Steven's alarm would rouse him from his sleep. A groan would escape his lips as he knocked the alarm off of his night stand. It was today he was supposed to assimilate himself into her life. His feet would collide with alcohol cans as he stumbled into the bathroom. As the cold water ran over his back,a shiver left his body. 'What will she be like? Will she listen to me? Will this job be long, and last? Or will it be a quick job?' Questions bombarded his simple mind, and suddenly he couldn't take it. His fist would collide with the shower wall, damn near leaving a gaping hole in the tile.
"Mr. Reaver, you have a message." His phone imitated the voice of his old assistant editor who he had fired after the beginnings of feelings growing in his heart. The man practically fell out of his shower and picked up his phone. Visible on the small screen was an email from Smithsonian Magazine.The email reads as follows:
Mr. Reaver,
Your current article 'A wish on the wind' is doing excellent, and I am pleased to inform you that your royalties will be inserted into your finances shortly. In the next issue, we wish for you to do an article on decreasing museum attendance. We are prepared to pay .71 cents a word for 7,000 words minimum. Of course this article will remain under your alias- Dr. Bartholomew, and we continue to try to push you to take credit for your brilliant works.
Best Wishes,
The Smithsonian Magazine
Editor-In-Chief
Steven would exhale in frustration, he could only hope that the Smithsonian wouldn't betray his alias like so many before to ignore the problem Steven would collapse on his bed. There were better things to do with his time. Steven got up and got himself dressed, only to set out into the world. He wore his usual black suit, only today with a gray tie. Why not? It was a special occasion today, and he didn't like to be placed as a slob upon first introduction. For comfort, he slid his favorite comic into his suitcase, and whistled as he strolled outside.
After a long day Steven returned home, with a 5-o-clock shadow beginning to become visible on his chin. He was fed up, nothing today was going right. His sandwich had moldy bread, and he had been kicked in the throat by some freak lady. Steven found himself opening the refrigerator in search of a six-pack. A party, is what Steven needed, and before he knew it, he was in a cab on his way to one. He walked into the room he got a funny feeling in his stomach. Waving it off he proceeded to drink his worries about Clarissa away on the couch. Slowly his eyes wandered between individuals, until they rested upon a cute red-head. He stood and made his way to her,
"Hey, I'm Steven, and you my dear need a drink," He would pull a beer out of his pack and offer it to the red-haired wonder.