The Intern

[ms_tiff]

Closed for TimTimTyner


"You need to step it up if you're going to make it in this business, Ms Jones. I'm sending you out for some real world experience. It's a bit unconventional to give a freshman an internship, but I feel this will help you decide if you're in the right major." Professor Park sat back in his seat, surveying the young woman across from him. If he wasn't her professor and knew she was college-aged, the man would have sworn that the woman in his office was a girl playing at being a student.

She was petite, barely over five foot if he had to guess, and had a nearly stick straight build. Boyish was the only way to truly describe her body; any womanly curves she might possess hidden beneath the drab gray cardigan she always wore. She wore honey colored hair in a braid that hit around mid-back, a few errant strands coming loose to fall in front of her face. Large, black plastic frames sat perched on a button nose, hiding big blue eyes that looked like they belonged on a porcelain doll.

"Isn't there something else I could do?" Eva shrunk down in her seat, her fingers nervously toying with the sleeves of her cardigan.

"I'm sorry," Professor Park didn't look the least bit sorry as he shook his balding head. "It's either the internship or I have to fail you." He slid a folder across the desk. "This is all the information. The editor is expecting you at eight tomorrow morning for assignment."





Standing in front of the brick building, its walls of windows glaring down at her ominously, Eva Jones was tempted to turn tail and run. Dressed in a simple purple dress and gray cardigan with her black stockings and ballet flats, Eva felt like a kindergartner in a sea of adults. Terrified and feeling completely out of place among the sophisticated journalists that were already swarming the building, Eva took a hesitant step forward.

Professor Park's words echoed in her ears - internship or fail. Eva hadn't failed a class before. Never. She was always ahead of the curve. Heck, she was the one who defined the curve. Failure was not an option now. Not when it counted most.

Drawing in a deep breath she moved through the doors and walked up to the receptionist.

"Um..excuse me." Her voice soft and mousy as the receptionist sat typing away at her computer. "Um I'm here to see Mr. Kenton, I'm Eva Jones. I think he's expecting me." The receptionist held up a perfectly manicured finger, never once looking up from the computer screen. Eva stood, unsure of what to do, fiddling with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Ah, Ms Jones, Park told me you'd be coming in. Walk with me." An older man breezed into the lobby, the florescent lighting gleaming off his silver gray hair.

Mr. George Kenton, editor of the Daily Times, escorted Eva around the building in a whirlwind tour that she doubted she'd remember. She tried her best to remember everything he said, but, in truth, the sea of endless faces and names was far too overwhelming for a girl who had grown up in small town Nebraska.

"And this here, is where you'll be working." Kenton stopped in front of a desk, or what could possibly be a desk underneath the piles and piles of folders and clippings. "I've assigned you to work with one reporter, whose desk is right across the way here." He pointed to an empty cubicle an arm's length away - the desk of which was littered with old coffee cups and what looked suspiciously like a bottle of alcohol tucked behind a stack of papers. "He should be rolling in at any...Ah, speak of the devil. Ms Jones, I want you to meet the reporter you'll be working with for the semester."

Eva's eyes widened as the burliest man she'd ever seen stalked towards them and she bit back a squeak.

"Rock, this is Eva Jones, she's your new intern. Eva, this is Richard Haroldson. I think you two will get along quite nicely." Was it Eva's imagination or did Mr. Kenton look like he was enjoying this way too much.

 

[TimTimTyner]

Richard "Rock" Haroldson
48 years old
6', 200#; fit and muscular, with a layer of "good living" fat just thick enough to hide his strong pecs and abs.



It had been a hard night of drinking and socializing. Rock was still hung over as he exited the elevator onto the 10th Floor, into what he called The tenth level of hell. The after effects of the night were all over his face. The dark shades he was still wearing hid his blood shot eyes, but the smell of booze and cigar smoke infused every fiber of his wrinkled casual suit.

Rock heard his editor's voice, and knew the words were directed at him. "He should be rolling in at any...Ah, speak of the devil,"

Ignoring the life long newspaper man, Rock looked to the young woman instead. He couldn't suppress the smile that spread his lips as he thought, That is a woman, isn't it? Rock liked his women bosomy and well rounded. This woman standing near the long-abandoned Intern Desk was a stick of a figure, and if it hadn't been for the long hair and dress, Rock might have thought he was staring at an effeminate male.

And yet, as his boss continued, Rock couldn't help but generate the beginnings of an erection, ogling the woman from breasts to legs from behind the glasses, head unmoving. He may have preferred big and bold, but a woman was a woman, and Rock loved women.

"Ms Jones, I want you to meet the reporter you'll be working with for the semester," George went on, turning to the college student's new boss to say, "Rock, this is Eva Jones, she's your new intern. Eva, this is Richard Haroldson. I think you two will get along quite nicely."

Rock's gaze shifted to George, becoming a hard glare which, of course, the editor couldn't see behind the glasses. Rock considered shedding the shades to ensure George read the emotion but didn't. Rock knew that George knew how he felt ... about the editor ... about having a new, inexperienced assistant ... about the 10th Level of Hell ... about life in general.

George headed off, leaving Rock to again stare at the stick figure before him. He studied her in silence for a long moment before saying with the tone of a boss, "Black. No cream, no sugar, no mocha, no foam. Black!"

He turned for his desk, continuing, "Carla's Coffee, kitty corner to this god forsaken building, between the bodega and the news stand. I have a tab there."

He dropped into his chair, pulled the bottle of gin out from under a stack of files, and -- after staring at it longingly for a moment -- opened a desk drawer and instead tossed it inside. What the fuck am I doing here? How the FUCK did I get here?

Rock knew how he'd ended up at the city's #2 newspaper, of course. He'd fucked up. He had once been a famous, well respected journalist, having accumulated dozens of awards including not just one but two Pulitzers. And then came the Private Private Affair. And suddenly, no one cared about his past work. Even after it had been proven that he'd been set up -- been fed incorrect information for the purpose of writing an unsubstantiated story -- Rock couldn't find anyone who would keep him on as an investigative reporter.

So, now, here he was writing stories about hospital wing openings, hurricane damaged neighborhoods, and the disruption of freeway traffic caused by the President's frequent visits to town. He needed to get back on the investigative saddle again, but...

Life...

 

[ms_tiff]

The second Rock Haroldson's back was turned, Eva bolted for the door. While she wasn't eager to be his errand girl, Eva would take any excuse to escape the chaos of the newspaper office. Not to mention escape the more than a little intimidating form of Rock Haroldson. The man was a giant, easily dwarfing Eva and making her feel even more a child than she already felt.

Rounding the corner she found Carla's Coffee.

"Black coffee, please." She ordered, glancing around as she toyed with the end of her braid. "Can you...um place it on Richard Haroldson's tab?"

"You working for Rock?" The barista, a busty woman with choppy black hair, gave her a quick up and down with a knowing gaze. "You poor thing. That man is going to chew you up and spit you out." She placed the steaming cup of coffee on the counter and added a cookie to the order.

"Here ya go, sweetie. Fresh baked this morning and on the house. Trust me, you'll need something sweet after a day with that man."

"Uh...thank you." Eva grabbed the coffee, balancing the cookie on top and made her way back to the office. Slowly, of course, not wanting to spend more time than necessary around her new 'mentor'. But the walk was far too short and, before she knew it, Eva was back on the tenth floor of the Daily Times.

"Here's your coffee Mr. Harol...Mr. Roc..uh, Sir." Eva placed the cup on the edge of his desk and pushed it towards him as if he were a wild animal who might bite her at the slightest provocation. Judging from his haggard, hungover appearance, she probably wasn't far off on that assumption.

Reaching into the messenger bag slung over her shoulder, Eva pulled out a piece of paper and placed it beside the coffee cup.

"This is my schedule, Sir," she said meekly, "so you know when I'll be able to come in. I can work from eight until one on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. And I can be in from eleven to five on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Um..." she stared down at the tips of her shoes, scuffing them into the worn carpet, "is there anything I should be doing?"

 

[TimTimTyner]

Rock was picking through files on his desk when the new girl, whose name he'd already forgotten, returned to slip his coffee across the desk toward him.

"Here's your coffee Mr. Harol...Mr. Roc..uh, Sir."

He studied her again, his sunglasses how resting atop his head, allowing her to see his gaze rise up and down her. Then, feeling a bit evil, he said with a serious tone, "Mister Haroldson."

Rock wouldn't stick to that demand, of course, but he'd have fun with it for a while. He turned away from Eva and began picking through his files again, tossing some onto a new pile to be kept, others into the empty banker's boxes from which they'd come, and still others into the garbage can next to his desk.

"This is my schedule, Sir," Eva said, explaining her availability.

Rock ignored her. He'd call on her when he needed her, something she'd learn soon and come to despise just as quickly.

"Is there anything I should be doing?"

"These go to Archives," Rock began almost before Eva had even finished her question, kicking the boxes at his feet. He patted the stack on his desk, continuing, "Look through these. We're looking for three names: Crocker, Hamilton, and Parker."

Rock didn't clarify that the three men were people of interest in a new story about influence peddling in downtown real estate for two reasons: first, he expected a student in journalism to be following current events, which meant she should have recognized the names anyway; and two, he really fucking didn't want to do this story, so he wasn't about to waste any energy or oxygen on explaining it to her.

"Look for connections and organize your research on a flash for me," he said, standing and lowering his shades again as he drank from the paper cup. He set it aside, snatched the hidden bottle of booze despite it still being before noon, and as he turned and headed away from her, told Eva in a demanding voice, "Bring it to my apartment by five."

Rock didn't tell her his address. She was a reporter, right? She should be able to figure out who to ask. His head was still spinning, and no amount of caffeine was going to solve that problem. What he needed was rest on his couch ... and the rest of the bottle now in his jacket pocket...

(OOC: Sending you a PM.)

 

[ms_tiff]

What was she doing? Eva paced in front of Mr. Haroldson's apartment building. The flash drive of data she'd collected felt slick in her sweaty palm. Her mind was in turmoil as she debated with herself: go in or leave the drive with the doorman? Neither option appealed to Eva.

"You must be the girl Mr. Harloldson's expecting." A man's voice startled Eva. With a squeak of surprise she turned around to see an older gentleman in a doorman's uniform standing behind her.

"I..yes." She nodded. With a grin that suggested he had allowed quite a few "girls" in for Rock Haroldson, he held the door open and ushered a timid Eva inside.

"Apartment B. You can't miss it." The doorman winked as he all but pushed Eva inside the elevator and pressed the button for the seventh floor.

Drawing in a deep breath, Eva willed herself to calm down. It wasn't so bad. At least it couldn't be worse than meeting Rock that morning. All she had to do was knock, hand over the drive and leave. Simple as that. Once he had the drive she could turn tail and run for the library, which had been her original plan for the evening.

All too soon the elevator doors pinged open and Eva stepped out onto the seventh floor. Apartment B was right there, directly in front of her. Oh god.

Hesitantly, Eva reached out and knocked softly on the door. Praying that he wouldn't answer. Maybe he wasn't even in and she could just slip the flash drive under his door. Sadly, God wasn't listening to her silent pleas and the door opened to reveal Rock Haroldson clad only in boxers.

Cheeks burning hot, Eva tried not to stare at the half-naked man in front of her. But her eyes had a mind of their own as they traveled over the masculine physique.

"Here's the drive you asked for, Mr. Haroldson." She squeaked pitifully, holding out the aforementioned drive.

Rocks' gaze slid over her as he grunted and turned back into his apartment, leaving the door open. Not sure what to do, Eva poked her head into the apartment, eyes widening at the sight of the very obvious bachelor pad. The place was a disaster area littered with clothing and newspapers, bottles of booze laying on every available surface. Eva's blush deepened as she caught sight of a bright red bra peaking out from under the couch cushions. She could only pray that there wasn't a topless woman about to come out and greet her.

"I'll just...I'll just leave this here." She stepped gingerly inside the apartment and placed the drive on the coffee table beside an open laptop. Her eyes quickly skittering away from the images of half-naked women that flashed across the screen.

God why hadn't she just gone to the library like she planned. Clutching the strap on her messenger bag, Eva stepped towards the open door, desperate for escape.

"I'll be going now, Mr. Haroldson. Have a um...pleasant night."

 

[TimTimTyner]

"I'll be going now, Mr. Haroldson," Eva nervously. "Have a um...pleasant night."

"Boot it up," he called from the kitchen. When he peeked out while pouring a cup of coffee into his favorite mug -- on it was the phrase The best cup of the coffee is the one I drink while you keep your mouth shut -- he found Eva looking at him with the expression of a woman who wanted to flee. Rock knew that expression well, of course: not every women who ever came to his apartment wanted to stay longer than necessary. He nodded toward the laptop and demanded in a soft voice, "Put the drive ... into the laptop ... boot it up ... and explain what you found."

He turned back to the kitchen to make breakfast for lunch -- microwavable sausages, a bowl of sugary cereal, OJ, toast -- ignoring what was happening out in the living room. When he finally had the meal prepared, he returned to the other room, carrying a tray with two plates.

 

[ms_tiff]

Eva glanced about the living room, her eyes seeming to track every germ infested surface. Her eyes settled back on the laptop and the couch. Who knew what germs festered there or what had...occurred on that couch. Eva shuddered, she didn't even want to think about it. But she didn't want to run and show Rock that she couldn't take whatever he threw at her. If she caved now he would only make it harder on her in the future.

No, best to suck it up and move forward.

Perching gingerly on the edge of the couch cushion, making sure to keep well away from the bra that told of the sordid affairs that had probably happened right where she was sitting, Eva plugged the flash drive into the laptop.

Rock was still in the kitchen, putzing around doing who knows what as Eva pulled up the file she'd put together.

"So...uh...I found a few thing that might, um be of interest - " the words tripped over her tongue as she struggled to piece together everything she had to say. Presenting had never been her strong suit, whether it was to one or one hundred, Eva hated speaking in front of people with a passion. As Rock Haroldson walked back in with a tray of food, she stumbled over her words, her eyes once more going to that bare chest, traveling lower to the line of hair that disappeared beneath his boxers.

"Maybe I should wait until you...uh...are...ready." She stuttered, her eyes quickly reverting to the computer screen as her cheeks flushed a brilliant red.

 

[TimTimTyner]

Rock caught the young thing's gaze falling toward his lower half, just before she suggested in a roundabout way that he put on some clothes. He laughed, set the plates down before her, and -- with his face just a foot from hers -- asked with a wickedness, "What, you've never seen one of your bosses out of his clothes? How do you expect to get ahead in this man's world?"

He stood tall above her, his groin level with her face and just two feet away ... then bellowed in laughter. Rock turned and headed for his bedroom, intentionally mispronouncing her name as he called back over his shoulder, "I'm kidding, Ava. I've never slept with an intern--" That was a lie, of course, but Eva didn't know that. He continued without hesitation, "--and I'm not going to start with a skinny little thing like you."

Rock was in his bedroom by now, swinging the door toward shutting. It didn't, though, hitting instead a tee shirt laying wadded up on the carpet. "You're not my type, so ... you don't have to worry 'bout that. Continue!"

He set about changing, not immediately donning more clothes but instead stripping off the boxers and socks he'd already been wearing. Though he was out of sight as he stripped, for two brief moments his nudeness was on full display as he crossed first past the half open door to his dresser, then back again to his closet. Rock tossed questions and comments about the men into which she'd done her hasty research as he dressed...

"Is Crocker still in the city...?
"Is he still with Thompson Realty...?
"What about Hamilton and Parker, did you find the connection...?
"Why is there...?
"Who did...?
"When was...?"

...and more, finishing off almost every response she made with, "Well, find that out."

Finally he came out fully dressed in a casual sports ensemble, carrying a pair of scuffed up leather slip-ons. He plopped down in the chair opposite the coffee table and plates, snagged one, and began hogging it down as if he hadn't had anything to eat in weeks. He waved his hand often in an impatient gesture and sometimes talked with his mouth full, wanting more.

Rock could have peppered Eva with questions and requests all night long, but he was finished with his breakfast and again badly in need of a drink. He didn't keep booze in the house, specifically because he knew he would suck it all down until it was gone. (The empty bottles and cans were left over from poker night three days gone, alcohol brought by his card playing partners and either finished then or taken away by Rock's reluctant insistence.)

"I need a drink," he said right in the middle of one of her reports. He stared at her for a moment, then asked, "Are you old enough to go into a bar...? Or fake ID? I don't drink alone."

 

[ms_tiff]

It was difficult enough to concentrate on forming words with him standing there, his groin level with her face. How was she supposed to respond to him? Eva wasn't used to innuendo from men. She was the type of girl that men looked through - the one who stood between them and whatever busty, long legged woman they had their eye on.

Eva sighed, relieved when Rock stepped away and moved into his bedroom. She refocused on the computer, shifting through the data she'd so carefully compiled. As she began reading her notes to him - talking made easier now that he wasn't standing before her - Eva glanced up, stumbling over her words as Rock's bare backside passed the half open door. Heat swarmed up the back of her neck and across her face as she quickly ducked her head. Fingers toyed with the end of her braid, as she glanced back up slowly. Her eyes moving up toned calves to that bare buttocks then higher up a muscular back, her stomach twisting and sending jolts between her legs as she studied his form. She bit her lip as Rock shifted, ducking her gaze back down before he could turn around and catch her watching him.

Eva's thoughts were scrambled as she tried to answer the questions Rock threw at her in rapid fire succession. She could focus on nothing but the image of his nakedness now imprinted in her mind.

What was wrong with her? Okay, so his was the first naked body she'd seen, but it wasn't like she'd seen everything. It should not be affecting her in this way. She knew the information inside and out, how could she be stumbling like a pathetic idiot over the most simple of questions?

He was seated in front of her now, mercifully clothed, and devouring the food he'd set down earlier. Still the questions came and it was all Eva could do to keep focused. Her tongue tripped over the simplest of words as she fought to maintain a professional persona.

"I need a drink," he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. Eva paused, worrying her lower lip as she glanced up at him. His eyes were on her, studying her. "Are you old enough to go into a bar...? Or fake ID? I don't drink alone."

"I'm...I'm eighteen. I don't have a fake ID." She muttered, cheeks flushed as his gaze never wavered from her. "I - I should go anyway. It's late. I have class in the morning." She gathered up her bag, leaving the flash drive in the computer. "I um - I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Haroldson." Nervously pushing her black, plastic framed glasses up her nose, Eva stood and headed for the door.

 

[TimTimTyner]

Eighteen ... age ... it's just a fucking number, right...? It's not how old you are but how old you feel. These were the thoughts rushing through Rock's mind as he considered Eva's answer to the age question. It seemed ironic that the girl was old enough to fuck but not old enough to have a drink. Why was that? It didn't make any sense.

As he watched Eva gather her things, Rock was tempted to invite her to stick around and have a drink here. Again, that was illegal. If she had been his blood relative -- daughter, for example -- Rock could flood her gullet with booze until she was dancing on the table, passing out on the floor, then puking the next morning in the porcelain throne. But because she wasn't, the whole 21 and older shit kicked in again.

He let her head for the door, wanting a drink for himself -- which meant going where the booze was waiting for him -- more than he wanted to convince her to stick around here for a drink. As she neared the door, he hollered over his shoulder, "Eight o'clock ... sharp. Find the answers to those questions'n have'm ready for me when I get in at ten."

He'd ignored Eva earlier in the day as she'd listed her class schedule, so when she responded now about her availability and ability to do or not do as he asked, he just went with her on it. After she was gone, Rock looked around at the variety of empty beer and booze bottles left over from the previous evening's poker game and thought, I could sip a few gulps here and there and not have to leave. He cringed, thinking about how unsanitary that would be, then slipped into his shoes and headed for the local watering hole.



Rock hadn't meant to stay out all night, and yet it had happened. It was a weeknight with an early last call, so once the bartender had put his drinks on his perpetual tab, Rock was out the door and stumbling for a cab. He couldn't find a taxi, so he dropped onto a bus stop bench to take a moment. It was a beautiful and -- considering it was the city -- relatively quiet night.

By the time he decided it was best to get home, he realized that he'd left his wallet at home. No cash, no credit cards, not even a piece of ID. He pulled out his cell to call a friend, but when he pressed redial it directed him to Eva, who he'd called earlier in the day with a couple of more questions on the story. She didn't answer, so he got her greeting.

"Hey ... sorry ... it's late," he mumbled. He hesitated for a moment, watching something moving across the street, then laughing once he'd identified it. "I'm watching a couple'a cats ... three cats ... hey ... are three cats a herd...? How many cat's does it take to be a herd...? Anyway ... what was I saying." He watched the alley cats stalking one another, leaping, hissing, then continued, "It's Rock, by the way ... B ... T ... W..." He laughed. "You kids today ... and your anagrams ... acronyms! Acronyms, not anagrams. Anagrams ... that's ... that's stuff all messed up, right...?"

His slow moving brain finally realized that he was rambling. Concerning being all messed up, he apologized, "Like me now. Sorry ... sorry 'bout that. I know that--" He hiccupped, then chuckled commenting on how it hurt so much more when you were drinking, then continued, "Listen ... E-va not A-va ... I'm sorry 'bout this, but ... I've got no one else to call. Got no money for a cab. I'm at..."

He glanced around for a bit, found the street sign, and told her where he was. Then, his tone sincerely and conspicuously apologetic, he told her, "If you'll rescue me ... just this one time ... I promise ... pro-mise ... to make it up to you. An-y-thing ... just ... come get me, 'kay...? 'Kay...?"

Part of his mind expected Eva to pick up the phone and respond to the message to which she was probably listening, standing there next to her machine in the hallway of her tiny sublet. Then, the 21st century part of his brain reminded him that it was voice mail, not an answering machine, and that if he was going to sit here and wait for her to respond, he'd been waiting for a long fucking time.

"So ... I'll just ... just sit here," he went on, his volume trailing off as he began talking more to himself than Eva, "until you get here ... here to me ... and the cats--"

There was a beeping tone and a computerized voice telling him he'd reached the end of the available time before asking if he wanted to send the current message or rerecord it. Rock just lowered the phone to his lap and sat there, watching the cats cry at one another until finally one tom cat split and the other got a piece of tail...