very tempted. But not by the story. But as for you, Miss Higgins, the answer is no.”
“Wait,” Tracie snapped back, then twisted around in her chair to look at him. “I thought we could do it a little differently. I thought, well, there are so many computer nerds with money here that we could do a man —I mean watch a man get made over from a nerd to, you know, someone like you.”
p. 101 “Miserable and alcoholic,” Tim murmured under his breath.
Marcus shot him a harsh glance. “I heard that.” He looked down at Tracie. “What do you really mean, Tracie?”
She swallowed hard. “You know, sort of a spoof on those girlie makeovers. But also a real service article. Where a doofus could get a cool haircut, hip clothes. The dorky restaurants to avoid and the cool ones to go to. We could take a person and do a real Pilgrim’s Progress .”
“Could be cute. But how would you find someone who would agree to do it?”
“It would make the guy look like a real meat loaf,” Tim said, sharing his opinion with the group.
“That makes you a candidate,” Marcus shot back at him as he went to the door to leave. He paused and turned back to the table. “But that reminds me of something. It’s time we did a survey piece about the best meat loaf in Seattle. Tracie, you take it.” Marcus looked at Tracie. “I want a big piece with a lot of local places described in a positive way.”
Tracie couldn’t believe it. “And do they all win for best meat loaf?” she asked. “We wouldn’t want to make any of our advertisers mad.”
Marcus didn’t even blink. “Only one winner, but a lot of four-star meat loaves. And Allison, could I see you in my office?” He pulled the door handle and slid out of the room.
Chapter 11
p. 102 Jon was straightening up, getting rid of the takeout containers, pizza boxes, and back issues of computer magazines he had piled up. In his vast living room, there was a dusty but complete home gym, a fabulous entertainment system, half a dozen computers, and a small sofa. Once he got his new laptop, he’d finally unhook all of these. The doorbell rang and he looked down at his wrist, then realized there was no watch. Was it seven already? He looked up at one of the computer consoles. It was 7:20. He chucked the boxes in his arms into the hall closet and went to the sofa and picked up the rest of the magazines, threw them in the closet, too, and then turned to the full-length mirror on the back of the door. He slid the door open.
Tracie walked in, looked around, and hit her head with her hand. “Do you live here, or is this where you perform surgery? And the least you could do is listen to music instead of the business station KIRO. Did your stock fall or something?”
“I didn’t even hear that it was on,” Jon said. “What’s the matter?” he asked, unsuccessfully trying to keep the plaintive note out of his voice.
“I don’t have time to begin the list,” Tracie p. 103 said. “It doesn’t matter, though. Rule Number Three: Never show them where you live.” [rule3]
Jon pulled out a Wizard 2000 and started to enter Tracie’s wisdom into it. He’d already memoed himself on her other commandments. He was almost ready to keyboard it, when —
“Put that down!” Tracie told him.
“I’m just using it for notes,” he protested. Tracie took it from his hand and put it firmly on the aluminum coffee table.
“Not anymore.” She took off her jacket and handed it to him. He was about to hang it in the closet, but then he remembered the pizza boxes and thought better of it, smoothing the suede, folding it, and putting it over the back of the sofa. Tracie put down her bag, walked to the window, and turned around to face him. “So, back to Rule Number Three: Never show them where you live. No girl is going to come over here. It would ruin everything.”
“They don’t come over here now,” Jon admitted. And it was too bad. The view was spectacular. “Not even
“Wait,” Tracie snapped back, then twisted around in her chair to look at him. “I thought we could do it a little differently. I thought, well, there are so many computer nerds with money here that we could do a man —I mean watch a man get made over from a nerd to, you know, someone like you.”
p. 101 “Miserable and alcoholic,” Tim murmured under his breath.
Marcus shot him a harsh glance. “I heard that.” He looked down at Tracie. “What do you really mean, Tracie?”
She swallowed hard. “You know, sort of a spoof on those girlie makeovers. But also a real service article. Where a doofus could get a cool haircut, hip clothes. The dorky restaurants to avoid and the cool ones to go to. We could take a person and do a real Pilgrim’s Progress .”
“Could be cute. But how would you find someone who would agree to do it?”
“It would make the guy look like a real meat loaf,” Tim said, sharing his opinion with the group.
“That makes you a candidate,” Marcus shot back at him as he went to the door to leave. He paused and turned back to the table. “But that reminds me of something. It’s time we did a survey piece about the best meat loaf in Seattle. Tracie, you take it.” Marcus looked at Tracie. “I want a big piece with a lot of local places described in a positive way.”
Tracie couldn’t believe it. “And do they all win for best meat loaf?” she asked. “We wouldn’t want to make any of our advertisers mad.”
Marcus didn’t even blink. “Only one winner, but a lot of four-star meat loaves. And Allison, could I see you in my office?” He pulled the door handle and slid out of the room.
Chapter 11
p. 102 Jon was straightening up, getting rid of the takeout containers, pizza boxes, and back issues of computer magazines he had piled up. In his vast living room, there was a dusty but complete home gym, a fabulous entertainment system, half a dozen computers, and a small sofa. Once he got his new laptop, he’d finally unhook all of these. The doorbell rang and he looked down at his wrist, then realized there was no watch. Was it seven already? He looked up at one of the computer consoles. It was 7:20. He chucked the boxes in his arms into the hall closet and went to the sofa and picked up the rest of the magazines, threw them in the closet, too, and then turned to the full-length mirror on the back of the door. He slid the door open.
Tracie walked in, looked around, and hit her head with her hand. “Do you live here, or is this where you perform surgery? And the least you could do is listen to music instead of the business station KIRO. Did your stock fall or something?”
“I didn’t even hear that it was on,” Jon said. “What’s the matter?” he asked, unsuccessfully trying to keep the plaintive note out of his voice.
“I don’t have time to begin the list,” Tracie p. 103 said. “It doesn’t matter, though. Rule Number Three: Never show them where you live.” [rule3]
Jon pulled out a Wizard 2000 and started to enter Tracie’s wisdom into it. He’d already memoed himself on her other commandments. He was almost ready to keyboard it, when —
“Put that down!” Tracie told him.
“I’m just using it for notes,” he protested. Tracie took it from his hand and put it firmly on the aluminum coffee table.
“Not anymore.” She took off her jacket and handed it to him. He was about to hang it in the closet, but then he remembered the pizza boxes and thought better of it, smoothing the suede, folding it, and putting it over the back of the sofa. Tracie put down her bag, walked to the window, and turned around to face him. “So, back to Rule Number Three: Never show them where you live. No girl is going to come over here. It would ruin everything.”
“They don’t come over here now,” Jon admitted. And it was too bad. The view was spectacular. “Not even
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