Sabby?
I called her that, anyway, and she didn't correct me. Are we friends? Friends again? Were we before? The whole business in the park, and at the theatre . . .
And then she called tonight and was happy and chirpy, bursting with derisive gossip about that Justice Telbit, offering advice on how to handle Ray Hubbard if I do call him - and I was wondering what in the hell was going on. She must be more forgiving than I am (well, that's not a stretch, or a surprise), so . . . maybe.
I might call her next week and test the waters with another lunch date. Dammit, now it's bugging me. Is she gaming me? I thought we were pretty much on the outs after all that shit. How far wrong can I be on these things?
6/16/2005
Logfile from Leah.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
With the advancing night comes the relaxing writer: Leah's in sweat pants and T-shirt with her bare feet up on the coffee table and a fat novel balanced open on her slouched stomach. Every so often, her toes wiggle idly, or her face contorts with a particular phrase or idea sticking to her eyeballs. The apartment windows stretch open to the soft summer air and light traffic noise outside. It's quiet. It's peaceful.
Sabitha has had to build herself up for this one, but when she finally calls, she's got a smile ready on her face. The better to sound chipper and cheery! She paces across the space between livingroom and diningroom as she dials, and then tucks the phone against her shoulder. Right. She can do this.
...It's ringing. The phone, that is, on the kitchen counter some feet behind the couch. Leah tips her head back, eyes closing, and listens to it ring a couple times before sighing and heaving herself up. The book comes with her, place marked by fingers' firm grasp; she sets it on the counter next to the receiver, which gets a brooding stare as the third ring echoes. Then, quickly before a fourth can summon up voicemail, she answers. "Hello?"
...It's ringing. Long enough that Sabby's smile turns to a worried frown, and she has to pause a moment to remember what she was doing when Leah finally answers. Her smile returns. "Hey! Leah?" Her voice is bright, even as she paces the length of her apartment again.
Leah puts a hand on the book, the other on the counter, and leans a little for support. Sabitha might have prepped herself for this call, but she was the only one. Still, the other woman can but try: "Yup, that's me," she manages with some measure of cheer. "Hey, how you doing?"
Sabitha decides to go directly for the one thing that brings girls together: gossip. "You'll never guess who I had a call from last night. Seriously." She sounds easy and excited. It's the pacing.
Leah, as staying-put as she is, takes the tortoise's part, then, as naturally as if they were indeed roleplaying. "Not Ray," she muses. "Too obvious. I guess I don't know. Who?"
"His girl Friday," Sabitha shares with a grin that echoes in her voice. "Justice Telbit. I've decided that my best guess is that Ray doesn't know." If she ignores bygones, they'll obviously go away, won't they?
Oh, probably. Who holds grudges? Not stubborn, opinionated, gotta-be-right Leah Canto, no, no, no. "/Really,/" she responds with half-admiration, half-intrigue. "What in the hell for? If he doesn't know . . . some kind of game on her part?"
"Absolutely no idea," Sabby admits, and she finally stops her pacing to collapse into her couch. "She called with the pretense of asking me about Emerson - where I went to college? He really needs to get her better training. Honestly, it was the worst excuse I've heard in some time."
Leah folds her arms to finish the lean on the countertop, and she's frowning in face and voice. "Emerson -- huh. What does she care about that? Did she even try to pass it off as a good excuse? As if," she suddenly snorts, "she couldn't -- oh, I don't know -- call the admissions office or something like that."
"That's what I /told/ her!" Sabby states with the excitment of one who's just found someone to agree with her on a key point. "She didn't have any questions prepared or /anything/. I mean, the Emerson thing could have /worked/ if she'd bothered to /prepare/."
Leah chides her, "Now, Sabby. Not everyone is a trained, experienced, and highly suspicious operative like the two of us. Ray's not giving her much of an education, I agree. Did you help?" She lets herself sound amused. "I'll bet you could've educated her on any number of problems with that call."
"I told her to call the admissions office," Sabby replies, and slouches downward as she swings her feet up. "And do you know, she had the /nerve/ to act as though I'd somehow affronted her? Went all wounded deer. I could practically see the doe eyes from the other side of the line." She shakes her head, and clucks her tongue quietly. "Honestly. There's a time and a place, don't get me wrong, but /wow/, that girl has no sense of timing. Or pacing."
"So you have to wonder," Leah says, getting into the spirit of things because, well, what the hell, "what the deal is. With her /and/ with Ray. Y'know?"
Sabitha nods easily. "Yeah, exactly. It was /obvious/ that she was trying to play a game, and doing a /horrible/ job of it. Otherwise, she'dve had actual questions about Emerson. She was calling to feel me out, at the very least. So the question is, why?" She pause, and then asks, "Have you heard from her?"
Leah answers, "Nope," and then expands, "Not that I was expecting to. D'you think I should? Hell, you're the one who got the gifts and the dinner and the limo. He's got my name, that's about it." Well, and with her name, there's so much else he could get on her, isn't there?
"He said he was after me with the business cards," Sabby muses idly. "At the time, tried to play it off as interest in my involvement with the Lowe rally. Now I suspect it was idle flattery. So..." She shrugs, though only the pause is audible over the line. "I don't know."
"It's just odd," Leah says after a pause of her own, which she spends staring pensively at the wall. The wall's not being communicative tonight, so she has to be. Tries, anyway: "I haven't seen many oil tycoons throwing themselves around after, well, anyone, though I guess you have that bit of celebrity to catch his eye? And your general attractiveness and wit and so on." Her sharp amusement again, and she's started picking at the book's cover with a thumbnail.
Sabitha rolls her eyes upward. "There are a hundred girls more attractive and more celebrity who'd hang out with him for /that/ sort of money. So why me?" A pause, and then she laughs shortly. "Although I suppose, not me, really. I haven't heard from him, after all, since I sent the tickets back. Not really."
Ah, the tickets. Leah pauses, starts to speak, then pauses again. "Well, he said he had a good time," she finally settles on, carefully, "and maybe that's the end of it, right there. Doesn't he have a business to run? Maybe not. Maybe he has minions. Like Justice. Except better trained, so he doesn't /lose/ the business."
"I don't think he actually does much himself," Sabby shares. "Anyway. I don't know, really. I just thought it was funny that she called, and I wanted to see if you'd heard anything at all."
"Nope," Leah repeats, "haven't. I did think about calling him myself, though." 'What the hell,' indeed. She rolls her head back on her neck; good thing the pops aren't /that/ audible, or she'd sound like a hanging victim. "You know, out of curiosity. He seemed nice enough at the theatre."
Sabitha unslouches and stands, up and pacing again. "Oh, yeah," she agrees easily. "He's nice enough. Doesn't seem like a bad guy. Just something off, you know? If you call him, let me know what you think."
Leah grants easily, "Sure, sure. Sharing information's always good, huh? I just have a curiosity itch, and if I don't scratch it, I'll be useless until I do. And, hey, maybe I'll get a nice dinner out of it, too. Never been to the Tavern."
Sabitha grins broadly, and gives a quiet laugh. "It's overrated, really," she answers. "But worth a trip once. You should drop some broad hints. Maybe you'll get a nice gift, too."
"From Tiffany's?" Leah's self-mocking now. "I don't think I rate that. Unless he's trying to buy my oh-so-massive professional influence. Which is ridiculous." She stretches out her back with a sigh. "Nah, I'd settle for a dinner, especially if he's paying. Not sure how I'd do with hinting, anyway. 'So, I like shiny things. How about you?'"
"I hardly think /I/ rate that, Leah," Sabby points out easily. She pulls open the fridge and stands staring into it for a long moment. "No, just... mention how flattered you are that he's invited you - assuming he does, of course - and how you heard such wonderful things about how he treats women. Something along those lines. Doesn't always work, of course, but it never /hurts/, either." She grins, and finally pulls a bottle of water out. "That, and it'd be funny to see what he says if you tell him I was flattering about the evening."
Leah grunts a soft, thoughtful noise. "Y'think? Well, I could do that, but man, I suck at flirting. I'm the kind of person who just flat-out tells someone what I'm thinking, what I'm wanting, and we go from there. I can only try, I guess. Does he respond to that? Does it work?"
Sabitha shakes her head as she drinks. "Mm, no. It's not flirting, it's flattery. Not the same thing. And don't /tell/ me you've never done it during an interview. Same thing," she shares. A short shrug. "I dunno. He seems to think I'm bullshitting him whenever I'm honest with him. So I couldn't say."
Leah's grin is audible, oh yes. "Yeah, I kinda picked that up from the other night. He just has no handle on you whatsoever; maybe Justice did call on his orders, to see if she'd have better luck." Her tone fades then, and she picks again at the book, starting to fray one of its corners. "I suck at flattery, too, and no, I haven't done it in interviews. I just go in, do my job, and get out. It's worked. Although--" confession time, some embarrassment "--I guess I did a little of it this week, with this sitdown I had with Jean Grey. But it seemed appropriate."
Silence rings on the line for a moment. Just a moment. Sabby could easily be taking another drink, or looking for something, or.. any number of things. And then it passes, and she answers dismissively. "I'm sure you'll be fine. And hell, maybe he'll like your honesty better than mine."
"Yeah, maybe so. It's a distraction from work, anyway." Leah's taking the silence in stride. Just a nice conversation they're having here, all casual and friendly. "How you doin' on that end, by the way? Glad for the weekend?"
"Not Friday yet," Sabby answers with an audible pout. "Almost there, though." She sighs as she hits the couch again, and then shares, "I'll be more than glad for this week to be over. It's been.. long."
Leah has a few more threads frayed from the book's corner. "Yeah, I hear ya. That's what I meant, anyway: /almost/ there. Doing anything?"
"Talking to you?" Sabby answers blankly.
Leah actually laughs at that. "No, this weekend. Sorry."
"Oh. Oh!" Sabby sounds rather embarrassed now. "Um.. not really. Safehouse on Saturday. I might see if Travis or Forge wants to do something.. although I've seen Forge twice this week, so maybe not. I may just... y'know. Breathe a bit."
"Totally," says Leah sympathetically, then has to ask (because she is Leah), "but who's Forge? That's a cool name. Like 'Sting.' Or 'Prince.'"
Sabitha laughs shortly, and then clarifies. "Oh, no, sorry. Forge is just a nickname. It's what everyone calls him, though. He's a.. friend." There's enough of a pause to make the word significant, but not enough to make it clear /why/ it's significant. And then, to her credit, she continues conversationally, "Actually, he works with Jean Grey, at the school. If you're about there again, you might see him."
Leah snorts again. "Yeah, that's probably not going to happen; I'll just email or call Dr. Grey if I need anything more. It's a nice place, don't get me wrong, but . . ." But. She trails off, frowning a little distractedly at some inner mental workings (or the lack thereof), then shrugs along. "--Nickname, got it. And a . . . friend." Also got it, by her tone's red-shift into warmth. "Nice guy? A teacher, too?"
Sabitha nods absently. "Yeah, he teaches... off and on, I think." She sinks back down into her couch, and stifles a yawn. And steadfastly refuses to comment on the school. "Comes into New York now and then to see me."
"Aw, that's nice," Leah says, because she's supposed to. "So, have a nice relaxing weekend, I guess. I'll probably head down to see the fam or something. Or just sit out in the sun here in town and read."
"Probably doesn't mean quite as much, being freelance?" Sabby questions. "The weekends, I mean. Kinda like being a college student."
Leah draws out, while she draws some circles on the counter with a slow forefinger, "Yeaaaaah, I guess. It's feast or famine, really: bursts of frantic activity to get something done and in under deadline for the check, interspersed with long, damned long lulls sometimes. I have a couple other things to keep me busy -- TV, mostly -- but I s'pose 'college student' does work. I even order in pizza and have all-nighters sometimes to cram," she jokes. "It's great. Highly recommended."
Sabitha sighs jealously. "Yeah. Man, I miss that." She shifts slightly, and her eyes flick to the clock. "Speaking of, hate to cut this short, but my morning starts /way/ too early. I'll catch you later?"
A pause. Leah tries to scrub wary surprise from her voice: really? There'll be a later? "Sure thing; sorry to keep you up. Sleep well."
"Night, Leah. Let me know if you talk to Ray." That said, Sabby yawns again, and ends the call. Well. That wasn't too bad.
Leah clicks the receiver off and regards it thoughtfully for a moment. Then she puts it down with a shrug, picks up her book, and returns to the slouch on the couch, with only one more frowning glance back at the phone and, by extension, Sabitha Melcross.
[Log ends.]
And then she called tonight and was happy and chirpy, bursting with derisive gossip about that Justice Telbit, offering advice on how to handle Ray Hubbard if I do call him - and I was wondering what in the hell was going on. She must be more forgiving than I am (well, that's not a stretch, or a surprise), so . . . maybe.
I might call her next week and test the waters with another lunch date. Dammit, now it's bugging me. Is she gaming me? I thought we were pretty much on the outs after all that shit. How far wrong can I be on these things?
6/16/2005
Logfile from Leah.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
With the advancing night comes the relaxing writer: Leah's in sweat pants and T-shirt with her bare feet up on the coffee table and a fat novel balanced open on her slouched stomach. Every so often, her toes wiggle idly, or her face contorts with a particular phrase or idea sticking to her eyeballs. The apartment windows stretch open to the soft summer air and light traffic noise outside. It's quiet. It's peaceful.
Sabitha has had to build herself up for this one, but when she finally calls, she's got a smile ready on her face. The better to sound chipper and cheery! She paces across the space between livingroom and diningroom as she dials, and then tucks the phone against her shoulder. Right. She can do this.
...It's ringing. The phone, that is, on the kitchen counter some feet behind the couch. Leah tips her head back, eyes closing, and listens to it ring a couple times before sighing and heaving herself up. The book comes with her, place marked by fingers' firm grasp; she sets it on the counter next to the receiver, which gets a brooding stare as the third ring echoes. Then, quickly before a fourth can summon up voicemail, she answers. "Hello?"
...It's ringing. Long enough that Sabby's smile turns to a worried frown, and she has to pause a moment to remember what she was doing when Leah finally answers. Her smile returns. "Hey! Leah?" Her voice is bright, even as she paces the length of her apartment again.
Leah puts a hand on the book, the other on the counter, and leans a little for support. Sabitha might have prepped herself for this call, but she was the only one. Still, the other woman can but try: "Yup, that's me," she manages with some measure of cheer. "Hey, how you doing?"
Sabitha decides to go directly for the one thing that brings girls together: gossip. "You'll never guess who I had a call from last night. Seriously." She sounds easy and excited. It's the pacing.
Leah, as staying-put as she is, takes the tortoise's part, then, as naturally as if they were indeed roleplaying. "Not Ray," she muses. "Too obvious. I guess I don't know. Who?"
"His girl Friday," Sabitha shares with a grin that echoes in her voice. "Justice Telbit. I've decided that my best guess is that Ray doesn't know." If she ignores bygones, they'll obviously go away, won't they?
Oh, probably. Who holds grudges? Not stubborn, opinionated, gotta-be-right Leah Canto, no, no, no. "/Really,/" she responds with half-admiration, half-intrigue. "What in the hell for? If he doesn't know . . . some kind of game on her part?"
"Absolutely no idea," Sabby admits, and she finally stops her pacing to collapse into her couch. "She called with the pretense of asking me about Emerson - where I went to college? He really needs to get her better training. Honestly, it was the worst excuse I've heard in some time."
Leah folds her arms to finish the lean on the countertop, and she's frowning in face and voice. "Emerson -- huh. What does she care about that? Did she even try to pass it off as a good excuse? As if," she suddenly snorts, "she couldn't -- oh, I don't know -- call the admissions office or something like that."
"That's what I /told/ her!" Sabby states with the excitment of one who's just found someone to agree with her on a key point. "She didn't have any questions prepared or /anything/. I mean, the Emerson thing could have /worked/ if she'd bothered to /prepare/."
Leah chides her, "Now, Sabby. Not everyone is a trained, experienced, and highly suspicious operative like the two of us. Ray's not giving her much of an education, I agree. Did you help?" She lets herself sound amused. "I'll bet you could've educated her on any number of problems with that call."
"I told her to call the admissions office," Sabby replies, and slouches downward as she swings her feet up. "And do you know, she had the /nerve/ to act as though I'd somehow affronted her? Went all wounded deer. I could practically see the doe eyes from the other side of the line." She shakes her head, and clucks her tongue quietly. "Honestly. There's a time and a place, don't get me wrong, but /wow/, that girl has no sense of timing. Or pacing."
"So you have to wonder," Leah says, getting into the spirit of things because, well, what the hell, "what the deal is. With her /and/ with Ray. Y'know?"
Sabitha nods easily. "Yeah, exactly. It was /obvious/ that she was trying to play a game, and doing a /horrible/ job of it. Otherwise, she'dve had actual questions about Emerson. She was calling to feel me out, at the very least. So the question is, why?" She pause, and then asks, "Have you heard from her?"
Leah answers, "Nope," and then expands, "Not that I was expecting to. D'you think I should? Hell, you're the one who got the gifts and the dinner and the limo. He's got my name, that's about it." Well, and with her name, there's so much else he could get on her, isn't there?
"He said he was after me with the business cards," Sabby muses idly. "At the time, tried to play it off as interest in my involvement with the Lowe rally. Now I suspect it was idle flattery. So..." She shrugs, though only the pause is audible over the line. "I don't know."
"It's just odd," Leah says after a pause of her own, which she spends staring pensively at the wall. The wall's not being communicative tonight, so she has to be. Tries, anyway: "I haven't seen many oil tycoons throwing themselves around after, well, anyone, though I guess you have that bit of celebrity to catch his eye? And your general attractiveness and wit and so on." Her sharp amusement again, and she's started picking at the book's cover with a thumbnail.
Sabitha rolls her eyes upward. "There are a hundred girls more attractive and more celebrity who'd hang out with him for /that/ sort of money. So why me?" A pause, and then she laughs shortly. "Although I suppose, not me, really. I haven't heard from him, after all, since I sent the tickets back. Not really."
Ah, the tickets. Leah pauses, starts to speak, then pauses again. "Well, he said he had a good time," she finally settles on, carefully, "and maybe that's the end of it, right there. Doesn't he have a business to run? Maybe not. Maybe he has minions. Like Justice. Except better trained, so he doesn't /lose/ the business."
"I don't think he actually does much himself," Sabby shares. "Anyway. I don't know, really. I just thought it was funny that she called, and I wanted to see if you'd heard anything at all."
"Nope," Leah repeats, "haven't. I did think about calling him myself, though." 'What the hell,' indeed. She rolls her head back on her neck; good thing the pops aren't /that/ audible, or she'd sound like a hanging victim. "You know, out of curiosity. He seemed nice enough at the theatre."
Sabitha unslouches and stands, up and pacing again. "Oh, yeah," she agrees easily. "He's nice enough. Doesn't seem like a bad guy. Just something off, you know? If you call him, let me know what you think."
Leah grants easily, "Sure, sure. Sharing information's always good, huh? I just have a curiosity itch, and if I don't scratch it, I'll be useless until I do. And, hey, maybe I'll get a nice dinner out of it, too. Never been to the Tavern."
Sabitha grins broadly, and gives a quiet laugh. "It's overrated, really," she answers. "But worth a trip once. You should drop some broad hints. Maybe you'll get a nice gift, too."
"From Tiffany's?" Leah's self-mocking now. "I don't think I rate that. Unless he's trying to buy my oh-so-massive professional influence. Which is ridiculous." She stretches out her back with a sigh. "Nah, I'd settle for a dinner, especially if he's paying. Not sure how I'd do with hinting, anyway. 'So, I like shiny things. How about you?'"
"I hardly think /I/ rate that, Leah," Sabby points out easily. She pulls open the fridge and stands staring into it for a long moment. "No, just... mention how flattered you are that he's invited you - assuming he does, of course - and how you heard such wonderful things about how he treats women. Something along those lines. Doesn't always work, of course, but it never /hurts/, either." She grins, and finally pulls a bottle of water out. "That, and it'd be funny to see what he says if you tell him I was flattering about the evening."
Leah grunts a soft, thoughtful noise. "Y'think? Well, I could do that, but man, I suck at flirting. I'm the kind of person who just flat-out tells someone what I'm thinking, what I'm wanting, and we go from there. I can only try, I guess. Does he respond to that? Does it work?"
Sabitha shakes her head as she drinks. "Mm, no. It's not flirting, it's flattery. Not the same thing. And don't /tell/ me you've never done it during an interview. Same thing," she shares. A short shrug. "I dunno. He seems to think I'm bullshitting him whenever I'm honest with him. So I couldn't say."
Leah's grin is audible, oh yes. "Yeah, I kinda picked that up from the other night. He just has no handle on you whatsoever; maybe Justice did call on his orders, to see if she'd have better luck." Her tone fades then, and she picks again at the book, starting to fray one of its corners. "I suck at flattery, too, and no, I haven't done it in interviews. I just go in, do my job, and get out. It's worked. Although--" confession time, some embarrassment "--I guess I did a little of it this week, with this sitdown I had with Jean Grey. But it seemed appropriate."
Silence rings on the line for a moment. Just a moment. Sabby could easily be taking another drink, or looking for something, or.. any number of things. And then it passes, and she answers dismissively. "I'm sure you'll be fine. And hell, maybe he'll like your honesty better than mine."
"Yeah, maybe so. It's a distraction from work, anyway." Leah's taking the silence in stride. Just a nice conversation they're having here, all casual and friendly. "How you doin' on that end, by the way? Glad for the weekend?"
"Not Friday yet," Sabby answers with an audible pout. "Almost there, though." She sighs as she hits the couch again, and then shares, "I'll be more than glad for this week to be over. It's been.. long."
Leah has a few more threads frayed from the book's corner. "Yeah, I hear ya. That's what I meant, anyway: /almost/ there. Doing anything?"
"Talking to you?" Sabby answers blankly.
Leah actually laughs at that. "No, this weekend. Sorry."
"Oh. Oh!" Sabby sounds rather embarrassed now. "Um.. not really. Safehouse on Saturday. I might see if Travis or Forge wants to do something.. although I've seen Forge twice this week, so maybe not. I may just... y'know. Breathe a bit."
"Totally," says Leah sympathetically, then has to ask (because she is Leah), "but who's Forge? That's a cool name. Like 'Sting.' Or 'Prince.'"
Sabitha laughs shortly, and then clarifies. "Oh, no, sorry. Forge is just a nickname. It's what everyone calls him, though. He's a.. friend." There's enough of a pause to make the word significant, but not enough to make it clear /why/ it's significant. And then, to her credit, she continues conversationally, "Actually, he works with Jean Grey, at the school. If you're about there again, you might see him."
Leah snorts again. "Yeah, that's probably not going to happen; I'll just email or call Dr. Grey if I need anything more. It's a nice place, don't get me wrong, but . . ." But. She trails off, frowning a little distractedly at some inner mental workings (or the lack thereof), then shrugs along. "--Nickname, got it. And a . . . friend." Also got it, by her tone's red-shift into warmth. "Nice guy? A teacher, too?"
Sabitha nods absently. "Yeah, he teaches... off and on, I think." She sinks back down into her couch, and stifles a yawn. And steadfastly refuses to comment on the school. "Comes into New York now and then to see me."
"Aw, that's nice," Leah says, because she's supposed to. "So, have a nice relaxing weekend, I guess. I'll probably head down to see the fam or something. Or just sit out in the sun here in town and read."
"Probably doesn't mean quite as much, being freelance?" Sabby questions. "The weekends, I mean. Kinda like being a college student."
Leah draws out, while she draws some circles on the counter with a slow forefinger, "Yeaaaaah, I guess. It's feast or famine, really: bursts of frantic activity to get something done and in under deadline for the check, interspersed with long, damned long lulls sometimes. I have a couple other things to keep me busy -- TV, mostly -- but I s'pose 'college student' does work. I even order in pizza and have all-nighters sometimes to cram," she jokes. "It's great. Highly recommended."
Sabitha sighs jealously. "Yeah. Man, I miss that." She shifts slightly, and her eyes flick to the clock. "Speaking of, hate to cut this short, but my morning starts /way/ too early. I'll catch you later?"
A pause. Leah tries to scrub wary surprise from her voice: really? There'll be a later? "Sure thing; sorry to keep you up. Sleep well."
"Night, Leah. Let me know if you talk to Ray." That said, Sabby yawns again, and ends the call. Well. That wasn't too bad.
Leah clicks the receiver off and regards it thoughtfully for a moment. Then she puts it down with a shrug, picks up her book, and returns to the slouch on the couch, with only one more frowning glance back at the phone and, by extension, Sabitha Melcross.
[Log ends.]