Part 1.1
As large as the weekend Guardian can be, especially when spread out, there was still oodles of room on the kitchen table. To his left, a club soda mixed with grapefruit juice in a tall glass on ice. To his right, a steaming cup of black coffee. Crumbs from the croissant already eaten were dusted here and there. Delicious. It was exactly 8am. Clean-shaven and freshly showered, Avery was dressed in a pressed white Oxford, charcoal slacks, and a pair of black shoes with black laces. His silver socks were new. His blonde hair was handsomely combed and shining. He was using a new wax product that he forgot he owned when he was cleaning his room the night before. A gift from Holly. The coffee tasted great on his lips and the anticipation of downing his citrus cocktail was building. By now you might have a pretty good image of Avery. And you wouldn't be wrong. But as recently as yesterday he was falling out of bed around noon or later. Usually hung over. He'd been barely showering, let alone shaving. Just yesterday Maxwell told Avery that he looked not unlike a bum. Six weeks ago Avery was laid off from his first job out of university. He'd been there four years. The minute Mack Jr. broke the news, the four years vanished into nothing, all at once. He drank the last of his coffee and turned to the careers section. The first ad he saw broke the mold: Serious young intellectual required for Turner Prize candidate. Must have post-graduate degree. 16a Broadwick Street, Soho, London. Excellent compensation and full benefits. 6 months. Interviews today only at 3pm. Bring only your person. The strangeness of the wording alone piqued Avery's interest. Fuck yes, he thought. The smile on his face was now permanent. He'd been meaning to get down to London anyway as there was a Whistler exhibit at the National Gallery which he'd heard some good things about. Avery hadn't been to London since his affair with Louise, a foolishly snobby but dangerously sexy account supervisor he'd met through work. That was before Christmas. It was now nearing April, and it felt like a lifetime ago. There was no time to lose. He jumped out of his chair, cleaned up his paper, crumbs, gulped down his sparkling juice, wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, and finally reached for his blazer. Maxwell had already left the flat so Avery found himself talking outloud to himself. "Yes yes yes. I'll call Max from London, maybe I'll stay with Jen for the night, yes! I should have thought about going to London weeks ago!" The Guardian, which was now underneath his left arm, felt good. He brushed his teeth too quickly, fished around his room for his keys, wallet, and a week-old pack of Marlboro Lights. He closed the light and flew out the door. He walked to the train station, which wasn't far from Max's Leicester flat. As he was purchasing his ticket for the 9:10 train to London he noticed Louise across the way. God, he hadn't seen her since the night he strolled into the Prime Minister's Mistress and saw her on Charles' lap. It was the same day he'd been let go from Mack and Son. Today she was wearing a tan suede skirt and blazer. She was tanned herself from the Spanish sun, Avery imagined. She looked awesome. Avery ogled her legs as she walked through the station and he beamed. As he looked down to his train ticket, he smiled for what seemed like the tenth time that young morning. She'd been fun but that was yesterday. He was off to London.
 
To be continued...

Labels: AveryHutch, Fiction

¶ 3:30 PM
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