Elevated on the sense of success in his pursuit of Schaden, David felt confident in other pursuits. It was almost midday at the office. He’d done two tax returns for clients with more money than sense or morals, and found enough deductions and ways to hide or write off income that they would be eminently satisfied. He was almost a sleuth at the game and it was a bitter pill to swallow that perhaps his eye for detail and relentless capacity for searching out the minutia made him such a good…. accountant.
Just because you are good at something doesn’t mean you should do it, he thought to himself. Though if Schaden proved to continue to be elusive for whatever cruel pleasure it gave her, his research skills would come in handy on the internet – he’d track her down like some highly skilled cyberstalker. She’d appreciate that, no matter what she might say.
And even more than that, he wanted to think of himself as good at comedy too – that his eye for detail took on a whole other level in that field, and was similarly the thing that would raise him above the common herd of his competitors.
Perhaps he was right to think of himself in those terms. It was a big leap from amateur comedy to professional and one rarely attempted or made by those who had little networking connections to aid them. David suffered from such an affliction – he knew most of the ‘fans’ of the craft from the internet but few of the actual comedy world themselves. He was slightly shy, loathe to approach actual successful comedians after gigs or in pubs to publicise his wish to join their throng. It was an impediment for him, making him have to rely wholly on his skill and his performance. He recognized this was a disadvantage to actual success, even if it was a potential advantage to quality. The two did not necessarily go hand in hand.
But perhaps they sometimes could. He logged off the net from chatting with Schaden, the promise of their imminent meeting in real life buoying his spirits, and he took Andrew’s card (which he’d lifted unseen a few week’s ago at one of the Andrew’s client’s gigs) out of his wallet. He’d never dared hope he could actually use the number, it had just been comforting to have it in some obscure way. But now he had been invited to call – he had, as Schaden would put it, received a clear invitation to the dance.
Why wait? It wasn’t like ringing a girl after sex, where you would wait at least three days to ensure you had the psychological upper hand. This was business. This was between men. There was no need for such games.
(c) Helen M Valentina 2015, All Rights Reserved