A Hotel Room Somewhere in the US, Tuesday Evening FT

[whenshewasnice]

The North American ENVY tour was in its last leg. Only a bunch of shows on the west coast remained, and then

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[lockestheway]

Peter preferred 'bored'. Certainly, 'bored' was a broad concept when you applied it to the life of someone who held the world's future in his hands, but still, generally - bored was the word.

Or at least that was what he was telling himself. After all, he'd been given two hours off - ordered two hours off - by his chief of staff. And now he was on the sofa, ignoring the droning of the senseless, empty drama on screen, and he had nothing else to do.

Besides call Envy.

He'd blame nostalgia. It wasn't like he could pin it on substance abuse like world leaders past.

[whenshewasnice]

It wasn't unexpected that Envy's phone rang.

It was unexpected that the name on the screen was the one it was when she picked her phone up. (Which wasn't as easy a task as it sounded, when she had the world's fluffiest sleeve to contend with.)

"Envy speaking," she answered after a moment, her tone the mild, detached drawl of someone who hadn't checked caller ID.

[lockestheway]

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. It wasn't as if Peter had fully expected her to pick up.

"It sounds quiet on the other end of this line," he said, "Is it quiet?"

Other people just asked if they called at a good time, Peter.

[whenshewasnice]

"Does an all too thorough rundown of some Desperate Housewives of Wherever star's shoplifting incident count?"

It was impressive she could even rattle off what the junk on her screen was. It wasn't as if she'd actually been watching.