Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #143
…with Eastman’s talent for capturing the moment on nitrocellulose and Harv having the knack of being in the right place at the right time, this venture, into an established literary format, may well succeed…
Judith Eastman responds to poor-mouth Harv Pearson, “Hurricanes and assassination and who knows what else have given you the most respected by-line I’ve seen in years. Your name has been mentioned in the same breath with Horace Greeley. Small town, my eye!
“And I don’t mean to change the subject, but have you found a hot-shot lawyer to draw up our partnership papers yet?”
“Oh yes, for the Pearson-Eastman Journal?” Harv suggests. Judith rolls her eyes at the order of the surnames. He ignores her exaggerated pantomime, prefacing his real answer with, “Do you remember that young couple, the Ferrells?”
“Yes…?” She recalls them as handsome and young.
“Well I thought it would be good business to give the lad, James, his first taste in contract law.”
“Is he old enough to vote?” she wonders aloud.
“Well, just this year, but he must be the brightest student at Harvard Law School… that is what his mother said.”
“My dog, Frisky, is smart. But I don’t expect he’ll be running for Congress any time soon.” With that analogy, she summons the regular lighting in her Rochester, New York laboratory, which is just down the hall from her inventive brother George’s same.
Judith Eastman will be as formidable an associate as she is a companion. If he has any thought of pulling a fast one, perhaps assuming she does not care or notice this or that, he can take those unilateral notions and pitch them out with yesterday’s garbage.
“I can see where you might be skeptical and I apologize for wanting to aid in the career of a hometown boy,” he invites sympathy for his cause, “but you see, he is interning at Beacon Hill Partners. The senior attorneys will be supervising the entire document.”
“Thank you for clarifying those details for me. I am betting my long range security on this magazine, Harv…” she feels fully exposed to the whims of fate, “not to mention giving myself to you… like some daffy girl in prep school.”
“What’s wrong with that?” It sounds perfectly normal to him.
“It’s just not like me! I am going to be forty years old in a couple of years and I’m holding hands and kissing, not to mention making my banker very nervous.”
“Do you think I do this every day myself? Noooooo. My assistant editor thinks I have lost my mind. They are sending my picture to post offices asking, “Have you seen this man, he’s gone daffy?”.”
“No, silly, but you can believe my banker is feeling the pinch. I may have withdrawn 25% of their assets – the Quincy National Bank is a fancy name for 2000 life savings that probably averages less than a thousand dollars, and that is if you don’t count Herb Love.”
The new magazine will have start-up costs of nearly a million dollars, but all indications are that with Eastman’s talent for capturing the moment on nitrocellulose and Harv having the knack of being in the right place at the right time, this venture, into an established literary format, may well succeed. They are gambling that pages, filled with equal portions of word and picture, will entice Americans to make the Pearson-Eastman Journal a monthly must read.