Lass Small - Whatever Comes

* * *

Mab had never done the “other people” format for an interview. It wasn’t uncommon to seek out the opinions of acquaintances of well-known people. Or she could raid the files stored in the newspaper morgue for involvements and speculations about anyone in the news. It seemed the lazy cop-out to only interview the friends or relatives or co-workers of a personality...such as Sean Morant.

But Jamie had planted a seed, a root. And it grew and would have to be dealt with, for it would change Amabel Clayton’s life.

* * *

From her meeting with Jamie Milrose, Mab did glean one little item that set off a furor. Among the personality briefs, in Adam’s Roots, she reported there was some question about Sean Morant’s vocal cords being in jeopardy. Would he lose his voice? If he did, what would happen to his group? What would become of Sean Morant?

With her succinct words, panic erupted among the Rock devotees. The item was picked up and spread. It was mentioned in turn on MTV, Music Television, who hoped the rumor wasn’t true.

After a week had passed, Jamie called Mab. “You darling! His records are being snatched up—everyone thinks his vocal cords are doomed. Beautiful! I owe you.”

So, quite naturally, Mab leaped on that. She quickly asked, “How about an interview?”

His voice a purr, Jamie reminded her, “There’s always Big Sur.”

“Jamie, you just said you owe me. What about an interview with Sean?”

“Would you like an autographed copy of his Timeless album?” Jamie inquired in a generous manner. Then he added smoothly, “There’s a woman in ‘She Rocked Me’ that could well be you.”

But Mab ignored the chatter and stuck to reality. “Jamie, you said you owed me. Try for the interview.”

“‘Tis hopeless, my love.” Jamie was regretful, but that finished the conversation.

* * *

Several days later, Amabel got the autographed Timeless album, and played “She Rocked Me.” She had never listened all the way through any of Sean’s recordings. His roughened voice was what a woman wanted...she’d heard. The woman Jamie said could well be Mab used the man like a vampire, sucking him dry of innocence and love before she discarded him. It made Mab mad.

So the album was still on Mab’s desk when her boss, Wallace Michaels, walked into her cubbyhole. He picked up the album and asked, with some startled interest, “You get autographed albums from Sean Morant?”

Automatically correcting his leap to an erroneous conclusion, she replied, “From his publicity agent, Jamie Milrose.” Mab went on typing. She was allergic to computers.

Wallace asked her, “You got an in with Jamie?”

“Wally,” she explained to an innocent, “Jamie probably signs the albums himself. He’s that tricky.”

He asked quickly, “Could you get an interview?”

Wallace Michaels was VP over all the people news of Adam’s Roots. Since his job dealt only in personalities, he felt like a third-class citizen and was sensitive about it. He wanted to be in the mainstream of news and happenings and actually he was only involved in...gossip. He adjusted to the only way to handle gossip. He took it seriously.

“Wally, you know I have been trying to get an interview with Sean Morant for you for three years. I speak with Jamie Milrose several times a year in that effort. I have tried to waylay Sean Morant, and so far I’ve been unsuccessful. So has every other reporter. We get only the publicity handouts. You are aware of all that.”

Wally pushed up his lower lip thoughtfully and declared, “We need an interview.”

“Good luck.”

“Now, Mab— It was your little squib about his gold-plated vocal cords that caused all this hoorah. Now’s your time. And nothing is going on right now! So, unless some other country blows up another, we could get a cover story out of it! Do it.”

Mab was disgusted and told Wally seriously, “It would have to be with interviews of others who know him or who’ve worked with him.”

Wally was firm. “Do it.”

“It’ll kill my reporter’s soul.” Closing up her desk, Mab lifted the pull-out typewriter shelf to release the holding, spring catch in order to swing it down into the desk. It stuck. She tried again.

As if an oracle, Wally observed, “You don’t like Sean Morant.”

She temporarily abandoned her desk’s problem in order to stand up and look at Wally. She was kind. “I haven’t met a whole lot of men I do like.” She became gentle. “I find men are overrated.” She gestured. “The ones I’ve met tend to be petty, self-serving, egotistically immature and quite ruthless.” She scowled. “They’ve fouled up the world. Both politically and chemically.” She became logical. “And with Sean Morant, we have the ultimate in uselessness.”

“You are the perfect foil to find out if there’s a man under all that hype. Do it.”

She sighed impatiently and went back to fiddle with her stubborn desk mechanism as she said, “You are one of the few men I can tolerate. This isn’t really an assignment for me. I’m not into MTV, or Rock concerts, or that type of music and I believe it’s a...” She was distracted by her examination of the desk mechanism and she jounced it.

“He is involved with the Feed the World’s hunger programs.”

“Who isn’t?” She bit her lower lip and strong-armed the stubborn, probably male, desk’s unmovable typewriter tray.

“You know, Mab.” Wally had turned soothsayer. “You’re a genuine man hater. I’m glad I’m safely married. If I wasn’t, I might try for you and you’d shrivel me up.” He reached over and effortlessly swung the typewriter and its shelf down into the desk.

She considered him thoughtfully. “I could live next door to you.”

“Ah, a magnificent concession.”

“But spare me Sean Morant.”

But Wally directed, “Do the interview any way you can make it.” With that comment out of the way, he added, “Chris would like you to come to dinner on Saturday. She is having her cousin over, and she’d like to expose him to you.”

“Expose?” Mab turned back to Wally and raised her eyebrows. “You make me sound like chicken pox.”

He replied kindly, “You look so easy, and it’s just a facade. Looking at you the first time, anyone would think you’re all sweetness and light, and you’re a shock. Men can be very misled. Chris thinks Joe needs the kind of set-down you’ll give him.”

“I’m a serious woman. I dislike being taken for a dolly.” Then she enunciated her rejection distinctly, “My parents didn’t raise me to educate the male population on the rights of women to be people.”

“Chris would take it as a favor.” Wally’s eyes twinkled. “And I’d love watching it. Joe’s a revolving one. Anyway you look at him, he’s a bastard.”

“It sounds like a thrilling evening. No, thanks.”

“He would be a better man,” Wally coaxed.

She rejected the whole idea. “I couldn’t care less.”

“Then how about Friday? There’ll be just the family. Chris has missed you. And you know I love you, too.”

Mab studied Wally seriously. “You really want this interview, don’t you?”

“How astute!”

* * *

So it was that, like any hack, Mab began to go through the files; and the information, speculation and lies on Sean Morant did collect...along with the pictures. There were all sorts of pictures. Studio or candid. He looked bored. He looked like a man who didn’t give one hoot in hell about anything. The only time he didn’t look bored was in those pictures taken as he performed.

Those made Amabel thoughtful. He was an interesting-looking man. He wasn’t handsome. His face wasn’t that unusual. He was above average in height, and he was well-built, but many men are. His hair was dark, and lashes shadowed his eyes. She had read that his eyes were brown. The pictures of him performing were in vital contrast to those pictures taken of him on the street.