[ I think I'll go to Boston. ]
She said I think I'll go to Boston...
I think I'll start a new life,
I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name,
I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather,
I think I'll get a lover and fly em out to Spain...
- augustana
Things were going well. That was the irony, really. She was starting to wonder if perhaps there was such a thing as too much sun - the sunny days rarely seemed to fade in Los Angeles. Even throughout bouts of rain, the sun would still manage to sneak out a ray or two and wave down on the city. She had been researching on google about Seasonal Affective Disorder, but she had yet to find any sort of documentation stating that it could be caused by the sunny dispositions of everything and everyone.
Oh, the LA branch of Crane, Poole, & Schmidt had its ups-and-downs - though, they settled on superficial things, such as who's had plastic surgery, who merely settles for botox - here, they interpreted high-profile to also mean themselves, and office meetings often wandered onto the topic of nips and tucks. Apparently, a pair of highly thought of and equally gossiped about plastic surgeons - McNamara and Troy - had relocated their practice, and a few partners at the firm were all too eager to make an appointment to chat about what they don't happen to like about themselves.
Her escape - though temporary - came about in the middle of a staff meeting. Apparently there happened to be an assortment of necessary files located in storage at one of the other firms. It wasn't the sort of thing that could merely be faxed or mailed - the client was strict about confidentiality and didn't want to run the chance of someone else getting a hold of privileged information. She darted her hand up like a schoolgirl ready to be called upon. She hadn't even paused to consider that the file would be located in Boston.
During the flight, she naively assumed he must have been fired by now. Although, she would have known - it would have likely been a topic, even all the way on the west coast. They often had memos about Denny's latest antics. But upon arriving and calling Shirley, her naive assumptions came to a crashing halt. She was fortunate enough that Alan was in court all day, leaving it entirely too easy to slip in and out of the Boston office without being noticed. She really could've avoided everyone she ever worked with if she had wanted to - most of her colleagues had either moved on or been fired. There was a new girl - a blonde one, from London - who assumed her to be a client - she didn't correct her.
It was foolish - she now could safely admit that to herself as the office happens to be miles away - but she couldn't seem to quell the urge. She had written a note in her lazy, flowing scrawl letting Alan know that she happened to be in town for business, requesting him to meet her for drinks. It was foolish of her, but some habits beg to be picked up again - this one just happened to come with more neurosis than her therapist would be able to handle. Regardless, she sat at a high-top table near the bar, slowly sipping her dirty martini, wondering what was more foolish - asking him to come or actually expecting him to do so.
I think I'll start a new life,
I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name,
I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather,
I think I'll get a lover and fly em out to Spain...
- augustana
Things were going well. That was the irony, really. She was starting to wonder if perhaps there was such a thing as too much sun - the sunny days rarely seemed to fade in Los Angeles. Even throughout bouts of rain, the sun would still manage to sneak out a ray or two and wave down on the city. She had been researching on google about Seasonal Affective Disorder, but she had yet to find any sort of documentation stating that it could be caused by the sunny dispositions of everything and everyone.
Oh, the LA branch of Crane, Poole, & Schmidt had its ups-and-downs - though, they settled on superficial things, such as who's had plastic surgery, who merely settles for botox - here, they interpreted high-profile to also mean themselves, and office meetings often wandered onto the topic of nips and tucks. Apparently, a pair of highly thought of and equally gossiped about plastic surgeons - McNamara and Troy - had relocated their practice, and a few partners at the firm were all too eager to make an appointment to chat about what they don't happen to like about themselves.
Her escape - though temporary - came about in the middle of a staff meeting. Apparently there happened to be an assortment of necessary files located in storage at one of the other firms. It wasn't the sort of thing that could merely be faxed or mailed - the client was strict about confidentiality and didn't want to run the chance of someone else getting a hold of privileged information. She darted her hand up like a schoolgirl ready to be called upon. She hadn't even paused to consider that the file would be located in Boston.
During the flight, she naively assumed he must have been fired by now. Although, she would have known - it would have likely been a topic, even all the way on the west coast. They often had memos about Denny's latest antics. But upon arriving and calling Shirley, her naive assumptions came to a crashing halt. She was fortunate enough that Alan was in court all day, leaving it entirely too easy to slip in and out of the Boston office without being noticed. She really could've avoided everyone she ever worked with if she had wanted to - most of her colleagues had either moved on or been fired. There was a new girl - a blonde one, from London - who assumed her to be a client - she didn't correct her.
It was foolish - she now could safely admit that to herself as the office happens to be miles away - but she couldn't seem to quell the urge. She had written a note in her lazy, flowing scrawl letting Alan know that she happened to be in town for business, requesting him to meet her for drinks. It was foolish of her, but some habits beg to be picked up again - this one just happened to come with more neurosis than her therapist would be able to handle. Regardless, she sat at a high-top table near the bar, slowly sipping her dirty martini, wondering what was more foolish - asking him to come or actually expecting him to do so.