[reveries] Oliver quote
To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your life depends on it; and when the time comes, to let it go.
-Mary Oliver
"You're probably wondering why I didn't come in today," he heard above him. Woodrow was busy covering for the very person who was now at his door and that was why he was in the office on a Friday night at 7PM.
Woodrow considered this for a moment, trying to decide what exactly he was going to say. Yet, he had no words.
"I made a mistake."
The associate editor could agree with that wholeheartedly. Not only had Devon made a mistake, but he had ran from it. He hadn't returned the day after to cover his tracks. In terms of the scale of mistakes, it wasn't high on the mistake scale but that hadn't mattered once Devon was nowhere to be seen.
"You ran from a mistake you made, Devon. You hit that actor with a proverbial car and you fled the scene."
"You can't possibly be comparing that interview to that of a...of a hit-and-run."
"Where have you been?" His tone was quiet. Threatening. He was trying to keep himself together.
"Would investigating what you've been up to count as a sufficient enough answer," he asked, taking a step into Woodrow's office.
"I haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about."
"Don't give me that," Devon sniped. "I know what you do off hours."
"Enlighten me, then."
It was a challenge more than anything. Woodrow wanted to know if in fact Devon had found something out or if the writer was bluffing - reacting to the tongue lashing he had received only a day before. He would've gotten another one had he come into the office. He deserved it.
"Your real money doesn't come from the paper. You had to have come from somewhere besides Celeste's backpocket. And you did," Devon said, taking a seat on Woodrow's couch. "Does Heartthrob ring any bells, boss?"
Woodrow didn't flinch.
"You're a professional matchmaker?" he asked. "Do those actually exist?"
Woodrow wasn't about to dignify the man with an answer. It wasn't his business. He had no idea how Devon had even found out but he hadn't worked hard to hide it. In fact, on the surface, it did look like that.
"Or," Devon said, holding a hand up, finger extended. "Is this an escort service?" Woodrow tensed up only slightly at that. "Attractive young males. You see where I'm going with this."
"Where are you going?" he asked. "So far, you've informed me I run a matchmaking-slash-escort service which, last time I researched it, is not in anyway illegal. It is a part of my private life, and is of no concern to you, whatsoever. You arrive here as if triumphant that you've trapped the wicked step-father. You'll be disappointed to learn that Celeste is aware of my prior -- current dual employment. Is there anything else you feel you have to say before I report you?" Devon furrowed his brow, opening his mouth to protest. "You missed a work day. You did not contact any one to let them know where you were. You made a mistake you haven't righted yet and you've attempted to the best of my knowledge to blackmail your new boss. Why, I haven't a clue. Will you? Enlighten me?"
Woodrow waited for an answer but Devon's mouth closed. Instead, he backed away, turned and left. But, as he left he added something.
"At least I'm not a pimp-" he said.
Woodrow stood then, briskly walking out of his office into the mostly empty floor save for a few workers still hunched in their offices or at their computers.
"Name-calling is so crass, Davis," he called out. "Has something upset you?!"
But, Devon was already down the hall. Looking around, he shot a nosy worker a glare before striding back into his office and closing the door.
-Mary Oliver
"You're probably wondering why I didn't come in today," he heard above him. Woodrow was busy covering for the very person who was now at his door and that was why he was in the office on a Friday night at 7PM.
Woodrow considered this for a moment, trying to decide what exactly he was going to say. Yet, he had no words.
"I made a mistake."
The associate editor could agree with that wholeheartedly. Not only had Devon made a mistake, but he had ran from it. He hadn't returned the day after to cover his tracks. In terms of the scale of mistakes, it wasn't high on the mistake scale but that hadn't mattered once Devon was nowhere to be seen.
"You ran from a mistake you made, Devon. You hit that actor with a proverbial car and you fled the scene."
"You can't possibly be comparing that interview to that of a...of a hit-and-run."
"Where have you been?" His tone was quiet. Threatening. He was trying to keep himself together.
"Would investigating what you've been up to count as a sufficient enough answer," he asked, taking a step into Woodrow's office.
"I haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about."
"Don't give me that," Devon sniped. "I know what you do off hours."
"Enlighten me, then."
It was a challenge more than anything. Woodrow wanted to know if in fact Devon had found something out or if the writer was bluffing - reacting to the tongue lashing he had received only a day before. He would've gotten another one had he come into the office. He deserved it.
"Your real money doesn't come from the paper. You had to have come from somewhere besides Celeste's backpocket. And you did," Devon said, taking a seat on Woodrow's couch. "Does Heartthrob ring any bells, boss?"
Woodrow didn't flinch.
"You're a professional matchmaker?" he asked. "Do those actually exist?"
Woodrow wasn't about to dignify the man with an answer. It wasn't his business. He had no idea how Devon had even found out but he hadn't worked hard to hide it. In fact, on the surface, it did look like that.
"Or," Devon said, holding a hand up, finger extended. "Is this an escort service?" Woodrow tensed up only slightly at that. "Attractive young males. You see where I'm going with this."
"Where are you going?" he asked. "So far, you've informed me I run a matchmaking-slash-escort service which, last time I researched it, is not in anyway illegal. It is a part of my private life, and is of no concern to you, whatsoever. You arrive here as if triumphant that you've trapped the wicked step-father. You'll be disappointed to learn that Celeste is aware of my prior -- current dual employment. Is there anything else you feel you have to say before I report you?" Devon furrowed his brow, opening his mouth to protest. "You missed a work day. You did not contact any one to let them know where you were. You made a mistake you haven't righted yet and you've attempted to the best of my knowledge to blackmail your new boss. Why, I haven't a clue. Will you? Enlighten me?"
Woodrow waited for an answer but Devon's mouth closed. Instead, he backed away, turned and left. But, as he left he added something.
"At least I'm not a pimp-" he said.
Woodrow stood then, briskly walking out of his office into the mostly empty floor save for a few workers still hunched in their offices or at their computers.
"Name-calling is so crass, Davis," he called out. "Has something upset you?!"
But, Devon was already down the hall. Looking around, he shot a nosy worker a glare before striding back into his office and closing the door.