Beloved Darkness
By Ambrose Grim
()
About this ebook
When he hired in at J. Carrol Grady publishing, he expected to rise to the top - not quickly, necessarily - but eventually.
This of course never happened.
When publisher J. Carrol Grady gave him his big break, Freddy took the job without a second thought... but when he arrives in Hope Valley, Freddy finds he may have bitten more than he can chew.
Join Freddy Gordon in his adventure, as he pursues destiny through Hope Valley, chasing ambition, advancement, and the unknown, and always his Beloved Darkness.
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Beloved Darkness - Ambrose Grim
Beloved Darkness
A Short Story by
Ambrose Grimm
Copyright 2016 Ambrose Grimm
J. Carrol Grady Publishing
When Freddy Gordon hired in at J. Carrol Grady publishing, he expected to rise to the top - not quickly, necessarily - but eventually.
This, of course, never happened.
Since day one, if there were odd jobs, from mopping, to fetching lunch, or coffee, Freddy was the one they sent.
The phrase: "...we'll send'in the kid." had become synonymous with he, in particular.
There were other people, working numbly in their cubicles, filing papers, shuffling papers, editing grammar, formatting structure, and falling into the daily routines he had still yet to know, and may never get to know.
Freddy's fair education - a bachelors in literature, and even some minor publishing experience, both as the publisher - counted for nothing, here.
He ran an E-Magazine for some time - before everyone discovered that real magazines were better - and some of his works were published; nothing terribly big, a few poems, and a few short stories.
Before, he was not certain where he would end up.
Now, he was certain he would not end up anywhere at all.
That was the air in J. Carrol Grady publishing.
Freddy had a better life, once.
Once.
Before his big move, he lived in a nice enough apartment, with a pretty girl who gave the above average blow job, even if she insisted she keep her virginity until they were married.
Somehow, for some reason, he was not surprised to find she was sleeping with someone behind his back.
He was however vaguely disgusted that the person was an on again, off again vagrant.
He knew.
He would see him, time, to time, cleaning random windshields for change, or sleeping under an overpass during the spring, and summer.
Gross.
It was a miracle that Freddy never caught some sexually transmitted disease, though he guessed it was more likely from the abundance of a good blow job, and lack of actual sexual intercourse.
This had all, of course, been once upon a time.
Now, he ate, slept, shit, shaved, and showered in a studio apartment with the dimensions of a giant shoebox.
The walls were uneven, and the floors creaked in the dryer weather, and sagged with the slightest hints of moisture.
This was his life now.
"I dunno, Chuck. Fuck. We'll send'in the kid." The last words Freddy Gordon heard, before the editor hung up his phone, and stepped out of his office. By then, Freddy was seated comfortably as possible on a black pleather office chair, just outside the door.
The editor, J. Carroll Grady, peered over half moon bifocal spectacles. Y'hear any of that, kid?
Kid.
Freddy hated when they called him kid, but it was better than the names they used to call him, and not the traditional accidentals, like Frankie, Finny, or once even, Fergus.
"Well, son, speak up!" Grady's impatience was only matched by his tireless discord for the 'lessers working in their cubicles.
'Lessers. He hated that term, too. It was something Freddy hoped to outgrow, professionally speaking. From a 'lesser, to a better.
Better was after all, better.
Grady let out an abrupt cough. You catch a case o'the adult onset retardation, kid?
No'sir.
No'sir. Nossir. No, sir. Freddy tried hard as he could to adopt the strange accent, and dialect Grady spoke.
It never came out a hundred percent genuine.
So'd you hear?
Freddy decided to lie, and shook his head. No'sir. Notta word.
Grady examined him a moment, still peering over his spectacles. He gave a single, concise shake of the head. Ain't goin'a move up telling half cocked shit-stain lies like that. Work on your lying more, Feddic.
"Freddy"
"Whatever. Cooley's out sick today. Here's your assignment. He tossed a large envelope at Freddy, who caught it cooly midair. Grady looked almost impressed.
Do this right, 'might even earn a promotion."
Freddy fought the urge to ask what failure meant, but Grady clearly had it in mind.
Y'do this wrong - well - there's worse work to do here than janitorial.
'Won't let'cha down, sir.
Freddy tucked his assignment, a fresh 8x11 yellow envelope made from heavy stock paper, under his arm.
"...an' Frieda? Y'stop talkin' like that, 'hear? No one here talks like that."
Freddy bowed his head a moment, feeling red warmth in his cheeks. Yes, sir. Won't let you down, sir.