry’s “Solstice and Science” feature was gone from Weather and Environment. Marguerite’s dicey column had vanished from Local News & City Life. In her case, for a future in better things – in Larry’s case, who knew? Eleanor looked around, but didn’t see the nervous, shy former writer among the crowd.

  The presentation’s crowd was small, she realized; only a handful of familiar faces were visible in her immediate vicinity. Most of the columnists, feature writers, proof readers, and editors who were being fired had elected not to come. Some of these faces belonged to new hirees, and to representatives of Haldon’s various companies.

  “..
. the all-new Sports section, with a scan code to subscribe to Haldon Media’s “Score by Score” feed and our “In the Game” profile of key players who stand out each week...”

  Brandon’s name and profile was gone from the new spread, Eleanor noticed, with a pang; along with the Pittsburgh Stars feature for city team fans, and the traditional layout of the pages. She heard someone in the room release a sniffling sound in response. There was polite applause for Scott Freeman’s name being mentioned as one of the new featured columnists.

  “... and Humor & Life will feature a new and humorous daily take on dating in the city from Pittsburgh’s own social media sensation Marion Howard...”

  Eleanor caught a glimpse of her own byline briefly, the altered layout and position of her column. The horoscope was gone from the lower page, replaced by a Sudoku puzzle and crossword side by side, with another nationally-syndicated piece laid out beside her own, the familiar byline of a popular humorist.

  It was gone in a flash, replaced by a glimpse of the new Real Estate section. She knew she ought to feel relief at seeing her name there, the confirmation that her job would continue despite the wreckage of others around her. But she did not feel anything at this moment.

  “...and that’s the new Pittsburgh Herald, everyone.” Bitterman’s concluding statements received a round of applause – relief, more than excitement – from his listeners.

  “Questions will have to wait until next time,” he continued, “and those of you who have anything you want answered immediately can email me or better yet, Judson, the new assistant editor.” Bitterman flashed a beaming smile at his employees before shaking a few hands in a swift, yet gradual, escape to the door.

  Judson was already being accosted by someone with a question, his expression somewhere between boredom and a smirk as he listened. Eleanor, who had no questions, gathered her umbrella and coat and drifted from the room with the rest of the departing listeners.

  Instead of going downstairs, she climbed the stairwell to the building’s rooftop, its door propped open for the sake of providing a smoking facility for office employees on the floors below. There was no one present at this hour, as she crossed the pea gravel surface to the sandstone ledge, its decorative sconces chipped and weathered in their defining lines.

  Beyond was the view of the sun setting, casting a pink and lavender glow over the buildings, sandstone sides and brick surfaces, glass panes rendered nothing more than reflective mirrors beneath the dying brightness of day. The rain was gone, the clouds swept past so the colors of sunset were fierce in their shades, a cool breeze ruffling the open edge of Eleanor’s coat.

  From here, she couldn’t see any part of the city connected to herself, except for the towering stories of Norlend. No view of her apartment, no glimpse of the noisy, chaotic section of town where Marianne lived. Here, she could see nothing but the postcard history of Pittsburgh, the capitols of its business and industry, the weathered edifices of its ages.

  Somewhere below, Lucy was packing her things. Brandon was finding his way into something new. And Eleanor – ordinary Eleanor – was untouched by anything except the emotions buried deep within her.

  At this moment, she heard another person’s tread on the gravel. She turned around, expecting to see a business associate in shirtsleeves, lighting a cigarette to stave off nicotine cravings. Instead, she saw a man in a blue business coat and dark suit, who looked somewhat shy and out of place in these surroundings.

  “I, uh, found out this is where everyone was.” Edward’s voice was hesitant. “One of the employees at the paper told me that there was a meeting. And that you would be there.”

  She was still staring at him. “But how ... how did you find me?” Her smile was puzzled.

  “Well,” he said, “you didn’t come out. And if you didn’t come down from the conference room, the only other direction to go was up.”

  His smile grew stronger with these words. He stepped closer, his hands tucked deep in the pockets of his coat. He was looking into her eyes, so Eleanor was no longer seeing the sunset behind him.

  “It’s a beautiful view up here,” she said.

  “Yes, it is,” he answered. But in such a manner, with such a smile, that she knew he was not talking about the shades of color on the horizon. She made herself look away from him after thinking this.

  “Lucy quit,” she said. “Today. When I came into work, she was leaving.”

  “I know,” he said. There was an edge of discomfort, regret, in his voice. “When I told her, she didn’t ... she was upset. I realize why, of course. She wants to go, even though I told her – it was my fault –” He trailed off, as if talking about it any further was too much at the moment.

  They were both quiet now. A few minutes passed before Eleanor looked at him again. She met his eyes, feeling his own look deeply into hers.

  Lucy was gone. Marianne, Brandon, the Herald, “Ask Eleanor” and its crisis – all were gone. Swept away in this moment of simply gazing into Edward’s face.

  “I was thinking that we could go to dinner,” he said.

  “Dinner would be nice,” she answered.

  He took her arm and they went downstairs. They caught a cab and drove away in the direction of a small Italian restaurant on the other side of town.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Edward was staying in Pittsburgh. He was building a future at the law firm, anticipating cases of moral importance, a child abandoned in a supermarket, an inventor whose blueprints were stolen by a national corporation. The difference between them was charity versus fees and profits, of course, but he didn’t care.

  “And what about you?” he asked. “Lucy – before this all ... happened – said that the paper was changing significantly. Are you –”

  “Still employed,” she answered. “I’m one of the lucky ones, I guess.” She took a sip from her glass of wine.

  “Good,” he said. “I was afraid that just as I was free, you’d be moving on to something else.”

  “Like what?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. “Who knows? But you seemed so settled here that I had hope that you weren’t getting swept away. Mild and settled people like us do end up moving on, occasionally. Like me, leaving Washington for here.”

  “You had a reason,” she reminded him. “Love.” While thinking, people like us, with a sense of contentment.

  Us. In the plural sense, not the grandiose.

  “Did I?” he sighed. “I don’t know if I did. I think it was just ... I had to do something. There was no more forward motion. And Lucy was momentum in every sense of the word. I just followed her lead. I’m always following someone’s advice, it seems.”

  “Is that why you like me?” asked Eleanor. “For my advice?” There was a note of flirtation in her voice with this question, not at all serious.

  His expression became gentle. “Maybe so.” He touched a loose strand of her hair, softly. “I think it was your advice. In the airport, when you saved me from bad coffee and lost buttons.”

  “That wasn’t my intention, really,” she told him. “It was to talk to you. It was all I could think of at the time.”

  “What a coincidence,” he said. “Because I had been thinking the exact – same – thing – about you.”

  They split a dessert, a chocolate soufflé which took an hour to arrive. During which time, she felt Edward’s hand holding the tips of her fingers, touching them in a manner which reminded her of Will and Marianne together at the restaurant. Bringing back a surge of memory, emotions painful, jealous, and sad in a tumble of images from those days.

  “What do you want in life?” Edward asked.

  It was a big question. It took Eleanor by surprise, jolting her back to the present. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “In any sense of the question. Just tell me something you want. I need to know more about you than just coffee and film retrospect, you know.”

  Needed. That sounded nice. His recollection of
the movie house, however, brought a deep blush to her face for the covert reasons she had crouched in its darkness with a box of popcorn. She had not yet told him that she had been subtly stalking him since his arrival to Pittsburgh. What would he think if he knew?

  “What do you want?” she asked. “A bigger office at your law firm? A case to rival Atticus Finch?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. I never thought about it. When I was ...” he hesitated. “When I was with Lucy, she never asked, since events were sort of ... predetermined. For my career and hers. For us, I guess.”

  Lucy again. Eleanor cringed slightly, recalling the fury in her ex-assistant’s face. Guilt creeping into her thoughts, even if it was – somewhat – irrationally so.

  “I guess if I had to name something, I would name ... having someone.” His voice grew gentle again. “Love, trust, happiness. Those are the things I want most.”

  “All good things,” answered Eleanor. She could see his eyes in the candlelight, the glint of emotion as he leaned forwards, his weight resting on his elbows, his fingers casually moving the handle of his cappuccino cup back and forth, slowly.

  She couldn’t read his face at this moment. There were a great many emotions there, some of which seemed to hurt her a little. The others – the one when he met her eyes again – sent a shiver of warmth through her frame.

  “You didn’t answer my question, though,” he said. “It was mine first. What do you want in life, Eleanor Darbish?” He pointed at her before letting his hand rest on the table again, his fingers brushing against her shirtsleeve, so that she could feel it through the silk.

  “I want –” she began. “I – don’t know.” She paused, then fell silent altogether. Not being able to name something at this moment seemed wrong. Why didn’t she know?

  “Then we shall have to figure it out,” he answered.

  That sounded pleasant. Especially coming from Edward's gentle, warm voice. The crackle which traveled beneath his tones, the faint breaks of emotion, brought to mind the moment outside her apartment after the movie. Eleanor's heart beat more quickly at the thought.