Civilization's going to pieces... {Jenna}

["ELLE" FAIRCHILD]

Perhaps this was not the best idea Elle had ever had. But the fact of the matter was, she needed work, and she needed work now. If she was ever going to make a name for herself as a writer in such a large city as New York, she had to embrace every opportunity, and what could be a better opportunity than writing something for the Big Apple's own Jenna Gray? Her name itself exuded an air of success and wealth, and Elle, eager to prove her worth, was drawn to it.

Not, of course, as others were drawn to it. Elle was not a sheep. However, there was a degree of ambition in her that could not be denied, one that sought to make a name for herself outside of Chicago. For God's sake, she went to Yale. If she didn't become a famous writer, the only other thing she could do to make good on her degree was be elected president.

But this wasn't presently about that. This was about figuring out what the hell Jenna Gray could possibly want from her, and taking that for what it was worth.

As she entered the big building where Jenna had arranged their meeting, she pulled her peacoat a little tighter around herself almost subconsciously. Not that she was particularly insecure - no more than anyone else, she'd decided quite astutely - but this was Jenna Gray. Everyone knew her. Everyone worshipped her. She was rich and gorgeous and her image was completely intimidating. It made Elle insatiably curious about who the real Jenna Gray really was. What would she be like? Was she no more than another sleazy nightclub owner or famous supermodel, stuck-up and gives-no-fucks and arrogant? Or was she a real person?

Elle had always put so much faith in the concept of a real person. Perhaps it was because she had never felt like one. She woke up every morning, looked in the mirror, and only saw part of a person, an incomplete project, a potential failure. She was half-hollow, and the rest of her was filled with smoke. And she tried so hard to give herself substance, character, but in the end, she was always left wondering if anything she attempted did anything to complete her at all.

But...but this was all tragically beside the point. Her own issues were inconsequential here, and she was sure a busy woman like Jenna Gray had no time for them. What she needed to do was compose herself, prepare herself for the trying task of associating with other human beings. People tended to exhaust her. She could mingle in crowds politely, but internally, she was constantly criticizing. These objects of her berating seemed to sap her energy, drain her, and that was why she tended to stay away from large gatherings if she could. They simply were not for her.

She reached the correct floor and looked around nervously, not entirely sure where to go. Someone nearby who looked secretary-esque caught her eye, and she hurried over.

"Um. Excuse me."

The woman continued typing at her computer.

"Excuse me."

A pair of sharp, irritated eyes glanced up at her.

"Do you need something?" The woman drawled, tapping her long, puke-green-painted fingernails on the desk.

Elle fought to hold down a sarcastic simper. "I'm supposed to be meeting with Jenna Gray here around this time. Do you know where I could find her?"

The secretary scowled at her. "Do I look like a map?"

"Er." Well. This woman was clearly the utmost epitome of uncouth. Well, she hissed in her head, You've enough lines in your face to resemble one. You should stop making such expressions, or your face will stick that way. "No, you don't." She tried to keep her tone good-humored. "But if you do know, I would appreciate the help."

"Didn't she give you information herself?"

"Lost it," Elle admitted with a sheepish grin.

The daft, ugly old lady rolled her eyes. She was clearly the kind of woman who had been beautiful at nineteen, and had received so much attention for it that she had never been able to give up her attempts to recreate her childlike innocence, long after it was withered and deceased. Elle was disgusted by her.

"Down the hall and to the left," the lady hissed. Elle's smile turned almost mockingly grateful.

"Thank you." She trotted away, and as soon as her back was to the frightful secretary, her features curled into a cynical frown.

Bitch.

There were several doors to the left, so Elle made a judgment call and decided the first door was her best bet. Stifling whatever nerves had chosen to rouse themselves in her, she straightened her back and knocked on the door, hoping to whatever nonexistent higher power that it was the right door on which to knock.


ooc: At last, I can do this. Outfit!

[JENNA GRAY]

She dug her fingers tightly into the fabric, pulling and pulling and pulling until the tears forced themselves from her eyes. She pulled until the air rushed from her lungs and her mouth shot open in a desperate plea for oxygen. She pulled until the first wave of pain stabbed through her body, piercing from her bust, down her legs, and up into her head. She pulled until the room in front of her swam before her eyes, the colors of her surroundings dulling and smearing together like a watercolor painting in the rain. She pulled until a single rebellious cry of anguish escaped her lips, echoing off of the four walls that encased her, and she pulled until the resolve in her legs collapsed and she subsided weakly into the chair behind her desk, and even then she continued, pulling and pulling and pulling at the two strings of fabric behind her back, as the pain escalated to agony and the tears ran like furious rivers down her cheeks. When at last her chest was as level as it could ever possibly be, she tied them in an expert knot, then pulled her blue business dress over her head.

She stared into her reflection in the window, her eyes moving shakily from her face, etched with tracks of watery mascara and eyeliner in a muddy mix with her tanned foundation (she hadn’t donned her nighttime makeup yet, or her cheeks would be a glittery mess of blue and pink), to her legs, the left immaculately smooth, the right sprouting jagged and erratic hairs, to the two revolting monstrosities that, despite the hours of terrorizing pain, the lightheadedness, the nausea, and the thousands spent on bandages and binders, still managed to prod themselves from her chest to attention no matter what angle you glanced from. Jenna leaned closely into the mirror, until her breath created a ring of fog around her nose.

You are hideous. Her own voice echoed in her head, as strong and poignant as that of a truly omniscient being surrounding her on all sides. You are disgusting.

As the tears continued to flow freely from her tormented eyes, Jenna was seized with a sudden insurmountable urge to shred every inch of skin on her body, revealing to the world her true self, the true Jay, in all of ze’s glory. She would rip it open straight down the middle, this layer of cells that had imprisoned her within an arbitrary and mundane classification for her entire life. Because it was repulsive. This was repulsive, this bundle of skin and bones that the doctors dubbed her Body, with which she’d never, ever identified.

A knock at the door. Jenna glanced at the clock on the wall. Six o’clock. Right on the fucking dot.

She ran a hurried hand across her face, wiping the tears and makeup stains in an expert sweep. Her throat cleared, her eyes blinked several times to dispel the final liquids, and her lips widened into a sweet, businesslike, and utterly fabricated smile. “Come in,” said her voice, in its clear, authoritative, diligent cadence. And deep inside her, ze continued to moan and writhe in ubiquitous misery.



OUTFIT MAN

["ELLE" FAIRCHILD]

Elle waited for what seemed to be far too long (it was only a couple of seconds) before at last, the door drew open, like a curtain falling aside to reveal a priceless artifact. And then, boring, Plain Jane, average Penelope Fairchild came face to face with the one and only Jenna Gray.

She was beautiful. Radiant. Her wide blue eyes, her perfect golden hair, her flawless skin, even her lips and ears and body were perfectly sculpted. Certainly supermodel material, Elle noted with an inner nod; Jenna had chosen her former occupation well. She was taller than Elle by several inches, but this did not surprise the journalist – being only five foot two, most people she met were taller than her. The blue dress and white shoes she wore were cute and fashionable and feminine, as opposed to Elle’s somewhat-androgynous garb. She suddenly felt a wave of incompetence wash over her, inferiority and insecurity in the face of Jenna Gray’s resplendent beauty.

But no. She was here to do a job. She couldn’t go cowering and gawking like a teenager in a crowded hallway. Elle was just as confident as Jenna, at least on the outside, and she could easily express that. No-one would wish to hire a journalist who didn’t know how to keep her composure in the face of her employer, no matter how beautiful or famous that employer was.

Assuming an air of faux-assuredness, she nodded and stepped inside. “You must be Jenna, unless I’ve really got the wrong room.” She tried a smile, and it seemed to help her cause; the way the left corner of her lips (and only the left corner) curled up into that dry little half-smile that was her signature expression. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Elle. Elle Fairchild.”

After speaking, as she awaited a response, she studied the impressive woman before her. She had to be close to Elle’s age, probably not any younger. There was a maturity about her that one could not possess at eighteen or even twenty. Her chest was very flat, something Elle admittedly had not expected and did not recall as being one of her defining features...but then again, she didn’t pay much attention to celebrities unless they were her chosen topic. And her make-up...it was not quite as flawless as Elle would have expected. But perhaps she was just deluding herself.

As it stood, Jenna met every expectation Elle had possessed, save that she seemed a great deal less snooty than the straightforward young woman before her had expected. In fact, she appeared polite and professional, two things Elle considered thoroughly to be merits.

“May I sit down?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. She was eager to analyze and comprehend this new and unusual woman.

[JENNA GRAY]

Business. Right. Business as usual. A normal afternoon.

Jenna’s mind had repeated those words every day since before she’d started binding. Job interview. Sort of. That was all that this was. Clear, concise, simple. She knew what she was doing. In control, that was Jenna Gray’s beautiful and mundane classification. She was above the situation; she held her interactions with this woman in the palm of her hand. She could create monsters and masterpieces with her tongue: that was who she was, after all. That was her identity, the one she’d built for herself from next to nothing. Why contradict your own identity? The pain shot through her chest again, a sharp corroboration.

But fuck, she was really being too philosophical about this. It was just a business meeting, after all. She’d been through fourteen of these today, and had about six scheduled after this before opening the club. Just routine. Another name to check off the list. An objective look at a potentially profitable business deal. A string of numbers. A dollar sign. A tax return. That was all.

You must be Jenna, unless I’ve really got the wrong room.”

Jenna’s probing eyes were met with a woman close to her own age. That was surprising: her other clients had all been older men, as it currently stood. The woman’s tone was businesslike, purposeful, authoritative and yet humble, with a clear air and a clear aura of organization about her. Good, good. Jenna liked those qualities in a business partner. Outfit was rather gender-neutral, which sent a pang through Jenna’s gut that she didn’t quite know how to describe. Her chest throbbed again as she smiled pleasantly at the woman, and she shoved back the tears that were fast approaching the surfaces of her eyes. “No, you’re correct.” She accentuated the assurance with a trickle of bell-like laughter. Jenna wasn’t one for formal interrogations when it came to potential partners: she liked to keep things comfortable. She found it brought out a person’s natural tendencies, though she wasn’t sure how much that criterion applied to this particular woman. She seemed like she would be comfortable in any setting.

Another throb in her chest.

”Yes. I’m Jenna Gray, pleasure. And you must be-“ Jenna flipped through her mental pocketbook, but was drawing a blank.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Elle. Elle Fairchild.”

”Mm." Jenna nodded curtly, wanting to end this meeting quickly so that she could unbind for an hour before the long, long night at the club. Elle. Short for Eleanor, perhaps? Or a given name? Jenna didn’t tend to judge on the basis of nicknames, but this woman had stricken her as one who would embrace a more sophisticated title. In the name of efficiency, perhaps? ”Take a seat. Of course, she was probably reading way too deeply into this partner. Questioning would probably work better.

”So I’m sure you’re familiar with the way this works.” Jenna cut to the chase. ”You visit our club for a night, drinks and such on us. You write us a favorable, yet realistic review, and we pay you. Money is no object. Provided you fit our profile, we’ll match any salary you name.” She twisted a lock of golden hair around her index finger, gritting her teeth as another wave of pain overwhelmed her. She opened her mouth to speak but her breath caught in her throat, her mouth emitting a tiny gasp of transparent anguish. She righted herself quickly, hoping that Elle hadn’t noticed the slip. ”Of course, I’ll need to make sure you’re the type that would enjoy our establishment. I don’t commonly enlist writers who will be forced to fabricate enthusiasm concerning our restaurant. So go ahead and talk to me about something you know well. Tell me about yourself.” Jenna leaned back in her chair, grimacing as the binder sliced gently into her skin. ”I want to see the way you talk, the circles you frequent, your past, your sense of humor.” She smiled invitingly. ”Go on. Impress me.”

["ELLE" FAIRCHILD]

Jenna’s tone wasn’t so businesslike as to put Elle off, or in any way make her feel uncomfortable. In fact, she seemed relaxed, if a bit curt in introductions. But Elle didn’t mind that. She remained wholly neutral to Jenna, beyond acknowledging her good looks. And Elle’s heart was a hard one to win. A pretty face alone wasn’t capable of it.

For that reason, Jenna’s attractiveness did not distract her.

Elle was a creature of simple and straightforward answers. As much as she liked a good puzzle, and as much as she enjoyed undoing all the little knots and snarls in a story and combing it out into the truth, she treasured simplicity. Not in her words – hardly in her words, for she wrote with all the beauty and detail of an artist – but in her life. She liked it when she understood things, so she liked it when things were easy to understand.

It was why life could be so troubling to her sometimes. Nothing was ever easy. But she managed, and she managed well.

She’d gone long enough without a puzzle, though, and she wondered to herself, looking Jenna Gray up and down, if this remarkable woman would be her next project.

“No, you’re correct.”

Elle nodded. “Ah, good. I like it when I’m right.” She chuckled effortlessly. There was a natural quality to her demeanor, one that suggested she was honest about herself. Elle did not hide very much, and it gave her an aura of easy contentment. (What she did hide, though, was hidden so far down inside her that even her closest relations couldn’t see it.)

She sat down. Her posture was straight and businesslike, but at the same time slightly casual; she didn’t give off the impression that she was trying too hard to be something she wasn’t.

“So I’m sure you’re familiar with the way this works.”

Cutting right to the chase, Elle reflected, that little smile playing over her face.

“You visit our club for a night, drinks and such on us. You write us a favorable, yet realistic review, and we pay you. Money is no object. Provided you fit our profile, we’ll match any salary you name.” She twisted a lock of golden hair around her index finger, gritting her teeth as another wave of pain overwhelmed her. She opened her mouth to speak but her breath caught in her throat, her mouth emitting a tiny gasp of transparent anguish. She righted herself quickly, hoping that Elle hadn’t noticed the slip.

Elle, unfortunately, had noticed the slip, but just barely. It piqued her curiosity, but it was not relevant at the present time. She would consider it later.

“Of course, I’ll need to make sure you’re the type that would enjoy our establishment. I don’t commonly enlist writers who will be forced to fabricate enthusiasm concerning our restaurant. So go ahead and talk to me about something you know well. Tell me about yourself.” Jenna leaned back in her chair, grimacing as the binder sliced gently into her skin. ”I want to see the way you talk, the circles you frequent, your past, your sense of humor.” She smiled invitingly. ”Go on. Impress me.”

The grimace did not go unnoticed either, though she covered it up with that inviting smile and Elle was left perplexed. For just a moment, she seemed to think, pursing her lips.

“Well, for starters, Miss Gray, I can assure you that I don’t fabricate anything,” she began, “so you’ve no need to worry about that. And I suppose I know myself well enough to indulge you.” She leaned back just slightly, as if thinking. “Well, clearly, I’m a writer. I take pride in my work. I’m a journalist by trade, but a novelist by heart.” Her air was conversational. She was neither bragging nor downsizing herself, but being perfectly honest. “I majored in English at Yale, and I liked it there, though sometimes I wish I could have gone to a slightly smaller school with a few less prats.” A light chuckle. “My past is remarkably dull and I won’t bore you with it, but I grew up comfortably in Chicago, and I left because the tedium of the Midwest was going to be the death of me. I frequent whatever circles seem the most interesting to me and I often stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I like quiet evenings spent reading, logic puzzles, dogs, sushi, and jazz. I’ve read more poetry than a high school English teacher, and I’m sure I know it better, too. I prefer cities to rural areas and I dislike idiots. The fact of the matter is that I’m judgmental. I just rarely speak the nasty things I’m thinking.” And that was where she stopped, seeming to have said all she needed to say. She looked up at Jenna and awaited a prompt or reaction.

[JENNA GRAY]

Jenna listened to the woman speak, almost taking pleasure in her meandering cadence. She seemed to know what she was saying in a scattered kind of manner, a certain dialect that Jenna almost never saw in those she interviewed. It was slightly intriguing, but more endearing: Jenna was almost distracted from the fires raging in her chest as she listened to the woman’s, Elle’s, story.

“Well, for starters, Miss Gray, I can assure you that I don’t fabricate anything,” she began, “so you’ve no need to worry about that. And I suppose I know myself well enough to indulge you.”

She didn’t fabricate anything. Objectively, that was going to make this woman a bit of a tough sell. As much as she talked, Jenna also needed to ensure that this woman’s review of the 40/40 was positive. If this woman didn’t find the club to her taste, their association would have to be terminated. That would be a pity, really. Jenna had never met someone so young-Jenna placed her at early twenties, if that-with such eloquence with words, such self-assurance even in her disorganized state. In the four years she’d owned the 40/40, the thought had never once crossed her mind that she might meet a woman, a woman her own age, even, with the potential and power to affiliate with a club of the 40/40’s stature and prestige. Jenna found herself crossing her fingers despite her inherent impartiality in these matters.

”Interesting,” she noted, knowing she should be jotting some of this down, but she was far too engrossed in this conversation to consider a pen and paper. ”An honorable quality, Ms. Fairchild, though you should be aware that if your review doesn’t rise to the standards that we’re looking for, you won’t be receiving the agreed compensation. Part of the contract, you can understand.” She nodded, hoping she hadn’t sounded too harsh. And Jenna hoped she didn’t have to explain the underlying consequence: that there wasn’t an establishment on Manhattan Island that Jenna Gray could not have you fired from with six easy clicks.

“Well, clearly, I’m a writer. I take pride in my work. I’m a journalist by trade, but a novelist by heart.”

An interesting way to put it, but one that Jenna also found attractive. A public and a private identity. Jenna knew more about that than Elle would ever care to. She felt the pang shoot across her chest again and tried to hide the grimace that followed. ”Interesting.” It would indeed be interesting , if Jenna took this woman on as a partner. She began mentally listing her contacts in the publishing industry, knowing that though she had the power to devastate careers, she also had the power to, in the majority of cases, stimulate them. If this woman wanted to be a novelist, Jenna Gray could make her a novelist.

“I majored in English at Yale, and I liked it there, though sometimes I wish I could have gone to a slightly smaller school with a few less prats.” Jenna suddenly felt sheepish about her public college education. “My past is remarkably dull and I won’t bore you with it, but I grew up comfortably in Chicago, and I left because the tedium of the Midwest was going to be the death of me. I frequent whatever circles seem the most interesting to me and I often stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I like quiet evenings spent reading, logic puzzles, dogs, sushi, and jazz. I’ve read more poetry than a high school English teacher, and I’m sure I know it better, too. I prefer cities to rural areas and I dislike idiots. The fact of the matter is that I’m judgmental. I just rarely speak the nasty things I’m thinking.”

Yet she doesn’t fabricate. Jenna was finding herself in more and more of this woman’s words, sending more of those zaps through her heart that she still wasn’t sure how to name. “Indeed. Intriguing.” She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Jenna knew exactly how it felt to be holding something in that was bursting to escape. ”You seem like a fine Renaissance woman indeed.” She paused, trying to word her next sentence correctly. ”And would you say you have any inherent interest that draws you to the 40/40 Club? What I mean to say is, why should I chose you to attend and review our establishment over the hundreds of others who would murder for this job?” Jenna leaned back, hoping Ms. Fairchild’s answer was exceptional. She’d really taken a liking to her.

["ELLE" FAIRCHILD]

Elle had never been shy, not since she was very small. For every personal inquiry made of her, Elle laid out her qualifications, characteristics, and flaws like playing cards. She was unashamed of herself – well, most of herself. But there were aspects of Elle that even she did not display, parts of her that she kept close to herself. She was not about to tell Ms. Gray, for instance, that despite her education, her aspirations, and her personality, she still felt that she did not qualify as a human being.

The emptiness inside her gave a great pang at the thought, and Elle pursed her lips. Years of holding her tongue had made her a very good actress. She could hide her personal agony just as well as Jenna could, and it was an agony indeed. That hollow quality made her ache, wore her out with thoughts of inferiority; perhaps she was not good enough to be a person, was not solid enough, not full enough. Jenna Gray was clearly a woman of intricate history and personality. Elle was a sarcastic lesbian from Illinois, all dressed up with her diploma from Yale, and nowhere to go with it.

“Interesting,” she noted, knowing she should be jotting some of this down, but she was far too engrossed in this conversation to consider a pen and paper. “An honorable quality, Ms. Fairchild, though you should be aware that if your review doesn’t rise to the standards that we’re looking for, you won’t be receiving the agreed compensation. Part of the contract, you can understand.”

Regaining her sense of self, Elle chuckled and leaned back in her chair, resuming her personal brand of easy grace. “Of course, I understand the way this sort of business works, Ms. Gray. I only hope I do not let you down.” She inclined her head slightly in the shadow of a nod, eyes on Jenna, the corner of her lips twisting up into that endearing half-smile again.

“Interesting.”

A sudden surge of realization washed over Elle. Jenna Gray was close to all-powerful in the New York City business world. The delicate but imposing beauty before her could make or break her entire career in this city. Perhaps it had not been wise to treat this scenario so casually at first.

If Ms. Gray didn’t like her review, she could blacklist Elle with the wave of her hand. If she did like it, she could rocket Elle to fame as an illustrious author. This was like playing with fire, and Elle was fairly certain she had forgot to bring her gloves.

Shit. Shit shit. She felt herself swept up in fantasies, good and bad; she saw herself signing copies of her tenth published novel, a bestseller; she saw herself chased from New York, having lost her job, her home, and her hope. Was she being overdramatic about this? Could Jenna Gray really do that to her? Something like indignation washed over the petite young woman as she reflected on the concept that her future was in another person’s hands.

No. She could not exaggerate, it was not like her. She was in control of her own destiny, and she would achieve her goals whether Jenna Gray liked it or not. With a shallow breath in and out, she forced a wave of calm through her body, all the way to her toes, and let herself relax.

“...thank you,” she said at last, replacing her stale smile with a fresher one. “I’m flattered you find it so.”

“Indeed. Intriguing.” Elle nodded. “You seem like a fine Renaissance woman indeed.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she replied with a note of what was almost modesty. “I’m terrible at math, for example. I always mix up the different operations, it’s atrocious, absolutely atrocious.” She chuckled with a shake of her head. “But I am good at what I do. I’ve appraised countless journalists from this city on my own time, and I’m fairly certain I’m at least in the top ten percent, despite what I lack in general experience.” Again, she was not bragging or exaggerating. She sounded very frank, like she was reciting a statistic about someone else.

The next question made Elle hesitate. “And would you say you have any inherent interest that draws you to the 40/40 Club? What I mean to say is, why should I choose you to attend and review our establishment over the hundreds of others who would murder for this job?”

For a moment, Elle considered, turning word after word over in her mind, contemplating how she might phrase her response. Her eyes drifted down to the table for a few seconds, lost in thought; then something seemed to click, and Elle looked up sharply at Jenna with a forthright confidence in her eyes. “Well, Ms. Gray, as we have come this far, I shall not lie to you.” She folded her hands, placed them on the table, and leaned forward just slightly. “I don’t like most people. I find a large percentile of the inhabitants of New York City to be vapid and self-important. They live senseless and vacuous lives that mean nothing at all. They throw their time away, and they spoil themselves when they do not deserve it. I am, nor will I ever be, one of those people.” She leaned back again slightly. “I do not waste my time, and I do not revel in absurdity. I do not usually attend clubs. However.” For a moment, her eyes flitted down to her hands, then back up at Jenna. “I understand clubgoers. Their psychology. I may not agree with it, but I understand it. I know how to write for the audience to which you will want to appeal, though I am not one of them. That is not fabrication. Just good writing.”

With a playful smirk, she added, “As for my personal interests, the chance to observe is enough to attract my attention. I’m a people-watcher. A stylish club would be a nice place for that.”

[JENNA GRAY]

Jenna crossed one leg over the other, running a hand through her silky hair and wondering vaguely if she’d intimidated this woman. As much as Jenna enjoyed the sense of power and respect which she’d been vehemently denied the majority of her life, it always sent a pang of guilt splitting through her mind to know that someone in the world, no matter how inconsequential, was unhappy with her. Uncomfortable in her presence. It was the same sensation as that of those nights she was forced to reprimand an employee: it was as if an enormous weight was splayed across her heart, tugging it downwards as she tried to go about her daily business. She hated knowing that she’d made someone’s day worse, even if for the most minute of moments. She hated knowing that someone in the world was thinking about her in a negative light. It was a bit of an insecurity, she supposed.

But still, she needed to be civil. Honest and civil, that was her façade. Jenna Gray, the former celebrity and supermodel, did not harbor insecurities. After all, her wealth and reputation knew no bounds. What was there to be insecure about?

Nothing. That was what.

Nothing.

“Of course, I understand the way this sort of business works, Ms. Gray. I only hope I do not let you down.”

”Noted,” replied Jenna curtly, though she longed to burst into an array of questions. Her modest tone intrigued Jenna, honestly. If this woman, Elle, was as prolific a journalist as she seemed to believe, why hold back on such things? This was an interview that could, and very well might, decide the course of her future, after all. Why not express the full extent of her accomplishments and talent? Had Jenna any inherent gifts or skills, she would certainly have displayed them to their fullest extents. Unfortunately, all she’d been given was her long blonde hair, and a body that was rather pleasing to look at.

A wave of dysphoria washed over her, and she suppressed it with difficulty as she listened to her interviewee. This woman must be comfortable with herself. Her appearance. She seemed to know herself well enough, after all. Jenna felt the envy creeping up her spine, and wondered whether performing these interviews herself had been the best of ideas after all. Jacob had offered, and even Jenna herself could see how awful her attempts at objectivity were going.

As Elle continued to describe herself, Jenna could feel the emotions broiling within her until they were almost too much to bear.

As she finally finished with ”I’m a people-watcher. A stylish club would be a nice place for that,” Jenna could barely suppress a vehement stream of nods. ”An interesting way to put it,” said her voice. You’re hired, screamed her mind.

And then, as if some unseen force had seized her hand, she was crossing off her next four appointments on her planner, and then she was dialing a phone, and then she was nodding and smiling at Elle across from her and saying "The club will open in an hour's time. We'll have you seated and comfortable by then. You'll experience the atmosphere for a few hours, we'll provide the cameras, recording equipment, quotes, and, of course, the drinks." She smiled warmly. “Ever ridden in a limousine?”

["ELLE" FAIRCHILD]

Elle was not easily shaken. She tended to be steadfast, genuine, someone who could stand in the face of her fears and at least make some sort of attempt to confront them. She wouldn’t call herself courageous, but she wasn’t a coward, either. Or, she hoped she was not a coward. She had tried her best to at least be somewhat adventurous, no matter what had come of that.

But this woman.

She wasn’t…uncomfortable, but upon her realization of how powerful Jenna really was, she was more…intimidated. One wrong step. Just one. This rich and beautiful woman could destroy her. She held Elle in the palm of her hand; was she being too casual? Too modest? Was she doing the right thing? Should she even have come?

”Noted.”

Noted. That was all. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? What was this woman thinking right now? Elle longed, for the millionth time in her life, to be able to read minds, to walk among this woman’s thoughts and understand them. She wanted to know if she was doing this right or if she was a complete and utter disappointment, because that nagging question was bothering her, bothering her endlessly.

No, no, no. She was comfortable with herself, nevermind these torturous questions. Well. Mostly comfortable with herself. Largely comfortable with herself. Comfortable, that is, with what she believed to be a self.

Incomplete. She was still…incomplete. Somehow.

”An interesting way to put it.”

”Thank you,” she said after a moment’s pause. Jenna did not seem disappointed in this answer…that was positive, yes? Yes. Yes, it had to be.

Yes. She was saying that far too much. What was she, some sort of babbling ten-year-old? With a sigh, she took a moment to pull herself together; she had to have confidence in the abilities she knew she possessed. Elle had studied at Yale, and there, she had honed and refined her skills in the manipulation of the English language until she could win awards. Whatever challenge Jenna set before her, Elle knew she was prepared to face it. She could do this. She would do this. She would get this job and make Jenna Gray exceedingly happy with the article she produced.

That was exactly what Elle Fairchild would do.

"The club will open in an hour's time. We'll have you seated and comfortable by then. You'll experience the atmosphere for a few hours, we'll provide the cameras, recording equipment, quotes, and, of course, the drinks." She smiled warmly. “Ever ridden in a limousine?”

Elle’s eyes widened, forcing down the smile that threatened to split her face in half as she observed that delectably friendly smile and heard those incredibly reassuring words. This was it. She’d gotten the job.

She knew she could. Ha. She was never worried at all.

”I, ah, I can’t say I have, no,” she replied, letting a slightly larger smile than usual curl the corners of her lips. ”Ah…” Words. She was a goddess of words. Surely she could find some to thank the radiant Ms. Gray. ”Thank you, Ms. Gray. Really. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity.”

No flattery. No groveling, no fawning. Just a simple, honest thanks.

[JENNA GRAY]

In this string of instants, centuries, and fractions of heartbeats, Jenna felt as if her world had been turned inside out. Less than a moment ago, it seemed, she'd been staring at her sobbing reflection in the window, overlooking the abyss of the city that slept little and cared even less. Less than a moment ago she'd been dangling over a bottomless pit of pain, the flames licking her legs as she recoiled with all her might. And now she was here, sitting passively behind her desk, staring into the eyes of this confident, clear-headed woman with an aura of intelligence that, no matter how much she observed, Jenna was sure she would never be able to emulate. Here she was, wishing that she could spend the next few hours in this safe, secure place, with none of the pressures and professionalisms and pains that the real world dumped upon everyone who dared to enter it.

Jenna's eyes wandered to the window, where the sun was setting over the New York City skyline. The lights were beginning to spring up across the streets, and the tops of buildings formed a jagged, sourly endearing smile. Promise, it whispered, like a rasp in the ear of every bright young youth, fresh out of college, and fresh into a world of deception and deceit.

You are an illusion. The thought came to her in a flash of dour instinct. The American Dream. The lights of this city, the screeching of car horns and the heartbeats if pedestrians, molding together into a sardonic mirage. You are a monster.

But this woman was different. The mannerisms and demeanor if the world she bore upon her shoulders, the brightness in her eyes when Jenna showed hints of approval, the comfort and honesty in her tone reflecting a world that was sheltered, a world that was pure, ideal, sprawling with mystery, with opportunity and acceptance.

There was no place for someone like Jenna in this city of closed walls and closed minds. And yet, Jenna knew that Places had no bearing with Elle. In this room, Jenna was herself and no one else. If only she could stay here, in this open and honest environment, an environment that had existed for only a few minutes, but felt like a century she’d just unwrapped.

She’d only just met this woman. What was she thinking?


But as her head turned back to Elle, her mind wandered back to the club a few miles down Broadway. The lights began to flash and whirl in her head, the music blasting in her ears. Jimmy would have doors open, Alma would be behind the bar, and the first trickle of young, sober customers would begin to trickle in. Glasses would clink, coins would rattle, and the elite of New York City would hide their true selves behind sweet smiles and corteous, meaningless conversation. She really should be getting back.

”I, ah, I can’t say I have, no,” she replied, letting a slightly larger smile than usual curl the corners of her lips. ”Ah…” Words. She was a goddess of words. Surely she could find some to thank the radiant Ms. Gray. ”Thank you, Ms. Gray. Really. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity.”

”Well. I suppose this will be a new experience for you, then.” Jenna was always startled to remember that the general public did not have access to her own lavish transportation system. ”And thank you, Ms. Fairchild.” She cringed at the gender generalization, but knew that a substitution would probably prove alarming at this stage. ”It’s liaisons like yourself who make our establishment thrive, after all.” She made another selection on her speed dial menu, standing up and brushing herself off. ”Jeb? On my way. The limo should be here any…yes, yes, we’ll be waiting at the curb.” A small smile trickled across her lips. ”Mhm. I believe I’ve found her.”

She held the office door for Elle and closed it softly behind them, her heals clicking on the floor as Jenna led her down the hallway, into a short spell in the clear-glass elevator, and into the cool city evening. ”Nice evening,” she remarked offhandedly, raising a hand to wave as the limousine pulled into view from around the corner.

["ELLE" FAIRCHILD]

This was it.

This was it.

This had to be an offer of a lifetime, the pivotal point of her career, this, this moment. She had done it.

She had most certainly done it and that was that.

There had been times in Elle’s life when her personality got her into trouble. Some people in the world – in fact, many people – tended to be slightly intimidated by Elle’s up-front demeanor, her air of almost complete naturalness and indifference to her own strange androgyny. Yes, she was a lesbian. Yes, she was a journalist. Yes, she wrote what she wrote how she wrote it and she wasn’t about to start writing lies. No, she didn’t have much experience with the world, and yes, she knew that that was a drawback.

It seemed that some were unaccustomed to how rapidly and how surely Elle could answer questions about herself, hardly even considering the benefits or liabilities. Unless it came to being impolite, Elle was always extraordinarily honest. However, her more sarcastic and snarky comments, though frequent, were kept behind her lips. Her father had raised her better than that. Though she was not the most upstanding citizen in all of America, she was certainly educated and well-bred enough to be polite.

But Jenna, of all people, seemed to be comfortable with Elle’s sincerity. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it, even.

Fascinating...

”Well. I suppose this will be a new experience for you, then. And thank you, Ms. Fairchild. It’s liaisons like yourself who make our establishment thrive, after all.”

“It certainly will be,” Elle replied with one of her little half-smiles. “And I should be the one thanking you, Ms. Gray. This is truly the opportunity of a lifetime.” Being called ‘Ms. Fairchild’ seemed so old and stuffy, but offering for Jenna simply to call her “Elle,” as she would have preferred, seemed a bit preemptive at this point in time.

She watched Jenna pick up her phone and dial in a call.

”Jeb? On my way. The limo should be here any…yes, yes, we’ll be waiting at the curb.” A small smile trickled across her lips. ”Mhm. I believe I’ve found her.”

Elle felt a thrill of terror and delight flicker up her spine.

She followed Jenna out the door, into the cold glass of the elevator, and out into the brisk evening, trying to hold down her uncontrollable smile. ”A lovely evening,” she agreed. “I do wish I could see the stars more clearly in the city, though...I’m very fond of them.”

[JENNA GRAY]

It wasn’t often that one could see the stars in New York City, and it was even less often that this particular one could. Jenna’s life was quite the rush on almost all occasions, from the apartment to the limousine to the office to the limousine to the club to the limousine to the apartment, broken into rugged intervals by various, irregular and often spontaneous bouts of sleep. It did show, really, the few opportunities with which she was graced to glance up at the sky, squinting at the tiny pinpoints of light that danced almost sardonically before her eyes.

Back in Lanagan, in the open expanse of the hillside cemetery between the parallel traintracks where the engines had always tugged their cargo along at precisely two in the afternoon each day, the purposes shrouded in a lazy demeanor that mirrored the insular world through which they traversed, Jenna had reclined in the shadow of a tombstone and lost herself in the dizzying heights of the stars. And what had they been then? Dreams. Wishes. Hopes. An infinity beyond the borders of Lanagan, beyond the one-horse towns and abandoned farmhouses and winding brooks leading to nowhere, a world of promise and innovation that she’d known, someday, she would enter.

And what were they now? Nostalgia? Jenna almost chuckled at the irony. Did they represent Lanagan now, the tiny community of cows and grasses and trees and shrubs and order, everything making sense, everything simple, everything clear? The fact that, after finding herself in hundreds of the cities she’d yearned for in her dreams throughout her childhood, Lanagan was still the only place she’d ever been able to truly call home?

Home. And what was a home anyway? A place where one was accepted? Understood? Content with every aspect of one’s life?

The stars, maybe.

Jenna shook her head. This internal silliness was what came of being preoccupied with multiple conveyances for the majority of her working life. Perhaps this woman would be a nice break.

“It certainly will be,” Elle replied with one of her little half-smiles. “And I should be the one thanking you, Ms. Gray. This is truly the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Opportunity of a lifetime.

Her eyes were pulled to the stars again.

”I hope that it will be. I think you’ll find that our establishment is a rather different atmosphere from those of other clubs you may have attended.” She had no way of truly knowing this, of course, but she was relatively certain that, given the fact that this woman was after a job as a night-club critic, her experience with other clubs of the 40/40’s caliber was not particularly wide. ”Our philosophy is rather more…I guess you could say “conservative”?” She chuckled to herself, hoping the word didn’t carry a negative connotation with this woman. ”We try to cater to a more sophisticated crowd than most. The exception being, of course, Super Bowl night.” Sports Bar quirk, she supposed, trying not to giggle at the memories of last year. Even Jenna had to admit that that night had been rather enjoyable in its raucousness.

”A lovely evening,” she agreed. “I do wish I could see the stars more clearly in the city, though...I’m very fond of them.”

The limousine pulled up to the curb after what seemed like ages. Jenna pulled the door open, nodding to the driver, and ushering Ms. Fairchild in. Ladies first, said Jay sardonically, as she felt zir stirring in her mind. But not tonight, she thought, shutting the memories out. She’d done a good job of eradicating most of her dysphoria today. Relatively, in any case.

”Don’t we all,” she replied, more to herself than anyone else, following Ms. Fairchild into the vehicle and shutting the door carefully behind them. ”There’s a very nice observation deck on the top floor of our club. Generally closed off as far as the public is concerned, but we tend to make exceptions for our more esteemed customers.” She twirled a strand of blonde hair around a finger, contemplating as the lights of the city flashed by out the side window. ”They’re quite beautiful from there. The stars, I mean. Quite…well, I’ll have to show you when we arrive.”

["ELLE" FAIRCHILD]

The universe.

When Elle looked at the sky, that was what she strained to see. The universe. The fabric of time and space or whatever it was that surrounded them, unseen. Those sort of abstract concepts had always both repelled and fascinated her. How could there be a fabric of time and space? What was it comprised of? How could it possibly exist? No tear or rip or weakening had ever occurred in it outside of science fiction.

And how big was the universe, really? she wondered. What might it feel like to see the very corners of the universe, and to go beyond them into...what? Nothingness? It had to be, as Elle did not believe in an afterlife.

Her world was so finite.

She wanted infinity, a promise to everything, anything, a fullness that went on forever. And she felt so very un-infinite, so very contained in her little body in her little world on this little planet, sometimes. So very, very finite.

Chicago had been such an oppressive place to her. The Midwest itself was stifling. It got into her lungs and choked her with its monotony, its simple happiness and tedious landscapes. And sometimes she wondered if she should have been born there at all, or if it had ever been where she belonged.

But did she belong anywhere? Really?

It was a question that had yet to be answered.

Opportunity of a lifetime.

She only had one of those.

”I hope that it will be. I think you’ll find that our establishment is a rather different atmosphere from those of other clubs you may have attended. Our philosophy is rather more…I guess you could say “conservative”? We try to cater to a more sophisticated crowd than most. The exception being, of course, Super Bowl night.”

“I’ll do my utmost to enjoy it,” Elle replied, jokingly cheeky. She wasn’t sure if she was in a position to behave that way yet, but believed her tone subtle enough to be acceptable. “I should hope to find that, seeing as most clubs are...well. Frankly, they make me very claustrophobic. And occasionally bring my IQ down a few points.” That wry little smile crept up her face again, and she glanced at Jenna, before her eyes were distracted by the approaching limousine.

Elle had never bothered with her high school prom, and even if she had, her parents would not have been able to afford a limo. For that reason, she had never actually been granted the luxury of riding in one, though it hadn’t exactly been a life goal of hers.

Still, new experiences.

She clambered carefully into the long car, cautious of everything, as if she were afraid she could break the vehicle just by sitting down incorrectly. It was the way she often behaved around things she could not afford.

”Don’t we all.” She watched Jenna close the door behind them and noted, almost subconsciously, how very pretty she really was. But, of course, those thoughts were not appropriate. ”There’s a very nice observation deck on the top floor of our club. Generally closed off as far as the public is concerned, but we tend to make exceptions for our more esteemed customers. They’re quite beautiful from there. The stars, I mean. Quite…well, I’ll have to show you when we arrive.”

Elle’s eyes brightened considerably at this new fact.

“I would love to spend a bit of time up there,” she mused, turning her eyes to the window and watching the landscape begin to move past the window, faster and faster, like an in-flight movie. “I’m sure it’s lovely...”

After a moment of thought, she glanced at her new employer and asked, carefully, ”If you don’t mind my asking, Ms. Gray, what was your motivation to settle down in New York City?”

[JENNA GRAY]

”Here we are, Miss Gray.”

Ms, said Jay, growling the way Jenna’s throat longed to. ”And welcome to the 40/40, Ms. Fairchild.” Jenna smiled benevolently, stepping lithely onto the sidewalk as the door slid open before her. Before them rose the 40/40 Club, a palace of marble sprouting a tower, with pink and purple fireworks exploding into the night sky. Jenna rolled her eyes: how Ralphie had managed to win her over on that one, she honestly had no idea.

“I’ll do my utmost to enjoy it,” Elle replied, jokingly cheeky. She wasn’t sure if she was in a position to behave that way yet, but believed her tone subtle enough to be acceptable. “I should hope to find that, seeing as most clubs are...well. Frankly, they make me very claustrophobic. And occasionally bring my IQ down a few points.”

Jenna smiled wryly. ”We’ll make sure you do. Our highest priority here at the 40/40 is customer satisfaction, of which we always try to make a point.” Jenna knew she had to begin watching what she said, and also what she showed this woman. After all, she would be releasing an opinion on Jenna’s establishment that would, if Jenna had anything to say about it, be read by a number of potentially lucrative customers. This was too good an opportunity not to milk for all it was worth. ”You’ll be accustomed to undergraduate ‘night life’, I’m sure.” Jenna laughed slightly, trying hard not to scoff. Clubs who catered to the “college audience” were something of a joke among the industry. ”We’re quite a different sort of enterprise. You won’t find many of your old college comrades here.” She hoped she didn’t sound narcissistic: she was simply stating what the statistics showed. No reason to sugar-coat the truth, she’d always believed.

Lay it bare, or hide it entirely. That was Jay’s philosophy.

“I would love to spend a bit of time up there,” she mused, turning her eyes to the window and watching the landscape begin to move past the window, faster and faster, like an in-flight movie. “I’m sure it’s lovely...”

”It is indeed.” Jenna smiled. ”We’ll start you off with a few drinks and have you up there in no time at all. The night is yours, Ms. Fairchild.”

A bustling line of people stretched down a grand staircase from the entrance to the sidewalk, with two bouncers at the doors thumbing through piles of IDs. Jenna led Ms. Fairchild through the crowd, ducking cameras and shooing reporters. She smiled at the bouncer, acknowledging him with a curt nod and a ”Jake.” And soon they were in the lobby, another marble construction with glossy floors stretching on all sides of them. Escalators dipped into the ground straight ahead, with the doors to the Performance Space, currently in renovation, to their left and the doors to the business lounge hidden slightly behind a palm tree. A long hallway to the parking garage stretched to their right, adorned with exotic potted plants along either wall. Jenna stood for a minute, surveying the area, assuring herself that everything was in order. As people streamed through the doors and down the escalators, she waited passively, allowing Ms. Fairchild to acclimate herself to the new surroundings.

”If you don’t mind my asking, Ms. Gray, what was your motivation to settle down in New York City?”

Her motivation to settle down in New York City. Well. That was certainly a question. ”Opportunity,” she said carefully. The most simple way to sum up an enormously complex answer, she supposed. ”A modeling job opened up, and I relocated. Certainly more opportunities for shoots in a city like New York than down in Missouri.” She chuckled quietly. ”It ended up being for the best, as you can see.” She gestured at the splendor surrounding her, the epitome of the upper elite. ”Though I’m clearly not in the business anymore. And yourself? Or are you a native?”

["ELLE" FAIRCHILD]

”And welcome to the 40/40, Ms. Fairchild.”

As Elle stepped out of the limo, she gazed up at this pinnacle of modern entertainment and could hardly keep herself from smiling. It was like a fairytale castle for adults, she reflected with a little quirk of a smile. The fireworks seemed like a little much, but she supposed that showiness was something that clubs were known for and decided she could allow for it.

”We’ll make sure you do. Our highest priority here at the 40/40 is customer satisfaction, of which we always try to make a point.”

“I should think it would be, looking at this fine establishment,” Elle noted. “It already seems rather refined in demeanor, I appreciate that especially.” She glanced over at Jenna and quietly reflected to herself how much she was playing the businesswoman now, something that made Elle insatiably curious. What was Jenna Gray really like when she wasn’t being Jenna Gray…? She had to know.

Wait, what, no. She had a job to do here. She was a journalist, and she had a very wealthy woman offering to pay her quite a lot of money to write something about her club. There was no time to be curious.

“You’ll be accustomed to undergraduate ‘night life’, I’m sure. We’re quite a different sort of enterprise. You won’t find many of your old college comrades here.”

“Honestly, not particularly,” Elle noted sheepishly at the suggesting of her acquaintance with college night life. “And I should hope that I don’t find any of my colleagues here, I’m horribly awkward around people I’ve already met.” Here she uttered a dry little laugh, mildly poking fun at herself through her blatant honesty.

”It is indeed. We’ll start you off with a few drinks and have you up there in no time at all. The night is yours, Ms. Fairchild.”

A slightly giddy feeling washed over the young woman, but she suppressed the grin that threatened at the corners of her mouth. “Right, excellent. Thank you.” She made a mental note in her head to put a great deal of emphasis on the atmosphere of the place, which she already found herself enjoying despite the fact she wasn’t fond of clubs. Yes, she figured she would have a great deal of material for her article if things kept going the way they were.

The place had class. Jenna had class. And Elle, who was simple, overt, and occasionally a bit discomfited, massively admired that.

Elle’s eyes widened at the extraordinary length of the line running down the staircase. This place was more popular than she would have expected. Given, the NYC night life was nothing to scoff at, but she honestly wondered why Jenna Gray was even having her write an article if her club was already so popular as to have a thick line of customers clogging the entrance. However, she swallowed her questions on the subject and followed Ms. Gray past Jake the Bouncer, glancing his way and offering him a slightly embarrassed smile. She didn’t really belong here, but she was going to do her best not to show it. Good luck with that, she thought dryly to herself.

She paused and took in the vast marble expanse of the belly of the beast. It was truly extraordinary; as she had expected, the rest of the place was as expensive-looking and classy as the exterior. Taking a deep breath in, she glanced towards Jenna, and smiled a smile that said without words that she liked what she saw already.

“Opportunity. A modeling job opened up, and I relocated. Certainly more opportunities for shoots in a city like New York than down in Missouri. It ended up being for the best, as you can see. Though I’m clearly not in the business anymore. And yourself? Or are you a native?”

“Me, a native? Oh, God, no, I’m not nearly exciting enough to come from a place like this.” Her smile was honest, but also slightly cheeky. “No, I’m from the Midwest. Chicago suburbs. I suppose I came here for the same reason you did: opportunity. I figured I needed to do something with my fancy English degree from Yale, and New York seemed like the place to do it.”