Disclaimer: Remember WENN and its characters were created by and belong to Rupert Holmes. The show is produced by Meltzer Productions, and is broadcast on American Movie Classics. No copyright infringement intended.
Author’s note: This is set during fourth season, at any random time after "Some Time, Some Station" and before "All’s Noisy on the Pittsburgh Front".
One Fine Evening
By Ally K.
A very cheerful Scott Sherwood entered the offices of Pittsburgh radio station WENN, hiding a luxurious bouquet of roses behind his back. Gertie was occupied with a very opinionated caller on the line. She gave him a look of extreme suffering, complete with a pantomime of hanging herself with a noose. Scott grinned in response. As he left in search of a certain head writer, Gertie saw the bouquet at his posterior and smiled. Her tranquil moment was quickly smothered by the ever-insistent caller, who was now ranting about the Hands of Time performance given that morning by Ms. Hilary Booth, of course.
Scott knocked lightly on the writers’ room door. Betty was frantically typing, as usual, hoping to wrap up a script before the show went on the air. She glanced up and saw her colleague beaming like a monkey. Sometimes the resemblance is uncanny, she thought with amusement.
"Good morning, Scott," she greeted him, quickly returning to her work.
"Oh, it’s not just a good morning," he chirped. "It’s a Betty morning."
"And what would that mean?"
"Beautiful and radiant," Scott gushed.
Betty recognized a brown nose when she saw one. Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, she cautiously asked, "What do you want, Scott?"
"Actually, I’ve got something for you." Scott knelt on one knee, bowed his head, and held up the flowers as if he were a servant offering the crown to a queen. Betty softened, her face breaking out into a pleased smile. She plucked the bouquet from his hands and brought it to her nose, breathing in the sweet aroma. Scott gazed entrancedly at her, delighted with her response to his offering. Carefully, he asked, "Would you like to go to dinner tonight?"
His heart was pounding in anticipation, and he held his breath as she met his nervous gaze. Betty inhaled, intending to say yes, then hesitated before she could exhale. She had forgotten something - someone - very important. She saw him appear in the doorway, and called out his name. Scott froze. He quickly stood up and turned around, facing the saintly Victor Comstock.
"Hey there, Vic," he said, feigning a smile and speaking through gritted teeth.
Victor’s lips twitched spasmodically, hinting at a returned smile. His eyes were full of questions, wondering what Sherwood was doing kneeling before Betty, and what Betty was doing holding a dozen roses. He methodically pieced the puzzle together, and was hit with the conclusion that something romantically-linked had just taken place. His stomach tied itself in knots, but he forced himself to appear cool and calm as always.
"Good morning, Sherwood, Betty." He nodded with acknowledgement towards both. "They’re expecting the script any time soon. We are still engaged for dinner tonight?" Betty nodded weakly. "Good." Victor attempted to appear nonchalant. "Good. Well, a radio station doesn’t run itself. We should all get back to work."
"Right away, boss," Scott answered coldly, saluting, and swept past Victor in yet another defeat. He received little satisfaction in purposefully bumping into Victor’s arm. The man was admirable. Some days, Scott even liked Victor. If they weren’t competitors fighting for the maidenly grand prize, they might even be good friends. With this consoling thought, Scott glumly made his way to the main studio.
Victor lingered in the writer’s room, taking in Betty’s image. He knew he had owned the edge over Sherwood until as of late. Not only was his foe trying harder to win Betty’s affections, but Victor was aiding him by canceling numerous dates and being away so often. It was not his fault that he had been called on to serve his country. Had it been possible, Victor would have remained rooted in Pittsburgh like he had in just a few years ago. However, patriotic duty was constantly calling. Sometimes Victor wished he could defy his loyalties, but he was weak in that way.
"Victor?" Betty said quietly.
"Yes, Betty?"
Betty pulled out the off-white page from her typewriter, adding it to another stack of papers. She handed it to him as she said, "Will you take that to the studio, please?"
"Certainly." Victor took the script. Before he made his exit, he added softly, "I would do anything for you."
He saw Betty’s face light up. Her lips slowly curled themselves into an appreciative smile. "Thanks, Victor," she replied.
Victor smiled genuinely this time, taking one last look at his lady before he moved on to his next destination.
***
Having delivered the script, the station manager returned to his office and slumped into his seat, resting his elbows on his desk and intertwining his long fingers until they made a strong support for his chin. He assumed a thoughtful position, staring blankly at the door. A figure promptly knocked on it. Victor snapped out of his trance and leaned back in his seat as he said, "Come in."
The door opened, ushering in the curvy Maple LaMarsh. She always seemed so anxious when approaching Victor, as if he intimidated her not only in his towering height but stately stature as well. Today, she entered with an awkward smile, closing the door behind her.
"Hello, Miss LaMarsh," Victor said amiably. "Have a seat."
"Thanks, Victor." Maple settled into the seat across the desk, adjusting her dress carefully.
"What can I do for you?"
"Well, the other day I got a call from one of my girlfriends saying she was getting married in a week and could I come to the ceremony..." Maple paused. She frowned at Victor, who had regressed into a hypnotic, thoughtful state. "Victor?"
"Huh?" he said, startled. Victor blinked at the redheaded woman who sat looking rather concerned. He sighed. "May I ask you something, Miss LaMarsh?"
"Sure," she replied.
"If you were to decide between Scott Sherwood and myself, whom would you choose?"
Maple, obviously taken aback, bit her lip. On the one hand, she was an old friend of Scott’s. On the other hand, she was speaking to the man who could fire her at will. Yet, had she a third hand, she would have realized Victor was concerned more with an honest answer than anything else.
"Well gee," she fumbled, unsure how to go about with a reply. "I don’t know."
"Honestly..." Victor gave her an earnest look, his eyebrows knitting together as his forehead crinkled. He leaned over the desk. Maple found herself perspiring a little. His long frame had well crossed the width of the desk and was only a few feet from meeting Maple’s face point-blank. He stopped, stared into her eyes, then asked slowly "...do you find me attractive?"
Maple tried to stifle a giggle, but was cackling with laughter before she could maintain total control. Victor tried to hide his hurt, recoiling into his seat, slightly flushed. Maple took in a huge breath, reduced her glee, and found herself feeling a little humiliated. "I’m sorry," she apologized, "but it’s funny to see you feeling so...inaccurate."
"Inadequate?" Victor corrected.
"Yeah, that too," she said, adding a little embarrassed chuckle.
"You’re good friends with Sherwood," Victor observed. "What kind of things would he do with a woman on a date?"
Maple snorted. "What wouldn’t he do?" she muttered. Victor frowned. Remembering who she was talking to, Maple quickly continued. "Oh, I don’t know. Something cheap. Though he’s been spending a ton on Betty lately."
A look of revelation dawned on Maple’s face. She shook an accusing finger at Victor with an understanding succession of nods.
"Oh, I get it. You’re trying to outdo Scotty." Maple held up her hands in resignation. "I’d love to help you out, Vic, but I’ve got loyalties too."
She stood up and prepared to leave, but as she grabbed the doorknob, Victor called after her, "Does he...care for her a lot?"
Maple paused, and sighed at the door. Turning around, she said, "You could say she’s the apple brown Betty of his eye."
She resumed her seat in the chair across from Victor. "Scotty doesn’t like complications. He’s never been one to settle down. But as of now I can tell you he’s dreaming of white picket fences and a certain brunette to go with them."
"Oh."
Maple didn’t know what to make of that forlorn response.
"Gee, Victor. I don’t know what to tell you," she said tenderly, being careful not to stab Scott in the back and refraining from hurting Victor, too.
"As a woman, how do you perceive me?"
"Well," Maple said with a small, uncomfortable gulp, and slowly began to list what positive attributes she could think of regarding Victor Comstock. "You’re a nice guy, and you obviously love radio so you’re very dedicated. You seem very smart - bookish, I guess..."
"Lethargic?" Victor suggested with disappointment.
"Um..." Maple didn’t quite know what that word meant.
"Boring," he said, offering a synonym. "I’m consumed by my occupation and I don’t convey any sense of interest in anything else."
"Oh no!" Maple objected quickly. "You’re not boring, percy..."
"Per se?"
"Yeah," Maple said. "You know, Victor, you’ve got a lot of energy in your system. Maybe you could save some of it for the date. Do something fun, like...dancing! Yeah, why not take Betty dancing?"
"I’m not much of a dancer," Victor admitted. "I really don’t know the first thing about it."
"Oh, I could teach you a few things." Maple motioned for him to stand, and moved her chair into a corner. Victor reluctantly approached her, unsure of what to do. She took a hold of his hands and placed them on the proper places on her figure. He relented to her direction rather uncomfortably.
"Now, the first thing you need to know is not to step on your partner’s feet..."
***
Victor found himself anxiously pacing about his office. Maple had done the best she could with him as far as last-minute dancing lessons. Uncharacteristically, he had been spontaneous - or what Victor Comstock saw as the definition of spontaneity. He had still planned the entire night, but this time they were not going to the reliable restaurant down the street he and Betty frequented. He was going to try new things, expand his horizons. He was an adventurer in the world of radio, but in the world of reality, Victor discovered how unsteady he was.
He checked his watch. Eight. Betty had promised to wrap up her work as soon as possible. Victor felt fidgety. Finally, he marched out of his office and down the hall, turning abruptly at the corner to approach the writers’ room. He saw Betty slipping out the door, sliding it shut behind her.
Betty looked up and saw the heighty figure of her dinner date. She sent him a warm smile. "Good timing, Victor," she said.
"I should say the same for you, Miss Roberts." Victor bowed deeply and gentlemanly offered Betty his arm, through which she looped her own. He expected her to ask, "Where are we going?" as she always did. Little did he know, Betty given up hoping for change. His maverick personality by day was worn out by evening, and she had decided to accept it. At least he was steady. Though lately, Scott had been pretty dependable himself...
Gertie looked up from her desk and smiled at the sight of the couple. "Good night, Gertie," Betty said as Victor helped her with her coat.
"Have a nice time," the receptionist replied rather enviously. She remembered her days of prime. Now here she was, matronly, sitting behind a cluttered desk, and answering to distressed callers’ whims. How time did fly.
As the door closed behind Victor and Betty, Scott appeared in the reception area. He had been watching. Gertie communicated to him a look of sincere sympathy. Maple crept up behind him and put an arm around her friend’s shoulder.
"C’mon, Scotty," she said. "We still got work to do."
"I still can’t believe you taught him how to dance," Scott replied, a trace of whine in his voice.
"Oy contrary. I attempted to teach him how to dance," she corrected him.
Scott responded with a small grin. "Au contraire, Mapes."
"Yeah, that too."
***
Dinner had been nice. Victor had treated her to a lavish gourmet-type restaurant, and Betty had felt extremely nervous as she had ordered, being careful to order something not too expensive but not too cheap. Nonetheless, dinner had been nice. Then he had taken her dancing. And that’s where they remained for the moment. For much of the hour they had been in the building, they had been in chairs more than on the dance floor. It was rather awkward; she sat semi-stiff next to him. He tried to make conversation, but was failing dismally. Betty was knowledgeable in her share of dance steps, but was overly self-conscious of her skills. Victor had little experience save the last-minute instruction he had received from Maple earlier that day.
He felt guilty. Here they were, nonactive. She was running her fingers up and down her drink glass, staring at the couples moving to the music. He felt another dangerous jolt of Victor-brand spontaneity coming on. He slammed down his drink, grabbed Betty by the wrist, and tugged her onto the dance floor. Betty was rather taken aback, but relented to his direction.
Victor sighed with relief as the band began a slow ballad. Betty seemed to know what she was doing. But wait! Her hands were in different places. Nevertheless, Victor found himself swaying. Go with the flow, Maple had advised. Don’t step on anyone’s feet.
Betty smiled to herself as she saw Victor taking random peeks down at the floor. "Is something the matter?" she asked.
Victor looked up with a start. "Huh? Oh, no. Nothing’s the matter." He hesitated. "I’m trying to avoid your feet."
To his dismay, Betty laughed. Seeing the hint of hurt in his eyes, she quickly added, "That’s very considerate of you."
"I don’t do much of...this kind of thing," he admitted.
"I don’t either, to tell you the truth." Betty smiled. "I spend entirely too much time at the station."
Victor’s eyes flared with alarm.
"Do you need more time off?" he asked. "I could arrange it - "
"No! No. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Besides," she added, "it would seem like special treatment if you did."
"You are special," Victor said quietly.
Betty blushed. They continued to dance in silence. Simultaneously, they called each other’s name.
"You go first," Victor urged.
Betty cleared her throat. "Tonight has been really fun," she began. "I’ve really enjoyed it."
"Nice to have change once in a while, isn’t it?" Victor inquired mischievously. "It’s boring to date someone so predictable."
"Oh, you’re not predictable, Victor," Betty argued. "All those shows you broadcast at your fancy? I’m surprised the sponsors didn’t have heart attacks."
"I’m afraid that’s about as exciting as I get, Betty," Victor said rather apologetically.
"Oh Victor, you can be..." Betty paused a moment before adding, "very exciting." As the familiar phrase ran through her mind, Betty pictured the other man in her life. No, she couldn’t. Least of all on a date with Victor.
"Betty?" Victor said. He was filled with a sense of dread. He knew whose trademark that phrase was. He saw the way Betty’s eyes had temporarily clouded over. He saw her short bout of thoughtfulness. He knew who she was thinking of. Victor found himself feeling not jealous, or angry, but disappointed. In himself. He was no Scott Sherwood.
Victor looked at his watch. "It’s getting late," he said.
"Yeah," Betty replied with an unusual smallness of voice.
"I’ll take you home."
***
Exchange of dialogue was minimal as Betty saw the shining beacon of the Barbican Hotel for Women in the wake. She felt terrible. The night had gone fine until she had uttered two very small words. She felt uncomfortable on Victor’s arm. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he looked straight ahead. They paused at the doorstep.
"Thanks, Victor," Betty uttered, not knowing what else to say. There was an awkward pause.
Then Victor swiftly leaned over to land a tender kiss on her lips. Taken by surprise, Betty could feel the old tingle of the first time he had kissed her. Not nearly as strong as the first time, but it hadn’t been there in a long time. He let her go quickly, frightened of crossing the line.
"Good night, Betty," he said.
Betty reached over to hug him. She pecked him on the cheek. "Good night, Victor," she replied.
Victor smiled. "I’ll wait until you get inside."
Always a gentleman, Betty thought. She looked back one more time before the front door closed behind her and gave a small wave. Victor saw her figure disappear, and made his way towards his own home. The night’s conclusion had been sweet, but he knew nothing was the same anymore. He did love Betty. Her love was divided. And he would continue to fight for it in entirety. Whether he won or lost in the end, he wouldn’t stop trying.
"See you tomorrow, Sherwood," Victor murmured to himself.
The End
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