The Agony Aunt

The following takes place following: The Woes of Scouting Hoes

A few days had passed since Travers became editor, but his ambition to completely transform the paper overnight had been delayed. On the surface, it was still the same old Chronicle. Behind the scenes, however, changes were in motion. The loft — once a dusty storage space, was being converted into a glamour photo studio. Plans to shift the paper to a tabloid format were underway, and Travers was personally recruiting women for his new vision. He’d talked Ermintrude into coming back, and was even negotiating with Chantelle to become a model.

Today, however, was the much-anticipated meeting with the sought-after Dr. Linda Shawn.

Trying to reclaim some dignity after the previous week, Dr. Shawn was dressed smartly in a blouse, blazer, and skirt, accented by her most stylish glasses. She stepped out of the now-functioning lift onto the fifth floor and made her way through the office until she reached the reception desk.

Ermintrude: "Hi, Dr. Shawn!"

Dr. Shawn: "Hello, Ermintrude, isn't it?"

Ermintrude nodded eagerly.

Dr. Shawn: "You're looking well. How are you feeling since..."

Ermintrude: "Oh, much better, thank you! You look great too. You're here to see Mr. Travers for the interview?"

Dr. Shawn: "That's right. I have to say, I’m a little surprised to see you working for him again, given... last time."

Ermintrude: "I understand, but I don’t blame him. He wasn’t well, and he was really sorry. Plus, he offered triple what he paid me before..."

Dr. Shawn: "I see. So, you're his secretary now?"

Ermintrude: "Yep! But I’m also going to be a model — like you! My first shoot’s this evening. I’m so excited. Hey, maybe we’ll even pose together!"

Dr. Shawn: "Um... yes. Maybe. We’ll see. Anyway, I should probably..."

Ermintrude: "Of course! Silly me. This way, please..."

Ermintrude leads Dr. Shawn into Travers' office.

Travers: "Ah, here she is! The lady of the hour... My goodness, Dr. Shawn — aren’t you a picture."

Without waiting for an invitation, Dr. Shawn sits in the chair opposite Travers, crossing her legs and folding her arms. She initially avoids eye contact with him, instead turning to Master Devlin with a nod and a faint, uneasy smile. Then she turns to Travers.

Dr. Shawn: "Hello, Harris… How’ve you been?"

Travers: "Not bad, Doc. Not bad at all... As you can see, I’m now in gainful employment. It has been a bit stressful though — getting everything up and running. Not everyone’s exactly thrilled about the new direction I’m taking the paper. Sometimes you’ve got to kick some ass."

Dr. Shawn: "I see. And how are those... urges?"

Travers: "Well, I admit it hasn’t exactly been an easy ride — such desires remain ever-present — but I think it’s fair to say I’ve done an admirable job staying on the righteous and restrained path of reformation."

Dr. Shawn raises an eyebrow. She turns to Master Devlin.

Master Devlin: "Travers claims to be reformed. So far, he’s been behaving himself... for the most part."

Travers: "Precisely. It's a process. It sure ain't easy being a noble goblin of such high virtue, but through the power of Ed, all things are possible... Now, while I appreciate your concern, Doctor, I understand you're still on suspension, and therefore didn’t come here to psychoanalyse ol' Travers. So let’s get down to business, shall we?"

Dr. Shawn: "Very well."

Travers: "Excellent. So... I trust Master Devlin adequately explained the job description?"

Dr. Shawn turns toward the blushing, embarrassed dragon standing in the corner.

Dr. Shawn: "Yes, I believe so. The Chronicle's new... topless agony aunt."

Travers: "You got it. So, what do you think?"

Dr. Shawn: "Well, I’m happy to do the column — if the money’s right. The nude modelling, however... I don’t think so. Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but..."

Travers: "Noooo, Dr. Shawn. The fact of the matter is — it’s a package deal. I'm afraid there’s no one without the other. Now, we can talk numbers, but the topless part is non-negotiable. Either you get the goods out for a photoshoot at least twice a month, or there’s no deal."

Dr. Shawn: "I see... Well then, yes, let’s talk about money — because from what I understand, the initial offer you've made is… well... abysmal."

Travers: "What did you have in mind?"

Dr. Shawn: "Given what you’re asking me to do, I was thinking £10,000 in cash. Upfront."

Travers: "Ten grand?! Dr. Shawn, please. The paper simply can’t afford that at this time. Now look, I respect you, so I’m not going to bullshit you. You’re a hottie for sure — but you ain’t no Wallywood star, and this isn’t Playpen. Not yet, anyway. But I can make you a star. Picture it... Dr. Linda Shawn — Widdlington’s sexiest psychologist and the hottest agony aunt around! Here to answer your questions while you bask in her natural beauty..."

Dr. Shawn: "Why must I be topless, though?"

Travers: "Titillation... The novelty of it. A topless agony aunt — it practically sells itself."

Dr. Shawn: "I see. Then how much?"

Travers: "I was thinking... £700 per shoot. £300 per column page."

Dr. Shawn: "I make more than that on paid suspension from the Council. You’ll have to do better."

Travers: "Alright, alright... How about this: £1,000 per shoot, £400 per column, plus a 10% cut of any syndication or print spin-offs. Calendar deals, special issues, that kind of thing. And I’ll throw in full creative control over your advice column — no editorial interference."

Dr. Shawn: "Hmm..."

Travers: "And! Every now and again, I'll have Master Devlin fly you to all sorts of exotic places for the photoshoots..."

Master Devlin: "🤨 I will?"

Dr. Shawn: "Really? Paid trips abroad?"

Travers: "Yes, ma'am. From Waldron Lake to the Maldives. He'll get you there right quick... as long as you don’t mind a little wind in your hair. The Master here is faster than an F-16 when he puts his scaly ass into gear. But that’s for special occasions. We’ll mostly keep it local... for now."

Dr. Shawn reaches into her handbag and pulls out a small notepad. She scribbles some figures, then looks up.

Dr. Shawn: "How about this: £80,000 flat for the year. All-inclusive. Columns, shoots, the occasional travel. Paid monthly. That way, I don’t have to count every time I take my top off, and you get predictability."

Master Devlin: "That sounds quite reasonable, Travers."

Travers: "£80 grand, huh... Alright. I can work with that — but for that kind of dough, I'm gonna want you to pose topless at least once a week, minimum."

She considers, then extends a hand.

Dr. Shawn: "...Very well. Then we have a deal."

Travers: "Now that’s what I like to hear..."

Travers climbs up onto his desk, walks closer to her, and extends a flipper. They shake.

Travers: "Welcome aboard, Dr. Shawn. We're excited to have you. We're converting the loft into a photo studio — it should be ready for you soon."

Dr. Shawn: "I see. Also, before we get into it — and I hate to be that person — but can we have HR or legal draw up some kind of employment contract?"

Master Devlin sniggers in the corner.

Travers: "Uh... HR? We don't have an HR department anymore..."

Dr. Shawn: "How can you not have HR?"

Master Devlin: "Travers fired them."

Dr. Shawn: "Oh... Reformed, huh?"

Travers: "Absolutely. And as far as 'legal', well — I am a lawyer. We don't need to get anyone else involved. I can take care of all of it."

Dr. Shawn: "If it's all the same, I'd rather not. Forgive me, but you're not exactly known for being the most trustworthy individual..."

Travers: "Dr. Shawn, you are speaking out of turn. I know you're excited to work here, but might I remind you — I am now your employer."

Dr. Shawn shudders.

The Waldoverse continues in Slow News Week With a Touch of Arson