". . . Wow, no, that’s wonderful, Monica. Paris? Really? -And- a clothing allowance? Geez. . . " Janine Melnitz smiled through clenched teeth, glad that she talking to her newly fortunate best friend on the phone and not in person, for, the redhead feared, Monica would be able to take one look at her face and tell that something was definitely wrong.
"A company car, too? . . . a Lexus? Oh, my . . . " Janine twirled the phone cord around her right index finger and stifled a sigh. Shed been getting the blow-by-blow recap of the recent highlights of her close friend’s life, including, but not limited to, her fabulous new promotion (and the obscenely high salary that accompanied it), upcoming vacation to Paris and hunky new love interest -- for nearly an hour. Janine would have loved to have cut the conversation short, but it wasn’t as if she had any work to do.
The guys hadn’t had a call in four days, and every last scrap of paper was filed in its proper place, all correspondence had been answered, all bills paid. So, then, unfortunately, Janine really didn't have anything better to do than to listen -- with the curiosity of person viewing a bad accident -- to all the gory details of a life than was not, could not, and, verily, probably would never be her own.
"What? Oh, wait a minute, Monica, there's someone on the other line . . . I'd better get going. . . . oh, yes, it was great talking to you, too. . . . uh-huh, we will . . . -real- soon, I promise. Right. Bye!" Janine tried hard to keep the relief out her voice as she clicked over to the other caller. --Please be a customer-- she prayed silently as she put all the enthusiasm she could into her greeting. "Thank you for calling Ghostbusters. How may I help you?"
Her smile faded away however as she listened to breathy voice on the other end begin to describe the many activities for which a cat o' nine tails could be used. Janine slammed down the phone in disgust. "Great. My day is made. Everybody and her mother's living on easy street and some perv is telling me what a bad boy he's been."
She wandered aimlessly toward the file cabinets, opening a few drawers and listlessly gazing at the organized contents. Her conversation with Monica -- Monica, assistant vice president for production -- was still fresh in her mind. They'd known each other since they were pigtailed, scrape-kneed girls growing up in Canarsie. They'd gone to school together -- from PS 47 to senior high.
Janine remembered how Monica always came to -her- for help in her schoolwork -- history, math, English -- didn't matter. Janine was always happy to help her friend out -- though sometimes it meant foregoing babysitting jobs or dates -- because that's what friends were for, right?
When Monica had been accepted to USC, Janine had been surprised. Monica had sworn she didn't want to go to college -- she wanted to go to secretarial school and work in a bank. Janine was all for that, but for herself, she wanted something different -- something that would make her family stand up and take notice, for a change. Something having to do with helping people, or making them happy.
With that in mind, Janine started classes as Hunter College and was sure that Monica would grow tired of college life and high-tail it back to New York.
And Monica did indeed do that . . . after getting her bachelor's in finance and a master's in marketing, both from USC. She made tracks back to her hometown to take a entry-level executive position at one of the many ad agencies in Manhattan -- coincidentally around the same time Janine, whose bachelor's degree in art history wasn't opening any doors, decided to take a job as a receptionist for a company no one knew to make of at first -- Ghostbusters Inc.
Janine could laugh about the irony of it . . . -her- becoming the secretary and Monica being the high-powered execu-babe making people stand up and take notice.
Yes, she -could- laugh about it. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.
She shut the drawer with a bang. There just wasn't anything funny about it.
There wasn't anything funny about filing meaningless papers, taking complaints from old biddies, soothing irate customers and constantly having to repair her keyboard-ravaged manicure . . . all while Monica got to sit in a plush office, patter around for a moment, and then leave the debris to be cleaned by someone else.
Janine slowly shook her head. It wasn't supposed to be that way. It wasn't supposed to be that way at -all-. She'd been the one with the good grades, with the ambition, with the drive. Why wasn't she, then, the one with the perks, the Jeep, the Parisian vacation.
Maybe, she thought to herself sadly, I'm just not good enough. Staring at the floor, she felt her eyes fill with tears as the thought wormed its way into her psyche and made itself at home.
"That's it," she said in a soft whisper. "That's the only reason I can think of. Monica has what it takes and I don't. " She looked vaguely around the office -- quiet, except for the occasional gurgle from the water cooler -- spotless, organized and neat. All because of her hard work . . goodness knows that when they were in a rush, the guys didn't think to stop and pick up things.
But the auburn-haired woman didn't see it that way. The guys wouldn't allow themselves to live like pigs; she knew that. If she weren't around, they'd keep the place in order.
However, she was there, so, of course, they figured that they didn't need to think about things like organization . . . but if she weren't there, well, it might be a little weird at first, but they'd manage. In fact, Peter, of all people, had devised a system that made the paperwork less of a bear to work with.
There was a phone in Ecto-1 if a customer needed to reach the guys and they were on another call. There was an answering service for the main phone number for those days that no one was able to man the desk.
The office could practically run itself, she thought with a sad shrug. Why do they need me?
--They did once, maybe, but not any more.-- Janine smiled slightly when she remembered the first, harried days of the business. Everything had been such a mess then. Papers everywhere, construction half-done . . .
"That was almost six years ago, Melnitz," she chided herself. "Six years . . . and so much has changed. In six years, Monica goes from junior exec to assistant veep, and you go from receptionist . . . to receptionist with a slightly different hairstyle."
"Janine?" Ray's voice startled her out of her melancholy. Reluctantly, she turned to face her fellow redhead, resplendent in oil-stained coveralls and a decorative smudge of soot above his right eyebrow. "Any calls?"
"No, Ray," she smiled sadly as his hopeful expression turned into a crestfallen look. "It's been dead as a doornail."
"Maybe it's just as well," he wiped at a trickle of sweat snaking its way down his cheek. "There's so much stuff that needs fixing around here. I -think- I've got the main propeller on Ecto-2 repaired. I'm sure Peter'll be happy to hear that we can use it again," Ray grinned and Janine smiled wanly, fully remembering Peter's assertion that he'd rather be castrated with a pair of knitting needles than ever go up again in the sometimes-rickety, always unsteady aircraft.
"And speaking of fixed, I forgot to tell you: Egon said he needs the latest maintenance records for the containment unit," Ray said. "He thinks there might be a leak somewhere."
Great, Janine groaned inwardly. More meaningless copying and collating. How worthwhile. "Sure, Ray. I’ll get right on it." She turned back toward the file cabinets and pulled open the middle drawer.
The listless tone caught his attention and he frowned in concern. "Janine, are you OK?"
Retrieving the necessary file, Janine straightened up and turned to face him again, clutching the papers to her chest.
"OK? Well . . . sure. Uh, why do you ask?" there was a slight edge to her voice that wasn’t lost on the ruddy man.
"Well . . ." he hesitated slightly, not sure if continuing would be the wisest plan of action. Janine had seemed perfectly cheerful -- albeit a little restless -- when he and Peter had gone out to the hardware store earlier. Now, she seemed as if she were dragging . . . her eyes looked dull and her voice was hard and somewhat . . . chilly. Ray couldn’t understand what could have happened in the span of a couple of hours to occasion such a change in her attitude.
The youngest Ghostbuster’s thoughts flicked to the tall blond working diligently in his lab and wondered if he might not have something to do with Janine's change in mood. If that were the case, Ray thought uneasily, that was probably ground that would best not be tread by him.
Still, Janine looked so . . . down. And the way she was holding onto those maintenance reports. . . well, Ray knew he didn’t need Peter’s Ph.D. in psychology to know that there was definitely a problem . . . perhaps a serious one. And, in that moment, seeing Janine’s eyes slide sullenly to the floor, he decide to act.
"You look as if, um, something’s wrong." He paused for a minute waiting for her to look up. When she did not, he made his voice softer. "Do you want to talk about it?" "I . . ." she glanced up briefly and was almost startled by the concern she saw radiating from Ray’s hazel eyes. She smiled a little, relaxing. "I’m all right, Ray. Just a little tired, is all. I guess."
"Janine . . . " he continued to study her. "Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to pry or anything, but I can tell that’s something’s bothering you."
She looked away. "Well . . . it’s just that . . " she hesitated, taking in Ray’s earnest look. "Oh, Ray, I don’t want to burden you with my stupid prob--" she was cut off by the gentle grip of Ray’s hand on her arm, steering her to more private confines -- namely, Peter’s office.
"But, Dr. Venkman might--" she began cautiously.
"He and Winston went out to get some cleaning stuff. They’ll be gone a while, trust me." Ray motioned for her to sit down and she did, perched stiffly on the edge of a chair. Ray sat opposite her hands folded in front of him, still looking a bit worried but waiting for her to begin.
After a brief hesitation, and feeling conscious of the need to unburden herself of her feelings, Janine told Ray (sparing him the minute details) of her conversation with Monica. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw a flicker of sympathy flit across the young man’s face as she retold the tale. She went slower then, studying his features intently, waiting for the sympathy (if that were what it was) to manifest itself again. It did not.
"I don’t know, Ray," she concluded with a long sigh. "I just feel like, well, like I’m not living up to my potential. There’s so much I haven’t done . . . "
"But Janine, there’s so much that you -have-," Ray said. "I mean, who else can say that she’s survived chemical explosions, been trapped in alternate universes and have faced down armed imps and metaspecters? Certainly not your friend Monica. Hardly anybody at all, really."
Janine smiled slightly at that. "But I can count on my fingers and toes the number of times that’s happened, Ray. Mainly, I’m here pushing papers . . . unless you guys need a fifth person, which hasn’t been happening much lately." Ray opened his mouth to reply, but closed it quickly, knowing he could not refute that statement.
"Don’t get me wrong, Ray . . . I love working here," she sought to assure the copper-haired man, "I guess it’s just that when we go into long stretches of no work . . . I feel kind of useless."
"But you aren’t--" Ray started.
"Ray, c’mon," Janine propped her chin in her hand, feeling her glasses slide a little ways down her nose. "Even during down time, you guys are keeping busy --- you’re working on Ecto-2, Peter and Winston are doing chores, Egon’s doing god-knows-what in his lab . . . the only people not doing anything meaningful are me and Slimer. And Slimer’s a -ghost- . . . what’s my excuse?"
"Janine," Ray placed a hand over hers. "I can’t believe that you don’t know how much a part of things you are. I mean, I don’t even want to think how weird things would be around here if you weren’t around. And I -don’t- mean just keeping the accounts payable and accounts receivable files up-to-date."
She withdrew her hand and attempted to smile. Ray was sweet, and she was sure he truly meant what he said, but it didn’t make her feel better . . . not one bit. After all, she reasoned, Ray can afford to be magnanimous about this. He’s got a doctorate and he's famous. For the past six years, he’s been living out his dream . . . and I feel like I’ve been living in a rerun.
"Listen," Ray leaned closer, "I understand how hard it can be when you think you’re spinning your wheels while other people are zooming by," he noted her surprised look and gave her a yes-I-can-be-psychic-when-I-want smile.
"When me, Peter and Egon were just starting out at Columbia," he continued, "we had a lot of friends who went to equally prestigious schools and got loads of money for their projects without having to -ask- for it. -We- had to beg Dean Yeager and the department for every dime . . . and when we got kicked out while some of our colleagues were getting tenure, well, let’s just say I, for one, was feeling like a pretty big failure."
"But you got canned right when you discovered your first ghost," Janine said, knowing that she didn’t have to remind him of his inauspicious career in academia. "And you guys were able to start Ghostbusters and leave Yeager and the boys in your dust."
"Exactly," Ray grinned. "So it turned out for the best, after all."
"For you guys, yeah," Janine bit her lower lip. "But I haven’t had any luck like that . . . to have a catastrophe happen and be able to turn it around to have a positive impact on people’s lives."
Ray shook his head vigorously. "That’s not true, Janine. That’s not true at all. You see --"
"Ray, that you in there?" Winston’s voice startled Ray and Janine both as he poked his head around the wall that separated Peter's office from the reception area. "Oh, hey Janine," Winston stood looking a little discomfited.
The dark man was conscious that he may have interrupted something, but the veiled eyes of both his friends were telling him nothing. "Sorry for barging in, but Pete and I need a little help getting the steam cleaner in."
"You bought a steam cleaner?" Ray’s eyes widened.
"Rented," Winston corrected him. "God knows the living room carpet could use it. Um," he noticed Janine’s glum look. "Um, actually, I bet we could handle it ourselves. It’s not that heavy--"
"Ray, you go ahead," Janine stood. "I’ve gotta get these to Egon anyway." She indicated the pile of papers.
Ray looked at her as Winston retreated toward the area of the garage. "Are you sure?"
Janine nodded. "I’ll be OK."
Ray gave her a searching glance. "We’ll talk later?"
"Maybe tomorrow," she glanced toward the front doors. "Dr. V. said I could leave a little early today. . . if that’s all right."
"Sure. That’s fine," Ray agreed, and then, conscious that he perhaps agreed too quickly, blushed. "I mean, well, OK, if you insist --"
"Thanks Ray," she said said with a soft smile, moving to exit Peter’s office and, before completely leaving the area, turned and gave him as wide a smile as she could. "Thanks for everything." Ray found he could not smile very wide in return. The ruddy man listened to Janine’s heels click on the stairs, and, as he went to help Peter and Winston carry out the supplies, hoped fervently that Egon would be able to get Janine to listen to reason.
"Mmmmpmmph!"
Janine paused at the door of Egon's lab, not sure if she was hearing an invitation to enter, an order to vacate or a grunt of pain. Although she was pretty used to all manner of weirdness coming from (and, in some cases, growing in), Egon's lab, she didn't have the patience or the energy to ponder what the oddity could be -this- time.
Pushing open the door, she was greeted with the sight of Egon diligently working away at some gadget on his worktable. She noted that he was holding a strange tool -- something like a cross between a ball-peen hammer and a corkscrew -- in his mouth (thus the mystery of why his voice sounded so wild was solved) as he used both hands to hold some wires in place.
She stood in the doorway a minute, allowing her gaze to linger over his tall form. A brief smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as she was reminded yet again of how much she liked to just look at him. No talking, no moving, just standing still and simply -look- at him. There was no question that he was, indeed, the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. And now that they were dating, she got to see considerably -more- of him . . . her cheeks flushed a little at -that- particular thought. She marveled, however, at the fact that no matter how gross a mood she was in, there seemed to be no end to lascivious thoughts so far as Egon was concerned. Not that she was in any real mood to act on them, unfortunately, but she felt somewhat cheered that her dour state of mind hadn't allowed her to lose sight of how much in love she was with the blond physicist.
"Egon?" she called softly.
He started at the voice and looked up sharply. He'd been so engrossed in his task that he'd forgotten anyone had knocked at the door, let alone entered the lab. His startled expression turned to one of pleasure, however, when his eye fell on Janine. He turned away from the gadget and took the odd instrument out of his mouth.
"Hello, Janine," he smiled and ran a hand over his hair. "Has there been a call?"
She shook her head slowly, feeling somewhat disappointed that Egon's first thoughts upon seeing were of work. She thought she'd be used to -that- by now as well . . .
"Hmmmm . . . fascinating. Perhaps I'll take a reading of the city's spectral activity," he took off his glasses and cleaned them on the front of his lab coat. "Dry spells of this type are not uncommon -- however, it could be indicative of something out of the ordinary, such as the warping of a transdimensional gate or --"
"Ray said you needed these," Janine sought to forestall a long-winded explanation about why they'd all been sitting on their butts the past week. "I grabbed the latest ones." she held out a sheaf of papers.
Taking them, Egon flipped through, nodding. "Yes. . . yes . . . these are the ones I was looking for," he absentmindedly put the stack on his workbench. "Thank you."
"Sure," she squirmed a little, not wanting to leave, but conscious that her errand was done and that Egon probably wanted to return to his wires and weird tools. "Well, I guess I'll see you later."
"Indeed. At 7 p.m., to be exact," he looked dreamy. "I really think you'll enjoy 'Eugene Onegin,' Janine. The plot contains certain . . . dark elements, but the music is absolutely beautiful . . ."
Janine stifled a groan. In all the excitement of the afternoon, she'd forgotten that they were going to the Met that night. To say that opera was not one of her favorite things would be an understatement, though she'd developed more of a liking to it since she and Egon became an item.
However, considering her present state of mind, Janine didn't feel that she was quite up to all the preparation that would be involved in looking presentable for a night on the town. Nor did she particularly feel like braving the traffic or the crush of well-heeled Manhattanites just to listen to a bunch of people sing in a language she didn't understand.
"Um, Egon?" she broke in just as he was delivering his opinions about Tchiakovsky's later works compared with Puccini's earliest ones.
"Egon?" she repeated, louder. It was clear that he was warming to his subject, and, as a result, unwittingly tuning her out. She couldn't help but smile as she watched his body take on a relaxed look and his features soften. It was always a treat to see such a look of rapture on his face. It was an expression Janine thought suited him, and she was more than happy to do her part to bring it out more often. Of course, it didn't hurt that "doing her part," as it were, often involved certain . . . activities . . . quite agreeable to them both. Her smile widened a bit even as she felt the familiar warmth of a blush suffuse her cheeks.
She came out of her thoughts, though, when she realized that Egon had stopped speaking and was regarding her with a curious look and a little half-smile of his own.
"Oh . . . um . . . ahem." he looked sheepish. "I was babbling just now, wasn't I?"
"Mmmmm . . . just a -little-." She raised an amused eyebrow at him.
"And you were trying to get my attention . . . "
"What gave you -that- idea?" she raised the other eyebrow.
"I'm sorry, Janine," Egon looked contrite. "I've been in here talking to -myself- so long, I suppose I've gotten rather used to it." He gave her a shaky grin. "Now. What is it you were saying?"
"Well . . . " any other day she would have waged a stronger fight against the snippy little voice inside her pleading for a reprieve from the opera. Janine knew how much Egon had been looking forward to the performance and that he'd probably not take too well to her wanting to bow out on the evening. Still, the prospect of having Egon's feelings hurt for a short time seemed like a picnic compared to the snarky mood she could only imagine she'd be in that night. Janine felt that she needed some time -- alone -- to wallow in a little bit of self-pity. Better to do that, the redhead felt, and get it of my system now. No use in both our evenings going to hell.
"Janine?" Egon was looking at her intently, a slight crease in his forehead denoting worry. "what -is- it?"
"Egon," she began, giving herself another second or two to rethink her plan of action. Did she really want to do this? Did she -really- want to deep-six a night they'd both looked forward to for weeks? Janine looked into the sky-colored eyes and saw a look of concern --similar to the one Ray had given her just minutes earlier -- shimmer from beneath the round lenses of his glasses. Similar, she thought, because whereas Ray's expression was more of the "What's wrong?" variety, Egon's, Janine realized, was of the "Did -I- do something wrong?" type. It was a look, she thought with a sinking heart, which he would more than likely wear all that evening, should they go out.
--He doesn't need that-- Janine thought with an internal sigh. --And neither do I-- Her mind was made up.
"Egon . . . would you mind terribly if we . . . if I . . ." she faltered and stopped, unable to meet his eyes for some reason.
"Yes?" his voice was incredibly low, deeper than was usual, and so gentle. "What is it?"
"It's just that, um, Egon, I really don't feel like the opera tonight," her words came out in a rush.
Egon blinked in surprise. "You don't want to go? Really?"
"Uh, really." Janine looked at him then. He didn't -look- angry and he surely didn't sound it, either. Just . . . surprised. "It's just that, I'm not feeling well, and --" she sought to explain.
"Not feeling well?" he echoed, the expression in his eyes turning from surprise to unconcealed worry, and his long legs quickly bridged the distance between them. "What's wrong? Should you be lying down? I--"
"Egon, calm down," she held up a hand. "I told Ray and he said I could leave early today . . . which I'm going to do.. I think I'm just tired," --yes-- she thought bitterly --I'm tired, all right. Tired of my --life-- "and I think I just need to rest up for tonight. I'm really sorry," and, looking at the woebegone expression on his face, she was. Janine felt confident, however, that she was doing the right thing -- in her mind, her problems were her own . . . and the more she thought of it, the more she regretted getting Ray wrapped up into it.
Second thoughts, however, so far as Ray's involvement was concerned, were pointless, Janine understood. But she -could-, and would, she vowed, keep Egon from getting embroiled in her affairs. Her eyes strayed over to his unfinished gadget. He's got enough to worry about me adding my petty issues to the mix, she thought, biting her lower lip.
"I'll make it up to you . . . I promise," Janine reached out to put a hand on his shoulder and was relieved to feel him relax under her touch. "If you can't get a refund on the tickets . . . I'll pay you for them --"
"Don't trouble yourself about the tickets," he shook his head and took her one of her hands in his. "There will be plenty of chances to see 'Onegin.' I just want you to feel better." The sincerity and warmth in his voice made Janine's knees tremble and she stumbled a little only to be quickly caught in Egon's arms. Wrapped in an impromptu embrace, she put her head against his chest and was alarmed at how hard and fast his heart was beating.
"You -are- ill," his face was pale and he held her closer. "I'm taking you home right now."
"Egon, that's OK--"
"Nonsense, Janine," his tone was insistent. "Did you drive in today?"
"Well, yes . . . but . . . your work --" she put in feebly.
" -- Can wait," Egon replied and drew back to look at her, his arms about her waist. "Your car . . . ?"
"In the garage," she sighed. The graceful exit and quiet evening she'd been envisioning was -not- turning out as she'd hoped. If he accompanied her home, he'd want to stay and. . . -nurse- her. It would take a minor miracle to get him to leave her alone that night. . . and then they'd be missing the opera for nothing. Janine wanted to scream in frustration.
And then, as if on cue, the miracle occurred. A sound, so annoying on its own, yet seeming like tranquil, beautiful music to Janine -- the insistent clanging of the alarm filtered through the half-open door and made them both jump. After so many days of inactivity, Janine had nearly forgotten what it sounded like.
Through the din, neither heard the sound of footsteps advancing toward the lab until Ray, in his excitement of actually having a ghost to bust, burst into the lab, a dazzling smile on his face. "Egon!"
The younger man stopped short as he took in the sight of the tall blond and petite redhead in a clinch worth of a Hollywood tearjerker. "Whoops," Ray blushed furiously and began to back out of the room. "Geez, I'm sorry. I, uh, should've knocked. I can be such a jerk sometimes --" he looked as if he'd rather be in a den of Terror Dogs with a rib-eye steak around his neck than in that lab at that moment.
"Ray," Janine extricated herself from Egon and went over to him. "It's OK. I was just leaving --"
"Yes," Egon agreed, fixing her with a determined stare. "Raymond, we must drop Janine off at her apartment on our way to our assignment. She is not well."
Janine tried not to look exasperated. "Egon, I will -be- all right."
"It's all right, Janine." Ray said gently. "It's on our way, anyway. . . and it doesn't sound -too- serious . . . just a Class 4 sliming up a record shop. Come on," He put a protective arm around her waist and led her out of the lab and down the stairs. Egon hurried -- even as he tried to appear unhurried -- behind them.
"Mom, for the thousandth time, I am not going to go to flight-attendant school," Janine, phone receiver cradled between her shoulder and ear, flopped onto her living room couch, willing herself to remain calm.
Her mother -- using her own brand of "mother's intuition," namely that of always calling/stopping by at the very wrong time -- had been chattering almost without pause for a half-hour. Somehow -- and Janine could have kicked herself for it -- she'd let it slip that she'd had a less-than-stellar day at work. Mrs. Melnitz pounced on that little morsel of information faster than Slimer usually jumped on a stale doughnut, going full-force into her "quit-and-go-to-flight-attendent-school-like-Cousin-Mabel" spiel.
"Because I'm -not- that desperate," Janine mumbled picking at a loose thread on her skirt. "Work might be -boring- but at least it doesn't entail having to wear heels in a pressurized cabin."
Janine listened for a second longer before coming to the conclusion that she and her mother were, as was often the case, talking over -- not to -- each other. Therefore, continuing the conversation would only add more stress on top of an already stress-filled day. Definitely -not- a good thing.
"Mom, look, I've gotta run," Janine dangled her legs over one arm of the couch. "Hmm? Yes, I'll be there. Tuesday night, right? Uh-huh . . . sure. Love to Dad . . . you, too, Mom. No, I do -not- want Cousin Mabel's number! Good night."
She set the phone down with a fraction more force than probably was necessary and tiredly massaged her temples. I'm having such rotten luck on the phones today, Janine thought ruefully, maybe I should just unplug the damn thing.
The thought drifted away, however, as she became more comfortable on the couch, her head tilting back into the softness of the cushions, arms going limp at her side . . . just letting all the tension melt into the couch's fabric. It was the most relaxed she'd been all day, she realized. As such, she didn't want to move -- although her growling tummy was making known its disapproval of that idea. Even still, it was nice: no worries . . . no neuroses . . . no feelings of inadequacy . . . no --
But, in the midst of her ruminations, a loud knock at her front door jolted her eyes open and startled her so she nearly fell off the couch.
"Figures," she muttered as she sat up, pushing her disheveled hair out her eyes. "Sometimes I feel like I'm on Candid Camera . . . or at least in a really, really bad B-movie."
The knock came again. Janine regarded the door through narrowed eyes, wondering who it could be, and if whoever it was would go away if she stayed very, very quiet --
Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt at the slight jingle of metal, and a little clicking sound. It took her somewhat-disoriented mind a second or two to realize that a key had been put into and unlocking a lock -- her lock. A knob being turned -- her knob. A door was being opened -- her door.
Someone was coming in.
She shrank back on the couch, not able to think straight, not even able to move really, as her heart sped up and her hand reached out to grab something solid -- and preferably hard -- to use as a weapon, if need be.
The front door creaked open slowly -- agonizingly so. Her fingers closed around an empty earthenware flowerpot just as the door opened enough for her to see a long shadow fall across the threshold. Her breath caught in her throat, and she gripped the pot tighter.
"Janine?" The voice was sonorous, deep . . . anxious.
Egon.
She felt the breath she'd been holding leave her in one big whoosh and put the pot back on the coffee table. "In here," she murmured.
The lanky form came into view by degrees. "Janine? -Where- are you?"
"Right here, on the couch." She sat completely up, a relieved smile playing on her lips. She'd been so out of it she'd forgotten that he'd had a key . . . and that Egon mentioned, as he and the guys dropped her off on their way to the bust, that he would be back to "check" on her.
"Why are you in the dark?" he cautiously felt his way over to her side, his glasses not helping much in the failing light of the apartment.
"I was resting," she moved over to make room for him. "My couch is really good for that, you know."
"Yes," his voice was dry. "It does boast a rather comfortable surface on which to sleep." He sat beside her.
"Yeah? And how would -you- know?" Janine's voice was deliberately teasing. "I can't remember the last time you slept -here-."
"Ah . . . um . . . " He cleared his throat and she smiled, knowing his face was as red as could be. "Er . . . can we turn on a light, please?"
"Sure," she reached over and flicked on a lamp,which suffused the area with a soft glow. Janine turned to look at him and was taken somewhat aback. She was expecting him to be in his jumpsuit, fresh from the job, sans pack, of course. Instead, he was dressed in his usual "civilian" gear -- brown slacks, pink dress shirt and the ever-present suspenders. "Better?"
"Much," he nodded. "Thank you."
"How did the job go?"
"Fairly easily," he sat up a little. "The entity had exhausted itself in sliming every LP in the store. The proprietor was quite furious, as one might well expect. However, it took us approximately thirteen minutes to locate and trap the creature."
"Did you get slimed badly?" she cast a practiced eye on his hair. For some reason, ectoplasm seemed to stay in his voluminous locks -- even after a shower or two. She couldn't see any, but the light in the room was pretty poor.
"Somewhat," he looked uncomfortable. "It was unavoidable, really. Ectoplasm was literally everywhere." Egon sighed. "Raymond offered our assistance in helping clean up the mess the ghost made."
"And Dr. V. dragged him out of there by his ear, right?" Peter's aversion to slime was well-documented and only surpassed by his fear of cockroaches.
"Peter was not up for it, no." Egon affirmed, smiling slightly. "And Winston had a prior commitment . . . so Raymond and I stayed."
"Really?" she wondered at her surprise. It was so like Ray to want to lend a hand in a situation like that . . . and Egon looked at every bust as an opportunity to collect samples for "research." "I'm surprised you're not still there. That stuff takes forever to clean up."
"I hardly noticed, actually. Raymond and I had quite a long conversation . . . it helped pass the time."
"That's nice," she said vaguely, feeling a more insistent pang of hunger.
"Indeed," he turned toward her, his mouth set in a hard line. "It was quite an -interesting- talk."
"Um . . . really?" she started to squirm under his gaze, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "Glad to hear it. Hey," she inched away from him. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? Would you like something?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact," his tone was mild but his eyes unwavering. "What I would -like- is to know why you didn't tell -me- what went on this afternoon. . . pertaining to your sudden. . . illness."
She blanched. "Uh . . . this afternoon?"
"Janine, please," he sounded tired. "Ray told me everything."
Her ears turned red and all at once she felt completely, wholly, irrationally consumed with anger. She sprang away from him as if he were a snake. "Well then what are you asking -me- for? If Ray told you -everything- what more can -I- add?" she blazed, standing over him.
"I want you to tell me why you didn't feel the need to talk to me about it," he ignored the outburst. "Ray was shocked at my ignorance . . . and, frankly, so was I." He looked up at her with such a sad expression that her anger melted away almost immediately. "Do you not feel you can discuss such matters with me?"
"I . . ." she faltered. "It's not that way. . . not really."
"Then how is it, really?" he stood, too, his arms folded. "I'm quite interested to know."
"I just," she glanced at him at the corner of her eye. "I felt . . ." she stopped and squeezed her eyes shut as everything came back: Monica's happy-go-lucky tone, the cretin on the phone, her mother's well-intentioned nagging. It made her head ache all over.
"I felt silly," she said softly, blinking back tears.
"Silly?" he said the word as if he'd never heard it before.
"Yes! Silly! Foolish, stupid, dolt-like!" she tried unsuccessfully to keep her voice under control. "Silly! I feel silly arranging files and ordering toner and making sure all of the bills are stamped paid, or past-due, or whatever, while Monica's running board meetings and Peter's psychologizing and Winston and Ray are fixing something and you're up in your lab with your ball-peen hammer and corkscrew!" she drew a ragged breath, oblivious to the alarm in his face.
"Janine --"
"You don't know what it's like," she went on, beginning to pace the floor. "You -can't- know what it's like to feel so . . . unnecessary. So useless. So much like I've wasted my life. You can't know, Egon. You can't."
"Janine," his voice was mild -- unnaturally so. "Please calm down and listen to me. You are not --"
"Six years, Egon," Janine cut him off. "Some people can live almost a lifetime in six years. Other people can totally ruin their lives in that period of time . . . or make it a thousand percent better. I haven't done either! It's like I've been in a vacuum," Janine's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Six years of basically the same thing -- which translates to six years of pretty much nothing. In six years, Monica goes from low person on the totem pole to a VP. You guys go from academic disgraces to New York's saviors." She wandered over to the window and stared out vacantly at the street below.
"That's so pathetic," she continued. "It's so pathetic to be surrounded by people who've effected change . . . done something to make a difference -- either in their lives, or someone else's -- and you be the only one who hasn't done a thing that's mattered to -any- one. . . unless collating can somehow be linked to world peace." Her voice broke and she felt the lump in her throat -- a precursor to fresh tears filling her eyes.
She stood at the window, her back to him still, letting the tears chase each other down her cheeks. Whereas it had felt almost refreshing earlier to talk to Ray, in talking to Egon now she felt as if a hand had her by the throat and was squeezing with all its might. It squeezed the harder when silence descended upon them for a good minute, perhaps two, without his moving to contradict her words as Ray did earlier.
Janine nearly laughed in spite of herself. Contradict her? Why should he? Egon was a man who could wring every last drop of meaning and subtext from a statement, a situation -- a word even. Right now, she surmised, he was processing what he'd told her . . . something he'd perhaps been oblivious to beforehand . . . and finding that it was true. Her role in business -- his business -- had been largely trivial. And that, as such, he could not take her seriously in anything. Anything at all . . . not even love.
"Janine," his voice seemed faraway. "Please come here a moment."
She turned around to see where he was and was slightly surprised to find that he'd re-taken his place on the couch. He was sitting with his long legs splayed open, elbows upon his knees. He was not looking at her, rather something in his lap seemed to hold his attention.
"What is it?" her voice was wary but steady.
"I would like to . . . show you something." Egon glanced up her then. Janine could read nothing in the impassive expression.
Show her something? That seemed a little out of place given the tone and context of the conversation. Still, she thought, Egon's never one to follow the fold. Janine advanced cautiously toward him, trying to see what it was he'd been staring at so intently, but unable to make it out.
"Sit down," he indicated the spot she'd vacated when she first went on her tirade. She did so, somewhat apprehensively. He was sounding much too . . . casual. It was scaring her a little.
He waited until she was settled and as comfortable as she was going to get. He gave a last glance downward, cleared his throat -- nervously, she thought, a good sign -- and shuffled his legs slightly before he began to speak.
"It's odd," he began softly, his eyes taking on a faraway cast. "When Raymond told me of the general theme of your discussion, I was quite taken aback. Not that you felt some envy at your friend's new position . . . I expect that being the vice president of an ad agency pays decidedly better than what we are able to."
"Maybe just a -little-," a small smile tugged
"I can imagine. And I can imagine the frustration that must cause," He looked apologetic. "I wish that we could do more in that regard . . . but I know you are fully aware of that."
"Dr. V. won't let me forget," she quipped.
"Doubtless," he smiled briefly before reverting to seriousness once more. "As I say, it did not surprise me to hear that you felt a little perturbed about the tangible aspects of your friend's newly minted success, namely the car, the salary --"
"Paris," she put in.
He nodded. "That, to me, was understandable. In your place, I am quite sure I'd feel much the same way. What I did -not- understand, however, was a statement Ray claimed you made," Egon frowned. "Something along the lines of not being able to turn a disastrous situation into something having a positive outcome. Did you, in fact, say something like that?"
"Yeah . . . " she said slowly, anxious to see where he was going with all of this. "I did. I was telling Ray that -you- guys were able to do that . . . get kicked out Columbia -- a place I know you guys figured on staying awhile -- but instead of just going into the gutter somewhere, you all were able to start Ghostbusters . . . and became so much more successful than if you'd stayed as Dean Yeager's indentured servants."
"Mmmm," Egon mused. "And you told Raymond that -you- were not, in fact, capable of effecting a similar turnaround of ... bad fortune?"
"Well, sure," she admitted, "He tried to deny it, but that's Ray being Ray. You know how he is. But the fact is, I've never done anything remotely like that . . . unless you want to count the time I sweet-talked the owner of the Italian bistro on 47th to let us come back after Slimer wrecked the place."
Egon was silent for some moments -- some long moments. Just as Janine was about to ask him if he were OK, he stirred and held something out toward her.
"When Ray told me what'd you said . . ." his voice trailed off and he seemed to be gathering his thoughts. " I knew I had something to, well . . . this is for you."
Curious, Janine took it. It was a little velvet box -- something, Janine thought irrelevantly, earrings would come in . . . big earrings. Or maybe a bracelet. Definitely much too big for a ring, she thought with a wistful sigh. Oh well. Janine glanced up at him.
"Please," he nodded. "Open it."
Hesitating just a moment, Janine carefully drew the lid off the box, peeking down into it . . . and was met by the sight of something glittering within. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Egon . . . " she breathed softly. "What in the world . . . ?"
"Take it out and look at it," he instructed.
With trembling fingers, she grasped the object and lifted it out into the light. Her held breath fled as her eyes began to make out what it was -- it was shaped like an icicle . . . though not as cold and not wet at all. It glittered still as she held it up to her face, but she was able to comprehend now that the shimmering wasn't of gold, silver, diamond or platinum. Rather, it was of emerald. . . namely, the emerald color of her eyes.
She was looking at . . . -herself- . . reflected in a mirror. Rather, a bit of a mirror, for she knew that the shard in her hand had to have been a part of a bigger, better whole structure.
"Well?" he demanded. "What do you think?"
"Uh . . " she was at a loss for words. Up to that moment, Egon had always been fairly normal in his gift-giving. "It's . . . um . . . sharp." She held it carefully, fearing a mishap.
"Do you know what it is?" he asked softly.
"Sure," she couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice. "It's um, a piece of glass."
"Mirror."
"Mirror," she echoed faintly. "It's a piece of a mirror."
"Do you, by any chance, recognize it?"
She shot him a look of annoyance. What -was- this? "No. I'm not in the habit noticing every mirror I see."
"This one is special," he continued in the same soft tone.
"Why?" the sarcasm was palpable. "Will it tell me I'm the fairest of them all? Is it an enchanted mirror?"
"It was," he said blithely. "Once. But -you- took that away, Janine. You took it away, I believe, for good."
She stared at him as if he were speaking Etruscan. "Egon . . . I . . what? What are you talking about?"
"This," he nodded toward the object in her hand. "Is a piece of the mirror you broke freeing Raymond, Winston, Peter and me from Proteus' lair."
Her mouth went dry. "It . . . what?"
He nodded gently, a smile in his eyes. "Don't tell me you've forgotten Proteus . . . the Aerie. . . ?"
She could only nod in reply. Remember. Of course she did. She'd never forget it . . . seeing the newscast showing Proteus, with the pointing of his finger, make the Ghostbusters disappear. . . Slimer's reconnaissance mission in the containment unit . . . her bursting into the Aerie clad in Peter's extra jumpsuit. . finding the guys literally through the looking glass.
Janine remembered aiming a high stream of very volatile nuclear energy at the mirror just as Proteus pointed his almighty finger at them, bent on destroying them all. Janine, not sure what the heck firing her thrower was going to do, but conscious that she had to do something, anything to get them the hell out of there. The shattering of the glass . . . the feeling of pure joy when she realized it had worked.
They'd been able to escape . . . barely getting out before the whole place lit up like Fourth of July . . . and Proteus along with it. And, to cap it all off, the write up in the papers the next day -- all of them identifying her as "Janine Melnitz, Ghostbuster."
"Proteus would not have kept us in limbo indefinitely. He would have eventually destroyed us," Egon said in a tone so matter-of-fact, she winced. "And he certainly would have destroyed the city . . . had not -you- stopped him."
"-We- did," she amended, faintly. "The five of us."
"Yes, but it began with you," he ran a finger down the side of her face. "Your courage . . . your intelligence . . . and your strength. Single-handedly -you- turned a situation that would have certainly been catastrophic for the four of us . . . and probably for the city, as well . . . into one hell of a positive. And that was not the first, nor the only, time you would do so."
Something within her stirred. She'd never thought of it -that- way -- not even when it was happening. All she'd known was that the guys were in trouble and she was the only one with a snowball's chance to help them. And she did what she had to do to get them out.
But Janine remembered the gratitude of the guys . . . Peter's raising her pay . . . Ray's overall pride in her . . Winston's admiration . . . and Egon's telling her that she'd been brave to do it. It hadn't really registered . . . entirely. And there had been more adventures -- some that made Proteus look like a class 5 vapor -- she'd had more to do with those experiences than she'd realized . . . not that she'd gone on many of them, but because -- it came together in her head swiftly now -- she'd helped make it possible for the Ghostbusters to go on them.
"I kept that sliver in hopes of analyzing it," Egon continued. "I thought that perhaps it would give us more of a clue as to Proteus' origins . . . and how, exactly, he was able to enter our realm."
"And?" she asked the question though the answer seemed pretty obvious.
"Nothing," he confirmed her suspicions. "Not a trace of psychokinetic energy to be found. I kept it all the same . . . and I am very glad I did." He moved closer to her. "I want you to have it. Keep it as a memento of that day . . . and as a reminder of just what -have- accomplished in six years . . . saving our skin . . . facing down primordial gods . . . blasting Netherworld imps . . . "
"Keeping Slimer from getting us sued . . . much," she was getting into the spirit of it.
"Telling Walter Peck just -where- he could stick that Guide to Hazardous Materials Storage. . ."
"In -addition- to all the collating, copying, filing, bill-paying, phone answering . . . I -am- damned useful, after all." She lay back with a satisfied smile.
"Indeed. Show me an ad exec that can handle a particle thrower, a containment breach -and- my Uncle Cyrus all at the same time."
"Are you kidding? Monica can't even deal with a fly-swatter," Janine snorted derisively. "And as for the other two. . . "
"You know," Egon's expression was thoughtful. "I would not be surprised to discover that despite, her seemingly perfect life is not quite so, after all. She may very well envy -you -in some respects."
Janine mulled it over. Perhaps. Monica did seem somewhat fascinated with Ghostbusters Inc . . . she always turned to Janine to confirm or deny the latest news reports, gossip and overall wackiness that surrounded the everyday lives of those who lived within the Firehouse. Once, she and Monica had had a lunch date and the guys, fresh from a bust in the neighborhood, stopped to give her lift back to the office.
She remembered that, as they pulled away from the curb, Monica was staring after them, a peculiar look on her face. At the time, Janine had thought bad clams, not jealousy, had been the culprit. But now, as she gave it a little more thought, perhaps there had been something more to Monica's pained expression.
"Maybe," she said softly aloud. "I mean, who wouldn't? I've got a good thing going." She looked into his eyes. "Guess sometimes, I get so wrapped up in what seems like a good deal for everybody else, I forget that I already -have- a good deal . . . for me." Her hands closed tighter around the sharp relic. "Thank you, Egon, for . . . the reminder."
He slowly leaned toward her and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. "That is what I am here for . . . among other things." He murmured this, his lips resting against her smooth skin.
"Yes?" she put her new keepsake back in its box and looked at him innocently. "Care to elaborate on that last point, Dr. Spengler?" she slid closer, gazing up at him underneath long lashes.
"Uhh . . ." he loosened his collar. "Elaborate?"
"Mmm hmmm."
"What, er, had you in mind?" he was fidgeting now.
"Well, seems to me we were having a conversation about this couch --" she gave one of the cushions a friendly whack.
"We were?" he frowned, trying to remember. "Oh yes . . . something about my being a poor judge of its comfort level as I have not slept on it in some time."
"Right," she ran her finger through his golden curls. "So let's test it out and see what you think."
"Now?" he looked surprised.
"Oh yes," she purred, close to his ear. "Now."
"But . . . it's barely seven-thirty," he protested. "I'm not the least bit inclined to go to sleep. I'd thought, in fact that if you were feeling better --"
"Who said anything about sleeping, Egon?" her hands were at his shirt, unbuttoning the buttons with a speed approachip warp. "I know -I- didn't."
"Perhaps I'm not understanding you," he said, sounding mildly perplexed as she gently forced him onto his back. "What, then, does the couch . . . uh . . . the couch . . . um . . . " the perplexed look left his face and was replaced by an expression altogether different as he felt Janine's lips on the sensitive spot below his Adam's apple. "I think . .. I think I'm beginning to . . . to . . . understand . . . "
Janine, never stopping in her ministrations, smiled in spite of herself. Who knew enlightenment would be so . . . satisfying.