S3, Ep 6, Sc 3: The Newspaper

Holly came home sometime late in the evening. She had eventually made her way to a rental car agency and gotten something to drive till her own car had been fixed. As she drove up into her parking lot, the house looked dark and bleak and quiet. She didn’t want to go in, but she didn’t want to stay out any longer either. She was faced with not know what she wanted.

Slowly she got out of the car and made her way to the front door. She unlocked it reluctantly and stepped inside. She didn’t bother to flick on the hall light but instead walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. She stared into its contents, not sure why she’d opened it in the first place. Was she hungry? She hadn’t eaten all day. Thirsty? She’d been walking about most of it. She could just close the door and walk to the living room.

The buzz, light and chill from the fridge kept her in frozen in place. There had to be some reason she opened the door, something she wanted inside. Didn’t there?

Slowly, she closed it and turned away, reaching instead for the glass and pouring some water from the tap. She stared at the water for a long minute before pouring it back out and leaving the kitchen.

She made her way slowly to the living room and sunk down on the couch, staring at the carpet, following the pattern with her eyes, seeing how it swirled out from the middle, braided into itself and then spread around the outer edge.

She jerked when the phone rang and flicked on the table lamp before picking up the phone.

“Holly speaking.”

“This is Evelyn.”

“How are you?” asked Holly dully.

“I heard about the crash. Are you alright?”

Holly had spent so much of the day thinking about Frank and Alan, it took her a solid ten seconds for her mind to catch up with Evelyn’s question. “Oh the crash. Yes, I’m fine.” She didn’t think she had it in her tonight to explain about Frank. Evelyn would understand, she’d know how to handle it, but Holly couldn’t figure out how to say it over the phone. ‘Fine’ would just have to do for now.

“I really think we should talk Holly, have you had dinner already?”

Holly considered the prospect of talking about anything or leaving the house again and rejected it. “I’m actually not feeling so good. It’s nothing serious. I just think I have some kind of bug. Would you mind if we rain checked the talk?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Monday.” Twenty-four hours would be enough time to pull herself together. “I don’t need to be on set until ten. We could get breakfast.” It would be good to talk to Evelyn before seeing Frank. She could get some advice from her.

“Alright,” said Evelyn, sounding a little reluctant. “I’ll see you Monday morning at my place?”

“See you then.” Holly hung up, only realizing after the fact that perhaps it was a little abrupt. She placed the phone back down on the table and turned out the light. The bedroom suddenly seemed a long way away. She lay down on the couch and closed her eyes.

When she woke up, sunlight was streaming through the windows into her eyes. She raised a hand to block the light and bleary checked her watch. It was early Sunday morning.

Holly sat up, yawned, and stretched; After getting the cramp out of her shoulders that had resulted from sleeping on the couch, she stood up. She felt better. The night’s sleep had helped and she felt more positive. She still wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with the Frank situation but somehow sleep had made it seem less daunting.

She took a shower and made herself a cup of coffee. She took her mug into the living room, curling up on the couch and reaching for a book, when the doorbell rang. Half-heartedly she got up to answer it.

A special delivery courier was there. He had her sign and then handed her a package before driving off again. She grabbed the newspaper off the step, and headed back into the house.

She examined the package curiously. The name was vaguely familiar but it took her several minutes to connect it to one of the many faces she had met at Grant’s party. She ripped opened the brown paper and found a script inside with a note attached.

Ms. Woods,

I’d love to get together sometime and talk about this project. Grant has said so much about you. I think you’d be an excellent fit for the role of Becka.

Sydney Wellington

“Wow.” Holly stared at the script. Sydney Wellington had barely made an impression on her; somehow she found it hard to believe she’d managed to make one on him. For that matter, she found it a bit hard to believe that Grant had that much to say about her. He ran a studio. A studio which made countless of films, and was probably filming at least a dozen right now. He hadn’t paid any particular interest in Cold Wars. He’d hardly been on set. If anything, he’d wanted to drop her because of the potential scandal she could bring to the film with Alan’s arrest. Why would he have anything particularly positive to say about her?

She set aside the script. Something felt off. She picked back up her coffee and spread out the newspaper on the coffee table for no better reason than it was there and it was something to read.

Holly flicked through articles, read about some photo exhibit and a book review, read article an about a local park set to close if it didn’t raise enough money and so was trying to raise some online, and skimmed a few more articles on politics.

She got up and poured herself another cup of coffee and came back. She was just sitting back down when a picture near the bottom of the paper caught her eye. It was a photo of a man, a man that was startlingly familiar. Lionel Atwood. Why was his picture in the paper? She scanned the article.

Holly blinked. She had to have misunderstood it. She read through it again, slower this time. She leaned in, studying the picture more closely, assuring herself that she had correctly recognized the man, that perhaps this wasn’t some bizarre coincidence. She read the article through a third time.

Police were called to the scene of an apparent mugging gone wrong Friday night. Lionel Atwood (43), was found unconscious several blocks from his apartment. He was taken to Saint Patrick’s hospital where it was determined he was suffering from a heart attack. Sadly Atwood passed away several hours later without ever regaining consciousness. It has been confirmed that Atwood suffered from a heart condition. Police have stated that he suffered multiple injuries, and it is believed he was the victim of a robbery which triggered the attack. Atwood is survived by two children.

Holly set her coffee down.

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This entry was posted in Episode Six, Evelyn Martin, Holly Woods, Season Three. Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to S3, Ep 6, Sc 3: The Newspaper

  1. schn00dles says:

    Holly’s world has changed a lot. Am still wondering, by the way, what her old roomate, the cupcake baker, wanted to say.

    • Holly(Woods) says:

      Holly will go meet up with the baker soon :-). They made plans for ‘next week’ which is now ‘this week’ in story time.

      (Actually I find keeping track of in story time extremely difficult sometimes ;-). I did realize while writing the first book that halfway through only about three weeks had passed so I started having everyone make plans to do things, farther in the future so a little more time could pass.)

  2. Keith says:

    Typos:

    I’ll see you Monday morning ay my place?”
    I’ll see you Monday morning AT my place?”

    She lay down on the couch, and closed her eyes.
    She lay down on the couch and closed her eyes. (removed comma)

    Holly sat up, and yawned. She stretched; getting the cramp out of her shoulders that had resulted from sleeping on the couch, and stood up.
    Holly sat up, yawned, and stretched; After getting the cramp out of her shoulders that had resulted from sleeping on the couch, she stood up.

    If anything he’d wanted to drop her
    If anything, he’d wanted to drop her (add comma)

    She picked back up her coffee and spread out the newspaper on the coffee table for no better reason then it was there
    She picked back up her coffee and spread out the newspaper on the coffee table for no better reason THAN it was there

    It was a photo of a man, a man that was startling familiar.
    It was a photo of a man, a man that was STARTLINGLY familiar. (you need an adverb rather than an adjective, blah, blah stupid grammar rules).
    or
    It was a photo of a man, a man that was BOTH startling AND familiar.

    Comments:

    In my opinion, your newspaper article is far too literate, although I can’t advise you on how to fix it and I may be completely off base.

    Holly seems to have the ability to encounter external overwhelming circumstances that prevent her from processing her own internal upsets.

    • Holly(Woods) says:

      Thanks for all the typos and grammar errors. Fixed them.

      Yeah the newspaper article probably isn’t right…I’ll try and come back later and fix it. I’ve always had trouble faking newspaper articles for the purposes of stories.

      • Keith says:

        The way I’d fix the newspaper article is by finding an actual working newspaper editor and have them edit it. Newspapers apparently vary greatly in reading level, so I really don’t know if anything needs changing or not. I know you quote it later, but the last line has more of an “obit’ feel to me than a front page article feel.

  3. Mian says:

    oh, god. those intros were a bribe, weren’t they?

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