Orange County offered a fair amount of bookstores, coffee shops and generally peaceful areas for quiet work outside of the office. For now, Carol was in research mode -it wasn’t like she had long, scientifically accurate articles to write, but she did have a tendency to read up on anything they were preparing to publish. Leanne, one of the under-writers for the medical interest pieces was pushing on a article on the medications prescribed for birth control and their effects on the female body.
Frankly, Carol wasn’t sure it was really what they should be focusing on, but she tried not to over-manage things, and she wasn’t entirely sure about those under her right now. Which, for her, meant fact checking every single thing that came over her desk -yay responsibilities.
For the second time in three days she was tempted to Tracy and bitch her out for lumping Carol here, out of the way and with nothing but a bunch of strangers to work with. Instead she sucked it up and pulled another medical journal out from under her little pile of books, precariously balanced on her table, between her laptop, pad of paper and her coffee cup, trying to work out just what the hell some of these drugs were.
She hadn’t expected that her promotion would come with so much damn learning.
Or accidental spillages, since yep, there went her damn coffee. “Aw, shi---” Family coffee shop, this was a family coffee shop. “--sh kababs.”
Thanks to Ezra’s dreams he wasn’t getting much sleep lately. Which meant he wasn’t getting much writing done, or what he was getting done was complete shit. Instead of spending his time between classes writing in his office he was at one coffee shop or another. Sometimes the change of scenery helped, and when it didn’t he could always blame people watching as a distraction. Not to mentioned the much needed extra caffeine.
He was seated at a table, laptop in front of him, coffee cup to the side, unfortunately today was one of those days where he just wasn’t getting any writing done. He was just about to pick up his coffee cup when he notice someone spill her coffee and keep herself from swearing. Well that was polite of her. Ezra quickly shot to his feet grabbing a few napkins. “Here, let me help you,” Ezra said offering her the napkins instead of dabbing her clothing like some kind of creep.
Carol was fairly used to her occasional bouts of clumsiness (it was how she met Michael) but they had a tendency to be annoyingly inopportune. “Thanks,” taking the napkins to try and catch the worst of it all. At least she’d worn dark jeans and managed to miss her top. “God, at least it wasn’t hot.” That would’ve been hell.
Dabbing as quickly as possible along her thighs and crotch -and that was going to be great when it dried, Carol gave a weak smile with a slight blush to her helper. “Thank you, really.”
“You’re welcome,” Ezra replied returning her smile. He couldn’t help but notice her blush. “And hey, don’t worry. These things happen. I don’t think I could even count the number of times I’ve spilled my own coffee.” There. Hopefully that would help her feel better. Less embarrassed.
“I'm Ezra,” because why not introduce yourself to the girl with coffee all over her pants.
“Carol, hi.” Why not? Really, the number of times Carol did it, all elbows and knees, trying to get to this pen or that piece of paper and just not paying attention. “My mind gets a little excited about things, forgets the basics, like not spilling warm liquids all over me.” She wasn’t too far away from her apartment, she could change before going back to the office later.
“Thankfully, these aren’t dry-clean only, or I’d be looking at getting shares in the business.” For what she paid for her better suits, yes, at least it was a dress down day for her.
“I take it this happens often?” she had made that abundantly clear with all of her comments. “I’m sure the dry-cleaners appreciate you. Someone has to keep them in business,” he smirked at that. Ezra didn’t ever take his clothes to the dry cleaner. The last time her probably had was back when he was in high school. And that had been his parents.
“I should get back,” he nodded towards his table where his laptop was still sitting open, coffee beside it. He was just worried about leaving it unattended for too long. “But you are welcome to join me.” He was taking up a table for four all by himself after all.
“Often enough,” the problem was that she got so caught up in what she was doing, she stopped paying attention to other things. In her office it was usually just her desk supplies -the cup she kept with pens and pencils to keep them out of the way, a random stapler that she honestly never used but kept on her desk just in case, everything else was all books and notepads and her computers. “Luckily, I avoid business suits if I’m not meeting someone.” Otherwise, yeah, she’d keep the dry-cleaners in business for sure.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Carol had come in when it was busy, there’d been one seat that didn’t have a mother with a screaming child next to her, or that wasn’t cluttered with those hipster, coffee loving teens around it. It was by no means large enough for her, her coffee and her books and laptop, but she’d made do. Spreading out a little might save the rest of her clothes from being sodden. She wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth though.
“Not at all,” Ezra had been there awhile he had more than enough space and if he had someone else at his table he would have more of a reason to be distracted. A better excuse for why he wasn’t getting any writing done. Seemed like a good plan to him.
He headed back to his table, waiting for Carol to join him. “So what do you do that you have to wear business suits for?” he wore a tie to work on occasion but it was mostly just buttoned up shirts. The thought of wearing business suits was not appealing at all. He much preferred the casual setting of a college campus.
Packing up her stuff enough to move, Carol flagged down one of the baristas to get another coffee while she got herself situated so she wouldn't spill this one. "I edit a magazine," she tended to downplay her role, "and sometimes there are meetings and interviews." And a lot of the time it was research. Like today.
"Dependivng on the interview or meeting, it calls for a suit that at least resembles professional, even if it does end up with coffee stains before the end of the day." Carol and luck just were not friends.
An editor? Ezra was always pleased to meet a fellow literature lover. At least he assumed Carol was. She kind of had to at least enjoy it on some level considering her job. “What magazine?” he found himself asking. Maybe he had read some of her work.
“Hey, it adds character,” he gave her a smile. “I would rather meet with someone in a wrinkled suit with coffee stains, than someone that looks like they just walked out of a catalog. That’s not a good sign they are getting much work done. Unless they are a model.”
“Um, Woman Magazine,” it wasn’t a massive publication, although it was obviously fairly popular with some housewives in most states -they had a section almost dedicated to that which Carol hated for its perpetuation of the archaic traditions, but some women wanted to be housewives, and that was fine. She was all about choice. It just irked her how vapid some of the articles were. “The main office is in New York, but there’s a branch here that my boss wanted me to run.” To get her out of the way, but Carol didn’t bother with that.
“It means a lot of reading,” hence the medical journals and documentation, “when I’m not freelancing or writing for the magazine itself, I’m proof-reading everyone else’s.” Really, it was just a method of keeping Carol out of trouble, and she couldn’t fault Tracy for that, even if she’d rather pick up a trail on Michael’s death, she knew she’d gone too far in New York. A breather was good.
Ezra didn’t read that one. Not religiously at least. He had picked up a copy here and there, but it wasn’t one of his regular choices. “I’ll have to check it out,” Ezra replied. She must be good if she was running the magazine over here. He’d be on the lookout for her writing. “Carol… ?” he wasn’t sure just how many Carol’s worked at the magazine.
“Reading isn’t the worst job,” he commented before glancing down at the documents in front of her. Medical research? That didn’t sound all that fascinating. Ezra much preferred works of fiction. “But then it depends on the material I suppose. And the writer. Though I doubt you have mundane writers working for you.”
“Danvers, Carol Danvers.” She managed to actually have a put together smile on. “Um, a lot of my previous work was um… crime related? Mostly introspectives into the justice system, the occasional theory on some of the more controversial cases that passed through New York. I’m meant to stay out of that here, though.” Which okay, probably not a problem, since California was not New York -there wasn’t a shooting on every street corner at one point or another.
“There’s a few instances where I wished I had a ghost-reader. But it does allow for a vault of random little bits of information.” She did tend to just collect interests and specialities the more she ended up working and reading. “What about you? What is it you do, Ezra?” Since people didn’t tend to bring a laptop to a coffee shop for no reason.
Carol Danvers. He would certainly keep an eye out for that name. Ezra was quite interested in crime. His own novel was actually a crime novel, so of course the second Carol mentioned that it caught his interest. “I’d love to read some of those articles,” Ezra admitted. That led well into Carol’s question to him. Funny how that worked. “I’m an English Professor,” at least that was the day job. “And a writer. Or trying to be. I’m working on a crime novel,” he admitted albeit sheepishly after Carol’s announcement.
“So why the medical journals instead of criminal cases?” He couldn’t help but question. His curiosity was getting the better of him and he had to admit Carol was rather fascinating.
Writer seemed exceptionally apt, all things considered, and she could see him as a Professor, he had the look for it. Carol just smiled at the declaration on crime writing. “I could try and dig them up for you.” She had a portfolio, something she kept just in case Tracy needed to give her the boot -she was usually cautiously optimistic, but always realistic too. “Some of them are fairly cut and dry, I assure you, but there was the odd complicated one.” Depending on the crime drama he had in mind.
Looking over the books in front of her, Carol had to give a small shrug, “One of this month’s articles is on women’s health and suggested medical assistances. I just like to fact check everything.” So that no one got sued later for an unfortunate circumstance, and that they weren’t publishing something that might be detrimental to a person’s overall health.
"I'm sure they are all fascinating," and no he wasn't being sarcastic. Crime was fascinating to him. Hence his novel. "Give me a call if you find them?" He didn't have a card. He was just an English Professor after all, but he could certainly give her his number.
"Always best to get the facts right," he agreed. Even with writing fiction he did his research and made sure that the circumstances were plausible. He could only imagine how much more diligent one would have to be when writing an article.
Believability was important, that much was true, and an accurate article was the difference between informing people or being a liability and Carol had no interest in being the cause of any kind of misinformation spread. She’d put back deadlines if she needed to. “I’ll look out for those articles though,” probably packed in a box, unopened in her apartment, where most of the belongings still languished. “Let me get your number.”
Pulling out her phone, because who used address books anymore, Carol set up a new contact for Ezra, adding her own little notes to the contact box just so she’d remember just who he was for later -she met so many people on a daily basis separating work and personal contacts got a little convoluted. “Okay, pop in your details, I’ll see what I can do.” She was completely fine with helping out a fellow writer.
Ezra typed his number and email into her phone, pleased that he had met a new writing acquaintance. He needed more of that in his life. Less students. Though he did like the students, but that was beside the point. “Here you go,” he said handing back over her phone. “I look forward to hearing from you,” he gave her one last smile before shutting off his laptop. “I should get going. I have to teach a class soon. I’ll see you around, Carol.”