Fallow and the greener grass.

Judith Marley was sick.  Jason Fallow was happy.  He could finally fill in for the chick-lit heroine department.  Sure, he could handle lonely women with strong convictions.  Loved them!  In fact, it'd be an easy day.  He had highlighted his hair blonde just for the chance to show the Agency that he was serious about the position.

Maybe the rumours that Marley was pregnant were true.  If that were the case, they'd need someone to replace her.  Honestly speaking, Marley was too sentimental for her own good.  While it certainly would be nice to spend hours drinking tea withh the Jane Eyre's of the world, he knew getting these women back to work would be his first priority.

As he settled into Marley's corner office, the smell of lavender and vanilla filled his senses.  What a welcome escape from the wierd cast of characters who had trooped into his office last week dressed up as the gang from "Scooby Doo".  How would he know when the script for the Wood of Lost Souls would be completed?  Seems there was a writer's strike when the character who played Scrabby in the original series demanded to be included.

It didn't matter now.  Now, it was all phone numbers from hot women like Jo - sure she had tried to off herself in the tub because of some guy Alan, but really?  Like fish a Barrel.  And all of the poets out there, yes, he loved the creative juices that flowed from heart broken women.  He wondered if maybe patchouli would suit this office better.

Then clattering!  And stomping!  The door to his office flung open with the fury of a Sahara sandstorm.

Rebecca was in tow, of not one, but three women all trying to squeeze through the door at once.  And not one of them would be what he imagined.

A plumper lady led the charge.

"I own not one, but three television stations and I demand to know what's going on with my Sister", she declared.  Her eyes were like opera spectacles.  Too small.  Vacant and intense.  Her face was an instant oxymoron.  Her general nature was one that declared that if there was something she did not know, it was simply not worth knowing.

Rebecca dared to try to squeeze in but was obstructed by a woman in a ballroom gown.  She was middle aged, perhaps early forties, but had obviously went for a look suggesting sex appeal over dignity.  She was attractive, moreso than the other two but seemed, well, a little different.

"Ladies, if only, you'd tell me your names"

The woman in the ballroom gown responded with a saccharine smile.

"Why, yes, of course, to those who inquire politely..." 

Rebeccah's shock was interrupted by the sound of crunching.  The third personality was a pudgy twelve year old girl wearing a tight pink t-shirt covered in chocolate stains.  She was eating a Snickers bar that she had taken from Rebecca's desk drawer.

"Miss, do you mind?"

"Nope.", came the impish retort between smacking sounds, "Obviously not at all"

Rebecca turned back towards the other two and, straightenning her blouse, tried to reclaim her dignity.

"You must be here for the workshop"

Yet the office was virtually empty.  And Fallow was quiet.  There was an axe buried in the back of his head.  Blood meandered onto a manilla folder labelled, "C.Lit :Malicious diary writers and the people who read them"


The End

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