A Little Chat over Breakfast
Greer Watson

The Secretary had set her alarm; but, perhaps for that very reason, woke a good half hour before the time she had intended.  It was gently warm under the covers; and, for a few minutes, she remained somnolent in bed, her eyes shut against the light.  It was very early, but still past dawn:  after all, it was June; just as it had been June when the maryrenaultfics community had first been founded.  At times, the gardens blazed with a Mediterranean heat; yet, even though she had never seen any air conditioning here, it always remained at an ideal temperature indoors—certainly milder than a June day would have been at home (for, at times, she still could not quite think of the Clubhouse as “home”).  It was, she supposed, heavenly.  Which was appropriate.

She turned over to check the time, then sighed, sat up, and switched off the alarm.  An extra twenty minutes or so now might be all too handy later.

When she went downstairs, she found that the kitchen was already bustling with ubiquitous anonymous slaves.  None of the Moderns had arrived yet, nor any of the major characters from the historical novels.  All persons present were, so to speak, from the behind-the-scenes.  From the perspective of a born and bred American, the entire situation was awkward, and not for the first time; on the other hand, there was, as always, nothing she could do about it.

The Secretary withdrew tactfully to the breakfast room—which was sometimes there and sometimes not, but usually turned out to be present when the kitchen was particularly busy.  The sideboard had already been decked with platters and chafing dishes.  She served herself and sat at one of the tables; and a rather young woman came and filled her juice glass, brought a carafe of coffee and a jug of cream, and departed without saying a word.  From the cut of her clothes, the Secretary thought she had probably come from The Persian Boy.  Clearly, even so, she had been made familiar with the customary American wait-staff routine.  Someone around here was being efficient.  Or—knowing the Clubhouse—that might be something.

Before she had finished eating, she could hear noises in the hall as the main door opened and people came through, singly or in groups.  For a while, though, no one entered the room to join her:  they would, she realized, have breakfasted already in their books.  However, as she was just pouring her second mug of coffee (and contemplating another pastry to fortify herself, for it would be a long day), the door opened and the Interviewer came in.

“Oh, good!  You made it!” she greeted her.  “I wondered whether you’d be able to get away.”

“Don’t be silly,” was the response.  “It wouldn’t matter whether my Editor sent me on assignment or not, I’d never miss the tenth anniverary!  This is all too important for so many people I—”  There was a slight, almost embarrassed hesitation.  “—well, call my friends, you know.  That is, some of you at least.  You, certainly.”  There was a long pause, as the Interviewer turned to contemplate the breakfast buffet.

“Join me?” suggested the Secretary.

“I’ve eaten, really,” said the Interviewer, a bit wistfully; “but I could do with another cup of coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“No, no.  There’s still plenty.”

The Interviewer got herself a mug and sat down.  As the other woman picked up the coffee pot and poured, she began, “Mind you, there those here who probably don’t think of me as a friend.”

“The kings and emperors?” said the Secretary, with a twinkle.  “Of course, even with the Moderns, there are times when they say something that makes me realize just how long ago the books were written.”

“Oh, you they respect,” said the Interviewer, adding a dollop of cream to her mug.  “You’re ‘the Secretary’:  you run the place.”

“Do I?”

“Well, you’re the one who’s always here.”

“I’ve had a fair hand with organizing today’s events, I suppose,” said the Secretary; but she added, “as far as that goes.”  She picked up her mug, and sipped it.

“Which is why I need to talk to you.”

The tone of the Interviewer’s voice caught the Secretary’s attention.  She sounded uncharacter­istic­ally…uncertain.  Almost nervous.

Wisely, the older woman waited.

“Yes, well.” The Interviewer paused, and even blushed slightly.  “I mean, back when I first came here, no one knew me:  I was just a reporter who’d come to interview them.  Some of them were more forthcoming than others; but there was a lot of background that I didn’t know.”

The Secretary set her mug down carefully.  “Is all this leading up to telling me that you plan to do more interviews today?”

“ITOW/10YO - A Little Chat over Breakfast” was originally posted to the maryrenaultfics LiveJournal community by greerwatson on 21 June 2014. .