Coming soon, As the Pegasus Flies—the book!

That's right, actual ink on paper! Old school! The complete (so far) Sue Nami soap opera will be released in book form. As the Pegasus Flies, A Reader's Digest's Soap Opera, Volume 1 will include a foreword by Sue Nami, extra photos, expanded text, and paragraph breaks! Yes, paragraph breaks! Also, a brand new, never-before-seen full-length story! 14 stories in all. Priced to sell! Stay tuned to this blog for more information.

UPDATE 6/29: The book is nearing completion. It will include the latest story (Boom-Boom Bernadette), plus one new one. Check back for release date and when you can order!

UPDATE 7/3: The new, never-before-seen story is titled "The Butler."

UPDATE 7/8: The book is now complete, and I will upload it to the POD publisher ASAP. The new story "The Butler" clocked in at 2,400 words, while the book is 113 pages. Stay tuned for an Amazon link...

UPDATE 7/9: As the Pegasus Flies, the book, is one step closer to reality! The proof copy is en route to me right now. Once it is approved the book will go on sale! Only $7.50! It contains the controversial new story "The Butler," which is a continuation/conclusion of the earlier cryogenic-themed "Just Rebecca." Check for more updates and ordering info. Thanks!

UPDATE 7/12: I am now holding the actual book in my hands! Looks good. As soon as I click "Approve" it will go on sale. My dilemma? There is a typo on the foreword. "Test" should be "text." It'll bug me forever if I don't correct this. On the other hand...
I will sleep on this and decide in the morning.

UPDATE 7/14: I approved the book (with typo) yesterday, so it should go on sale any minute. The typo is "test" instead of "text," which slipped through spell checker. I will fix this in the future, but did not want to delay the book. And what book isn't complete without a typo? Book should go live any day now. Check back soon!

Boom-Boom Bernadette

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Joey the Pinhead got me again, thought Bernadette. That practical joker. Imagine that—a grown man running around the office with a whoopee cushion hidden behind his back. And Horace, there at the ready with his camera to document the moment. Yes, it was funny, and everyone always laughs when someone sits down without looking and ends up the butt of Joey's joke. But with Bernadette it was different. It struck a nerve. It hurt her on a personal, shameful level. Were they making fun of her? Did they know her dirty little secret—that she suffered from chronic, barely-controllable flatulence? She was able to keep it at bay at work, being that she worked alone in her office, ate lunch solo as often possible, and excused herself during meetings or conversations if she felt an attack coming on. It was a hard, lonely, odorous life, her lifelong problem continually eating away at her self-confidence. A long-term relationship with a man (or woman, for that matter) was out of the question. Just the thought of being intimate with a man made her problem worse. Stress did funny things to the body. Maybe her co-workers didn't know her secret; maybe she was just another victim of Joey's pranks. Maybe there was no hidden meaning to him choosing her. Should she just come clean with everyone and reveal her problem publicly? It would take a load off her shoulders, and people could then accept her for who she was. No, she decided, she'd continue to sit on her secret. No one knew her problem. Best to just keep things as they were. She couldn't open herself up to that humiliation.

(Part 2) We call her Boom-Boom Bernadette, though not to her face of course. I, Joey the Pinhead Shark Bait, bought a whoopee cushion for my ten year-old nephew. It was so much fun I picked one up for myself. The boys here (I'm talking about my crew—Horace, William, and Tommy Four Eyes) dared me to get Bernadette, and I was up to the challenge. But I also wondered, How will I even know if I'm successful? How will I know if it's the whoopee cushion producing the noise, or the real thing? Ha ha. Just kidding. I felt bad doing it, but if I didn't get her, and got everyone else, that would be worse. Right? Like I was excluding her on purpose. The omission would be worse than the inclusion. It would mean I knew about her "secret." She has convinced herself no one is aware of her problem—but we are. That's why I feel bad. I'm a prankster, but not a total jerk. I like Bernadette, and I want to rectify my bad deed. The girls around the office have wanted to set up lonely Boom-Boom with different men over the years, but she has always resisted with one excuse or another. Now it's my turn to play matchmaker! See, the trick is, you have to match her with someone who understands her. Who feels her pain. Her gas pain! Seriously, there's this new guy, Sheldon, who works in customer service. His pants are a little too high off the ground, his glasses are a little too thick, and I can't tell if the grease in his hair is natural or out of a bottle. But he has a great personality! I'm going to work my magic and get them together. You'll see. The meeting should be explosive! They'll hear fireworks! Man, I should be playing the Catskills. Don't forget to tip your waitress, folks!

(Part 3) Sheldon parked the car in front of Bernadette's apartment building in Mt. Kisco. It took him several tries to parallel park, hitting the curb twice, and tapping the bumper of the car behind him once; he hoped she wasn't watching from her window. The thought then hit him: he'd now have to get OUT of the spot once Bernadette got in the car. This caused a profusion of sweat and an outburst of flatulence. He rolled down the window with the hope that the car would air out while he went and rang her doorbell. He waved his hand to disperse the noxious gas. Meanwhile, Bernadette was inside her apartment, watching from the window. She had gas pains, and was glad for this brief respite, hoping to relieve herself before he came to the door, so she wouldn't have to worry about making a bad first impression. She saw him waving, and thought he meant for her to come out. Well, that was rude! He wouldn't even get out of the car, she had to go to him? At least he wasn't beeping the horn. Back in the car, Sheldon flailed his arms frantically. The smell wasn't leaving! Please god, make a breeze! He accidentally hit the horn, which was like a slap to his face, bringing him back to his senses. He had to get a grip on himself! He took a deep breath (which wasn't a very good idea) and opened the door. Bernadette was coming down her walk now, and they met halfway. They awkwardly went to shake hands and kiss at the same time. Then they walked to the car, and Sheldon opened the passenger door for her. She got in and crinkled her nose at the still-lingering smell, while he shut her door and ran around to his side. "And we're off!" he said. Then he proceeded to back up, pull forward, back up, pull forward two inches at a time, working the clutch hard, so as not to hit the curb or another car this time. "Maybe you should let me drive," Bernadette said. "No, no, I got it." The car finally made it out of the spot with a loud fart of a backfire. This broke the ice, and both Bernadette and Sheldon burst out laughing. It was the beginning of a great first date.

(Part 4) Bernadette had been disappointed many times in the past. Every time she thought she had a legitimate chance at love, it ended horribly. The ridicule. The name-calling. The gas attacks. The low self confidence. The self-flagellation. Or should that be self-flatulation? But this time it felt different. For some reason she believed Joey the Pinhead when he sang Sheldon's praises. On a whim she agreed to the blind date. Turns out, he was a squeaker too. The first clue was when he requested a table near the restrooms at the restaurant. Convenience was always key. Actually that was the second clue, the first being the distinctive odor in his car. She felt herself warming to Sheldon over dinner (Joey was right—Sheldon did have a great personality). She sensed a kindred spirit. Someone with her sense of humor. Someone she could really TALK to. And he lived right near her, only one town over! What are the odds? Usually with her luck, he would've lived half-way across the country and was just here temping. After the restaurant, they got back in the car and just drove around enjoying each other's company, neither wanting to call it a night. They were having so much fun! Eventually, and probably out of habit, they found themselves back on the RD campus. Sheldon slowed the car, not knowing where to go. Bernadette surprised herself when she said, "I know where Ethel keeps the key for the Guest House." She immediately felt herself blush. Sheldon turned the car toward the Guest House. Without another word they got out of the car and walked over to the back door. "It's right here," Bernadette said, reaching under a planter by the door. A moment later they were inside. Bernadette whispered, "Don't turn on a light." "Okay. We can use my Zippo." By the faint glow of Sheldon's lighter, they found their way upstairs to a bedroom. Bernadette was excited about her first time, though the gas from the food that she ate at dinner what starting to move around painfully in her stomach. Her nervousness didn't help. She hoped for some alone time first. Maybe they could find a bathroom. Meanwhile, Sheldon was having severe gas pains of his own...

(Part 5) [The explosive conclusion to this week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Chappaqua, N.Y.—This sleepy hamlet was awoken last night by the sound of an explosion, followed by the roar of fire trucks and the shriek of their sirens as they raced to the scene of the disaster. The destination was the grounds of publishing giant Reader's Digest. The iconic building was undamaged. Flames had a good hold on a two-story guest house, however, where the explosion took place. The cause of the explosion is still unknown, though a natural gas leak is suspected. Chappaqua Fire Chief Joe Blanchard speculated that something as innocent as lighting a post-coital cigarette could cause an explosion if a large amount of gas was already present in the room. Miraculously, two unidentified people survived the blast. A man and woman were hanging from a nearby tree, wearing nothing but bed sheets. Apparently their clothes had been blown off by the sheer force of the blast. A Reader's Digest employee who calls himself Lorenzo found the victims and calmed them until the firefighters could arrive to rescue them. When asked what he was still doing at work at such a late hour, the man said, "Non capisco l'inglese." Fire trucks were still hosing down hotspots this morning as employees returned for another day at work on the best-selling consumer magazine in the United States.

Just Rebecca

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Rebecca was always the young one, the kid sister, the one teased and picked on, the one not allowed to join in with the older girls. Talked down to, not taken seriously--sometimes she felt downright invisible! That was her lot in life. Even now at this tea party at Reader's Digest she was the protege, the intern, the ingénue. She wasn't even given a cup of tea. At a tea party! Well, she wasn't a kid anymore. She wasn't as innocent or naive as people thought. And she was beginning to realize she had the one thing these busybody women didn't have: Youth. This thought empowered her. While she was climbing the ladder, these old biddies were on the way down. Or, at best, they were treading water (to mix metaphors). She was the future. She could make it work for her. But, first things first. Old Hag Mary had this laundry list of chores for her to do. Rebecca had to suck it up--for now. She knew her day would come. Patience. Patience.

(Part 2) Rebecca left the tea party holding the list, now slightly crumpled after she had a brief hissy fit when she exited the room. How was she to learn the ins and outs of publishing by picking up Mary's dry cleaning? It was hard enough for a woman to get ahead without other women holding you down. Well, one day women would rule publishing, and Rebecca intended to be a part of it. And she wouldn't be mean to her underlings! She intended make her first million by the time she was 30, 35 tops. Publishing was SO lucrative! Near the Rotunda, she turned a corner without looking and slammed into Lila Wallace. THE Lila Wallace. "Oh my god, Mrs. Wallace, I'm so sorry." Rebecca went to smooth out the front of Lila's business suit, but Lila stopped her. "No need, Miss...?" "Just Rebecca." Lila bent down and picked up the list Rebecca had dropped. She asked, "What's this?" "A 'to-do' list from my boss." Lila read the list. "Nothing on here pertains at all to publishing. Dry cleaning? The vet? This won't do. Follow me, I have something I want to share with you: My vision for the future of publishing." With a quick glance back over her shoulder, Rebecca followed Lila to her hidden office three floors down. Once there, a butler appeared and offered Rebecca a cup of tea, which she gladly accepted. It wasn't a Lipton tea bag either, but exotic Lapsang Souchong. Lila said, "So, Just Rebecca, this is what I need you to do..."

(Part 3) "Wait here," Lila said to Rebecca, then walked through a secret tunnel behind her bookcase and into DeWitt's office. (They had separate secret offices, just as they had separate bedrooms.) "We got a live one," Lila said to her husband DeWitt. "How old is she?" DeWitt asked. "Twenty-two. Just out of school. A real ingénue." After DeWitt consulted his dictionary, he said, "Do you think she'll do it? Can she do it, physically?" Lila said, "She's a perfect candidate." Lila went back through the tunnel and sat down behind her desk. She excused the butler, and when he was gone, she said, "Rebecca, my vision for the future of publishing is that the industry will be run exclusively by women." "That's my vision too!" said Rebecca. Lila continued, "The Max Perkinses, Hemingways, and Fitgeralds have had their day." "Is Mr. Wallace okay with this?" asked Rebecca. "Well, that part he doesn't know. But he is on board with the rest of my plan--the part I need you to do." Rebecca felt a little worried now. "And what's that?" she asked, fiddling with her necktie nervously. "Have you ever heard of cryogenics?" "No, what is it?" Lila said, "It's a new process the government is experimenting with. They freeze your body, then thaw you out at a later date. My friend Walt Disney is considering this. I plan on doing it myself, right here beneath the RD building. I will be revived in the year 2011, emerge from my chamber, take the elevator upstairs and reclaim my company. I have many ideas for the future of publishing that are too advanced for the current technology." "And what do I need to do?" "You, my dear, are going to be my chamber mate." "Your what now?" "My partner. You'll be my right hand when we awaken in 2011. You'll be the heir I never had." Rebecca asked, "What about Mr. Wallace?" Lila laughed an evil laugh. "My dear, he's a MAN! There is no room for him in my plan." Just then DeWitt came through the tunnel and grabbed Rebecca with his big paws, and began to drag her to the cryogenic chamber. "But I hate the cold!" Rebecca shouted. "Help!" Lila laughed again. "See you in 2011," she said.

(Part 4) [The conclusion to this week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] Rebecca was thrown into the capsule and strapped in by DeWitt. Before she knew what was happening, the door slammed shut. DeWitt peeked in at her through the round glass window; it was hard to read his expression. He took one last look, then disappeared. A moment later she heard a hissing sound and the chamber began to rapidly fill with cold air. She called out, but it was useless. Then...nothingness...not even dreams...time no longer mattered...years passed...She opened her eyes. The hissing again, this time slowing down, as if something was deflating. She undid the straps, reached a finger out and scraped some ice from the glass window. She half expected to see DeWitt's face again. She released the door, and it opened slowly, grudgingly. She stepped out into a room that now looked and smelled dusty, stale. Old. Could this be 2011? She saw another capsule and rushed over to it. The door was ajar, but there was no one inside. Had Lila gone through with her plan or not? Was Rebecca alone? She went to the bookcase and tried pulling several books before the panel opened. Then she was back in Lila's secret office. She left there and took a freight elevator up to the ground level and came out near a gym. A man with glasses said hello and handed her a flier printed on good quality color paper. Not interested in joining a gym, she continued, hoping to find someone else to talk to. She went up a flight of stairs to the next level. The building looked deserted. No art on the walls. No people bustling to and fro. She turned a corner and saw a man carrying some packages. "Excuse, me, is this still Reader's Digest?" "We just moved to White Plains. I'm here picking up the mail." Rebecca said, "Is this 2011?" "What--the year?" he asked. Then, "Whatever you're smoking, gimme some. It's 2010, you're off by a few months." Rebecca wondered if Lila could still be alive if she didn't freeze herself too. She considered saying to the man, Take me to your leader. The man said, "I'm going to White Plains now if you want a lift." "Sure, thanks." On the drive, Rebecca learned that Lila had died in 1984, DeWitt in 1981, and the company was now under new ownership. Walt Disney was cryogenically frozen and buried beneath the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland. "If you're looking for a job, I still may be able to get you a summer internship," the man said. Great, she thought, back where I started. She'd just have to begin again, work her way up. Patience, she told herself. Patience.

Marjorie and Hank

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] When Marjorie went to Henry's office to drop off some papers, Horace was there with a camera, so she spontaneously threw her arm around Hank and asked for a picture to be taken. Marjorie just couldn't keep her hands off of Henry. It was as simple as that. Some men have it, and some men don't. The "it" of course is that intangible, animal magnetism. Sure, you can go to the gym and lift dumbbells, throw a medicine ball around, do pushups. But you can't get charisma from working out. And Henry had charisma in spades. His buddies at work called him Hank, and she wanted to get to that level of comfort with him, too. Of course, in her mind she already thought of him as Hank. Or Hanky Panky when she was feeling frisky. Just look at him! He could have easily become an actor, a leading man, but chose a life in publishing instead. He was a recent widower, and Marjorie knew she'd have to compete with a slew of other women for Hank's attention. All she could do for now was bide her time, try to put out some vibes that maybe Hank would pick up on. Once he was ready to date again, she knew she'd have to pounce first--and fast--like a cat on an unsuspecting mouse. Meow!

(Part 2) This Marjorie is a real hot dish. Legs up to her neck. Body language that speaks volumes. And it ain't condensed volumes I'm talking about. She's a real fashion plate too; those cat glasses can drive a man wild. Meow! Horace said she likes me, and that I should start courting her. It's a little too soon, I said. Too soon after losing Lenore. Horace replied that three years is long enough. Anyway, Marjorie's much younger than I am, she can't possibly be interested in a geezer like me. Could she? When she threw her arm around me earlier, I could feel the electricity between us. Maybe it was just my imagination. She was probably just being friendly. There's nothing there. I'm a foolish old man. After work I'll go home, and water my lawn, like a good suburbanite, while my TV dinner is warming in the oven. A new episode of "I Love Lucy" is on tonight to keep me company. And there you have it: My evening. Not so bad, I guess. Could be worse. Oh hell, who am I kidding. Maybe I AM ready to start dating again. It's been so long though, I wouldn't even know how to begin. I can get Lorenzo to give me some pointers. He's good with the ladies. He can give me a pep talk. Let me go see if he's around...

(Part 3) "You need more confidence," Lorenzo said. "Hold your chin up. Speak with authority. And don't pull your pants up so high. You won't catch my paesan Sinatra wearing his pants like that." "But my butt is skinny. I need to really tighten my belt, keep my pants from falling down," Hank said. Lorenzo shook his head. "Women, they no like that look. If you ever have any doubts, just think, What Would Sinatra Do?" They were in Hank's office with the door shut. Hank stood with his arms out, letting Lorenzo inspect him. Lorenzo leaned in and sniffed Hank. He asked, "What is this smell?" Hank said, "Uh, I don't know. After shave?" Lorenzo again shook his head. "Too old man. Reminds me of mothballs. I'm going to give you a bottle of what I use. It's the closest scent I've found yet to the American dollar." Hank asked, "You want me to smell like money?" "Si." "And this will attract women?" "Si." "Okay," Hank said doubtfully. Lorenzo then grabbed Hank by the shirt. "You have to be more casual. Take off this tie. Undo the top button. Show some chest hair!" This was too much for Hank. "I'm a man, not an animal!" "Ah, but you ARE an animal. That's what you want the ladies to think. A tiger in the bedroom." Hank did as he was told. Lorenzo said, "Now tomorrow, you spray the cologne on, wear your shirt open like that, have confidence, and BE A MAN!"

(Part 4) Marjorie gussied herself up that morning. She decided she couldn't risk waiting around for Hank to be ready to date again. She had to force the issue. You can't wait for men to decide what they want; they don't know what they want. She would just have to ask HIM out on a date. Once at the office, she went to the kitchen to get coffee, hoping to bump into Hank. Lorenzo was there making an espresso. "Ciao Marjorie, my sweet little zeppola." "Good morning, Lorenzo...my little...penne." He wasn't sure how to take this, and hoped she wasn't making fun of his manhood. Had she heard something? "So," he said to change the subject, "my friend Hank. He's a good man." "Henry? Yes, he's very nice." Just then Hank arrived, holding an empty coffee mug. His pants were riding low, his shirt was open with the sleeves rolled up. Seven chest hairs were peeking out. Lorenzo gave him a wink. "There's my paesan." Hank hadn't been expecting to see Marjorie so soon, and was caught off guard. "Hello Lorenzo...Marjorie." Hank could smell his new cologne, and wondered if he had overdone it when splashing it on earlier. Marjorie felt his animal magnetism more than usual. Was it actually getting stronger by the day? Meow! There was a new, intangible element added to the mix. She could barely control herself. "Let me pour some coffee for you," she said. "I like it sweet," he said. Then, remembering he had to speak with confidence, he added, "Just like my women." "Oh, Hanky." "Oh, Margie." Suddenly, they were wrapped in a passionate, carnal embrace. Lorenzo, his job as cupid done, ducked out of the kitchen. He whistled Sinatra's "I've Got You Under My Skin" all the way back to the cafeteria.

(Part 5) [The conclusion to this week's "As the Pegasus Flies"] They made their way to the storage room above the library to get better "acquainted." Hank said, "Lorenzo told me about this little love nest." Marjorie exclaimed, "That Lorenzo, what a Romeo!" They climbed the spiral staircase and got settled. After getting better acquainted, they shared a cigarette. "Smoking is SO cool!" Marjorie said. "Actually," Hank said, "I'm beginning to suspect it's bad for you." "Nah, they'd tell us if it were." "I guess." Hank let out a long stream of smoke, aimed it at the ceiling, then said, "I had a dream last night that I came to work and the whole building was empty. The lawn was overgrown, windows cracked, roof leaking, the entire building abandoned." "That's weird. What do you think it means?" Hank handed the cigarette to Marjorie. "I don't know," he said, "but it felt so real." "Did you go inside?" "Yeah. It barely looked the same. Small little empty offices with half walls. The paintings were all gone. My office pretty much looked the same, but without the furniture. It was a ghost town. The only thing needed was a tumbleweed rolling by." Marjorie said, "I'm scared, Hanky--hold me." Hank put his arms around her, then continued, "Maybe the dream just meant that I was afraid to be alone. I'm not getting any younger. You know, I lost my wife three years ago." "I know. And you're not alone anymore." They finished the cigarette and Hank stubbed it out in the ashtray Lorenzo kept hidden on a nearby shelf. They straightened up, then descended the stairs and went their separate ways, stealing a quick kiss before they parted. When Hank got to his office, Lorenzo was waiting for him. "Paesan, my advice, it worked, no?" "It worked great, Lorenzo. Now, can you teach me to cook?" Lorenzo perked up. "Si! The way to a woman's heart is through her stomach. I will teach you a taste of home---Italy!" "Thank you. TV dinners are okay for me, but I can't make them for Marjorie." Lorenzo put his arm around Hank conspiratorially. "So, tell me. This Marjorie--does she have a sister?"

{Good luck with the move, everyone. Sue Nami will see you in White Plains!}

Eloise

(Part 1) [This week's "As the Pegasus Flies."] Numbers numbers numbers. Numbers tumbling through Eloise's head all day long. Dewey Decimal System. Dewey Defeats Truman (but not really). John Dewey teaching math. She was sick of numbers! When she was through with her 9-5 job, she'd get into her used 1951 Packard (288 cubic-inch 8-cylinder engine) and drive to the market where she'd pay 17¢ for a loaf of bread, 92¢ for a gallon of milk, then she'd fill up her 14-gallon gas tank with gas that cost 21¢ per gallon. Maybe she'd stop off at the post office on her way home and get 3¢ stamps. She was 32 years old (387 months), she could do long division in her head, she liked pie and pi, and she went to sleep at night not by counting sheep, but by considering prime numbers. She was a hot number, a social security number, a census number, a phone number, and a number of things she shouldn't mention. After her errands, she parked her car in front of her apartment on 124 Seventh Avenue in Mt. Vernon, and climbed the stairs to the third floor, where her two cats, Prime and Pi, greeted her. A world without numbers, that's what she longed for. Numberless. Zero. Wait, zero's a number too. Damn. What she really longed for were letters...

(Part 2) The next day during her lunch break, Eloise walked down to the HR Department and found her friend Hilda's office. "Got any openings?" Eloise asked. "Let's see," Hilda said. She opened a file cabinet and began to flip through some folders. Eloise said, "I don't want anything that has to do with numbers." "What? But you were a math major! You LOVE numbers!" "No, I HATE numbers," Eloise said. Hilda laughed. "You named one of your cats Prime, and the other Pi. I don't think you hate numbers." "You don't understand," Eloise said. "I dream about them. I can't get them out of my head. They chase me in my nightmares. They have long legs, fangs, and halitosis. I can never run fast enough. But thankfully, just as they reach out their crooked digits to grab me, I wake up." Hilda said, "Digits, good one. Well, I dreamt about Rock Hudson last night. What a hunk! Now THAT'S a man!" "You're right about that," Eloise said, "So, what openings do you have?" "I got one right here," Hilda said, pulling a sheet of paper out of the folder. "It's in the editorial department of the magazine. You'd be working with my hubby William." Eloise was interested. "What's the position?" Hilda said, "Copy editor. How are you with words?" I LOVE words!" Eloise said, "Letters are the new numbers! And there are only 26 of them!" "Okay, I'll get you in. You owe me one," Hilda said.

(Part 3) Eloise aced the interview and began her new job two weeks later. She had her own office with a wall lined with books, dictionaries, and the latest edition of the Chicago Manual of Style. A picture frame holding a photo of her two cats sat on her oak desktop. Her nightmares had subsided, as had her obsession with numbers. Lorenzo from the cafeteria dropped by on her first day to bring her a piece of cake. "Welcome, my sweet braciole." "Thanks, Lorenzo. But I'm kinda busy." He made a pouty face and left. She thought, Why can't single men be interested in me instead of married men? Someone like that dreamy new actor Rock Hudson. She sighed, picked up a red pen, and set to copy editing an article on bomb shelters people were building in their suburban backyards. She flipped through the typewritten pages to see how long the article was. Eight pages. She wondered what the word count was. She sighed again and looked at the photo of her cats, recently renamed Dee and Jay. She went back to the article, adding a comma, correcting a typo, and changing a "your" to "you're." Okay, she had to admit it to herself, she missed the comradery of her old job, sitting in one big room with all the other girls. What was Brenda talking about right now? How was Barbara, and her rebellious husband Andrew? The Dewey Decimal System was boring as hell, but so is this article. At least she wasn't alone before. She was part of something. She was in on the jokes. Now she was missing everything, and they were going on without her, coming up with new running jokes she wouldn't get. Or blowing off steam to each other, as they complained about their husbands and boyfriends, and she wouldn't be in the know anymore. She looked back down at the boring text on the sheet of paper in front of her, changed a "then" to "than." Maybe I made a big mistake, she thought.

(Part 4) [The conclusion to this Overhead Reduction week's "As the Pegasus Flies."] Two days later, Eloise was back in Hilda's office. "The grass isn't greener," Eloise said. "Uh oh," Hilda said. Eloise continued, "Last night I dreamt that a giant M was chasing me down the street." Hilda asked, "Did it catch you?" "It did. And it was a serif font, and it stomped on my head with its stinky serif feet," Eloise said. "Your dreams are scary. Last night, that hunk Raymond Burr was in MY dream." "Okay, so you have better dreams than I do," Eloise said, "So, is my old position still open?" "But William said you were catching on fast, doing a good job." Eloise said, "Well, I HATE letters! They're illogical. They don't make any sense! They're unpredictable! They're at the mercy of the whim of the writer! Words suck!" Hilda said, "I'm getting the feeling you don't like letters." "NO!! So can I have my old job back or what?" Hilda said, "I didn't even bother to fill it. Go! Go back with the rest of the girls! Go have fun with your logical numbers!" "Thank you!" Eloise said. That night Eloise dreamt that a ferocious number 8 was attacking her, and she couldn't have been happier. She woke with a smile on her face, said hello to her cats Pi and Prime, and got ready for work. Soon she'd be driving her '51 Packard to 1 Reader's Digest Road, and be she'd be back in the fold with her friends, back where she was comfortable, back where numbers ruled.