Milly Houston Pt. 03

CHAPTER 8

Three months of living in New York had made Milly aware she'd changed a little but whether it was for the good she remained uncertain, not having analyzed it in depth. She was pushing thirty-three and now living with a man who loved her who was waiting patiently for her to make a similar declaration. She knew she would; she just wanted a little more time to complete her urbanization. Her what? Milly thought how the fuck did she need to explain to herself what that meant.

Well, she'd become tougher and more decisive. There was no doubt about that. Her interests had widened, her mindsets had multiplied to imbue her with greater confidence, making her no pushover and yet she still considered she remained 'a nice person'. Perhaps Joanne Conway-Booth expressed that better than anyone around Milly, even best friend Elaine. Joanne already acted as if Milly was her daughter-in-law and that had started on Day One of their association and if Joanne was anything the one word for it was shrewd. Joanne had a genteel sophistication that was rubbing off on Milly a little. Milly had found that so much of what Joanne did was done with a purpose and yet the woman with her millions didn't have to do anything nor have to think with concern and build objectives for herself. But she did and before long Milly had found out why. Joanne and Milly got drunk one night when without the guys and she asked why she acted as if everything mattered and Joanne, slurring, told her why and it was over so fast that Milly, in her state, was lucky to remember about it next morning. All Joanne said was, "I believe absolutely that life has its purpose and I think about that a great deal."

For two days working on the biography after that what Milly wrote she later had to rewrite. It was tripe. She'd been thinking about what was her purpose in life? She would later acknowledge that early association with Joanne marked the period when she turned from being shallow Milly to thoughtful Milly who began acquiring more depth and sophistication.

Right at the time through Charles, without reference to her, Milly received an invitation to chat to a new intake of post-graduates at a school of journalism in Manhattan about being a journalist. Initially she thought the subject, "Being a journalist' was stupidly wide, that it should have been made far more specific. But as she prepared for the twenty-minute presentation, with student questions to follow, Milly became aware that the very nature of the topic being so wide was forcing her to focus on an aspect or a few aspects on which to deliver. She became fascinated with the task and headed her chat – yes chat, she thought, accepting she was no professor and not even a lecturer – and was almost blown away at the reaction she received from students. She'd chosen to speak to what she called, 'Fitting Oneself Up' and described pragmatically that entering journalism was being like a spoke on a bicycle wheel.

To Milly's astonishment the school invited her back to speak to senior students and was booked in a six-lecturer series with payment attached. An assistant professor in the room for her first presentation wrote in the six-lecture proposal that the decision to engage Milly was largely based on student reaction expressed succinctly by Muriel Oakland when thanking Milly... 'You have been a bombshell of enlightenment'.

Milly showed the letter only to two people. Carlson glanced at it and hugged her and said, "This is excellent Milly, a real credit to you. Congratulations." In contrast his mother read it, word by word and then smiled and said. "You know what this is telling you darling, don't you?" And before Milly managed to grope for a reply Joanne told her: "It's saying you are ready to fly." It was a long time before Milly went to sleep that night, her mind working like waves crashing on to a beach.

Two days later the editor of one of those trendy new cityscape magazine that survive, if lucky, for ten issues before closing down called. The editor of 'News York', Pearl Whitehead, said her daughter at journalism school had heard Milly's presentation and suggested her for the insert the magazine had planned for its 6th issue involving five new New Yorkers writing about immersing or being submerged in their new hometown... 'the most cosmopolitan and important city on the planet'.

"We were running with five invited contributors but advertising support is great so we would like to add you as the sixth contributor."

"Me?"

"You are the person I'm talking to," Pearl said kindly. Jamie my daughter said you're a biographer" and so the conversation continued until Milly agreed to contribute.

The warm Pearl then turned into a cold-hearted editor-publisher. "We are on an extremely tight schedule. I need your copy on my desk in forty-eight hours from now. Ten thousand words. A photographer will call soon after your contribution has been subbed."

"Very well."

"Oh god, someone who's willing to perform. Thank you darling," Pearl said, sounding hugely relieved.

Joanne delivered her submission but Pearl was too busy to see her so Milly scuttled back to her office in Chelsea to catch up on lost time. Two hours later Pearl called.

"God, you'll get us into deep shit."

"What?"

The other five writers had raved on about the color and excitement of living in New York, three of them living on Manhattan. Milly had been the only one to go in the other direction.

"Darling, are you sure you want to describe Manhattan as 'a delightful collection of villages'. That could get you and me run out of town."

"Just light subbing please Pearl and leave that quotation stand. It's my view. You are welcome to put your apology in brackets alongside that comment."

"Darling, I love it. You placement is tail-end Charlie er Charlene. Overall it has the greatest impact with some marvelous whiplashes. But be prepared to have to defend yourself publicly."

"What?"

"Rest easy darling. When it comes I'm confident you'll deal with it well."

Lilly was about to meet Susan and Debrecini after a family conference. Her mind was only partly switched on and she thought Pearl was talking about angry readers writing Letters to the Editor.

* * *

Susan sat white-faced and Lilly's heart lifted. Susan said, "The family agreement is that mother now manages the project, as we all want the book published."

Debrecini spoke briefly and Lilly said, "Well that's settled. I must get back to work."

"Wait, where's the tongue-lashing?"

"You appear contrite Susan and that's enough for me. Warts and all from now on, eh?"

"Yes, I've spoken to some of my friends and they all expressed amazement about the demands I'm made on you and agreed I was ruining my story."

"Thank you Susan. Could we meet at Angelo's for a quite drink at 3:00 today? One of your friends called earlier and suggested I ask you about breaking into the Mile High Club the first time you fly to Europe."

"Oh God," Debrecini sighed.

* * *

Lilly's second lecture at the Sentinel School of Journalism was posted for new intake students as 'Everyone Lies and Being Sexy Helps'. She arrived to deliver to find the venue had been switched, because of demand from intermediate and senior students, to the main lecture auditorium.

Lilly expressed dismay but Associate Professor Phil Jenks soothed, "As every girl knows, size doesn't matter Lilly. Just be you. You created an instant reputation on your initial presentation, telling it like it's at the coalface. Our students are desperate to hear more. Still cackling on almost hysterically about Phil's colorful reference to size, Phil led her into the big auditorium. The noise died and the silence frightened Lilly. She looked at the door behind her and some jerk shouted, 'That's right Lilly, run!' As the auditorium erupted into laughter Lily asked Phil to step aside and she took the rostrum.

"Shut the fuck up and listen," she shouted. "I want that jerk to come up here and thank me when I've finished to possibly contributed something useful in his life, or to vilify me if I failed him. Oh, don't guys love to put down women and you females out there will find that's an extra kick in the guts when you begin your new career in earnest. Sure you'll have a couple of degrees, perhaps more, but forget that on Day One on the job and jettison at least for a few months your hopes and aspirations. From Day One you are considered no more than a brainless idiot with as much worth as a fleabite on the ass of the editor. You are an apprentice and will remain so until the quality of your work begins to flow and is recognized. Then maybe if you are lucky enough you'll hear someone say this about you: "This asshole may have merit." Then of course one day you show the scumbags when you go on stage to receive your first award for exceptional journalism for leading the bust of a crime ring, heroism in writing or photography as a war correspondent or being the guy or gal who wrote that cute piece about dog biscuits that propelled the also-ran product to top dog of American buyers of dog biscuits. The former I've just spoken about is the brutal reality. The latter point I made was about receiving recognition as top dog. Well that's something to dream about."

"I was a graduate new-start reporter on a newspaper none of you will have heard of. I was three weeks into the job when I received my equivalent of winning a national award in journalism. In this career it pays to keep your perspective. I'd written this story about a boy climbing a tree, surrounded by supportive neighbors, to bring down a young cat that was crying pitifully to be rescued but the scatty bitch tore his face open as soon as he got close. But he grabbed it and the cat dug its claws into his jacket front and they reached the ground safety. It rated a mugshot and five pars near the bottom of page seven I think it was. The news editor decided not to make a thing about the fact the 11-year-old was mentally retarded or intellectually challenged, as PC people prefer us to say. The upshot was I received a letter from the boy's mother and she pinged me through the heart, not by her heartfelt thanks but by her final comment, "Your excellent reporting has drawn people to call on us to praise Robert. You have made me so proud of my son."

"You have made me so proud of my son." God I cried when reading that and that letter holds pride of place in my first book of clippings of my stories. Whether you work on newspaper, magazines, radio stations or a mall shopper's newsletter you will, if you go about your job with passion and write well earn plaudits and eventually that will become more satisfying that picking up salary. When you get to that point you'll know you are a journalist and love yourself because YOU know you are."

"Now I know some of you have gathered her because the word 'sex' was in the title of this little chat today. I know it strains the mind taking you from being little more value than a flea bite on the ass of an editor to having sex simply because you're lined up by someone whose attracted to you because you're a journalist making a name for yourself but here goes, and it's all true. I began work in journalism with a great pair of 34C's and am fortunate to still have them looking good... but guys, don't despair, a likely looking bulge or wide chest or even if you are skinny and short at fringe of unruly hair can serve just as well. One day I was in the office of our town's grumpy Mayor who was stonewalling about admitting the council had commissioned sketch drawings on an as yet unannounced replacement Town Hall. It was summer and in despair I raised my arm to scratch my hair with my pencil as I occasionally do when stressed when the right side of my cotton dress split open and out popped a boob. Because of the heat wave I wasn't wearing a bra."

The auditorium erupted in laughter.

"Dan almost split himself laughing. He hurried over with a couple of pins and got me done up. He sat back on his chair grinning and said, 'That's the best tit I've seen in this office. Right mind how you use that writing arm but this is what we are proposing... gawd, don't tell anyone about what just happened. If my wife got to hear about that I'd be accused of shafting you."

"I said in astonishment, 'Me Mr Mayor?' Dave licked his lips and proceeded to give me our lead story and on the way out he patted my ass and called to his PA to lend me the restaurant napkin on which he'd sketched his new City Hall design concept to the architect he was lunching with. Dave and I never had sex but three weeks later when I was placed on the City Hall round I purchased some smaller bras to use on work days and I'm telling you, my newspaper got the crème-de-crème news breaks from the Mayor while I was around."

After relating another four incidents involving the sexy approach she spoke at length about how to break down barriers to get stories and to get them published and then switched to talking about breaking into magazines – "get frontline street experience first" and then writing books. She concluded, "I live with a painter who is fast-becoming a great painter. He and I have something else in common beyond sex and talking over food or a drink. It's such a fundamental and I believe in it absolutely. We both love what we do and during downtime – when not having sex or socializing – we both think deeply about how to improve what we are doing and looking at what others are doing. When did you last review your own writing and I mean going right back? If you're not doing that then perhaps you should be thinking about becoming a plumber. Thank you."

As the applause died a group around the jerk began calling "David, David" and the whole assembly took up the call.

He stood and Milly called him to the rostrum. He was wearing universal student garb – tight jeans and a sweater.

"Nice bulge David," Milly called and the assembly erupted in laughter. When he reached her she kissed him on the lips and she said, "Thank you David for being man enough to come forward. Now let it rip."

"Thank you Miss Milly Houston. Great name, great body, great personality. Journalism needs people like you and we need people like you talking to us."

While Milly received a standing ovation she ruffled David's hair, easily done because at six-two she was four or five inches taller than David.

Associate Professor Phil Jenks stood at the microphone and said, "Isn't she sassy, irreverent but very relevant. Do we want Milly Houston back here?"

"Yes," roared the students.

* * *

Two weeks later Lilly took a call just before 7:00 am.

"Sorry it's so early," said the TV producer Nan Crockett. "Will be appear on our news program tonight at 6:00 for a short interview as the news-ender and as an exclusive to our station?"

"I might if I knew what this was about?"

"I've just opened the latest edition of 'News York Magazine', saw that marvelous oil painting of you and read your story. The crap will hit the fan over this and we want to talk to you first."

"Okay."

"Don't you wish to negotiate fee?"

"Nope just make it big and I'll give you my favorite charity although I will have to look for one this morning."

Nan laughed and said she was really looking forward to meeting Milly and took Milly's address to email her instructions.

Carlson asked sleepily was Milly to appear on TV?

"Yes."

"Why."

"Because I've had an article published."

"But thousands of people have articles published and don't make TV?"

Milly, in her office and typing out a permission-to-screen-once release of the image of the painting for Carlson to sign, said, "Yes but I called Manhattan a collection of villages and set out to prove it."

"Oh god, you'll be burnt at the stake."

"You worry about your painting darling and I'll worry about defending good journalism. Now please sign this to attach to a digital image of your painting of me. I want Nan to show it on TV and a mugshot of you being identified as the painting and my lover."

"You mean partner."

"I mean lover."

"Oh okay. You usually know what you're doing."

"And yes and I'm only a woman."

Carlson grinned. "Those fuckers on TV are going to get annihilated, aren't they?"

"Annihilate is far too strong a word and far too optimistic. Go back to sleep until you wake hungry. I'm back to write about Susan falling off her mountain. It was dramatic. She fell 80 feet into a ravine over jagged rocks until the rope arrested her fall. Then the anchor gave way and she smacked her face against rocks and fell no more than four feet on to a rock that damaged her back."

"Wow, great stuff. Go to it honey."

Susan was so much easier to work with now that she knew her friends shared Milly's belief that she had to tell it warts and all and have confidence in Milly's skill and integrity to do that right thing.

The rewritten first five chapters and 14th to 20th chapters came back that morning with scarcely any notations in the margin and a note stapled to page one signed by the senior editor said, "Keep it running. This is brilliant. We are so pleased."

There were only nine chapters to go. The selection of illustrations had been sent earlier to Elaine and a photographer had taken a photograph for the cover, posing Susan in mountain gear against a studio backdrop of a wintry sunset. Carlson had decided no way would he paint 'that unstable bitch'.

Debrecini and Susan hugged Milly joyously when reading the note and Susan took Milly to lunch where they met most of the girlfriends who'd backed Milly's so-called 'vision'. To Milly getting Susan out of the editing process and Debrecini installed, as an intermediary was simply sheer commonsense rather than 'vision'. Milly didn't drink much because Susan, being pregnant, was not drinking liquor. Susan was quite overwhelmed to see Milly was virtually abstinence in support of her.

A late arrival came bursting in and grabbed two bottles of beer, saying she had to catch up.

"Veronica meet my biographer Milly Houston. Milly this is Veronica Small. She and I have known one another since first grade. Veronica is a...what is it Veronica?"

"I'm to interview Milly this evening."

The conversations about the big round table stopped and everyone looked at Milly.

Susan, puzzled, said plaintively, "But my biography is short of being finished?"

"No stupid, Milly is on the mat for daring to call New York a collection of villages. She was a guest writer in 'News York Magazine', published this morning."

The usually polite Milly said, "Oh it's lovely meeting you Veronica."

"Milly, for fuck sake, disperse with the niceties. Tell us about this cardinal sin of yours," bellowed big Brenda, her voice ringing through the restaurant. "You wrote New York is a collection of villages?"

"Are you telling me you disagree?" answered Milly.

The entire restaurant hushed.

"Girls please, let's consider this matter is not open to debate. If it's discussed here it may give me an unfair advantage over Milly if I know something of her defense," said Veronica. "Watch news at 6:00 tonight."

There was mutterings but normal conversations resumed and several people from other tables came up to ask Veronica what channel would the debate screen on. She was pleased to be center of attention.

Milly lived only a couple of streets beyond Susan and as they walked home Susan said Milly wouldn't be quite the unknown she was after being savaged on TV. "Will you give a plug for my upcoming book?"

"Veronica will have to ask what I do, so that answer is yes."

"Were you going to tell us about your TV appearance?"

"Yes of course. I've made a list of people to call and will call them as soon as I arrive home. Please tell your mom – that will save me calling her and listening to a lecture about not being smart and avoiding being loose-mouthed with New Yorkers."