4

This is Betty Brant, of the Daily Bugle. She's Peter's new boss.

Or rather, she'll be Peter's boss one day. But if only she'd finish reading Peter's resume faster...

Peter doesn't know why she's taking so long. There's barely anything to read. He's still a minor. Although yes, when it comes to building a resume, it helps to be raised in a single-parent flat in the cheaper part of the Big Apple.

Brant is gorgeous. She wears black suits to work, and wears her hair in a black bob. She loves mascara. Her pumps are the color of obsidian.

Around her office, her interior decor stays true to tradition. She's got several black-and-white photographs hanging from her walls.

"Your resume is breathtaking, Mr. Parker," she says, closing it, and scooting it across her desk, back towards him. "But, absolutely NO disrespect intended, you're too young for me to hire."

She flaps her bob, and giggles. Peter feels good...despite not getting the job.

"But as long as you're willing, you can do some volunteer work. You can take pictures, but," she adjusts her top, "you won't get paid."

"That's fine. What do you have in mind?"

She stands. With balance, she moves around her desk. She makes sure Peter can see her ass. She glides over to a board on the wall, where she keeps memos posted.

"Certain religious groups throughout the city are getting paranoid, because their native kin in Eurasia are being oppressed by the Ottoman Turks. I know this is a sensitive topic, but," she flaps her hair, and puts her hands together, nails up, in front of her face, "will you take these photos, for," she swallows, "the Bugle?"

"Of course," Peter says, smiling. "It's an honor to be a part of the team."

"Yes...it will be." She scurries back to her desk, and sits. She seems stressed. She flaps her hair and loosens her top a lot.

"Just...how close do you want me to get to these people? From what I've heard, they're not really..."

"Use your best judgement. Don't get closer than what feels safe. Although," she sits on the front of her desk, and swings her bare legs, where Peter's got a great view of them. "I must warn you that if you're going to be a press photographer, you've got to be willing to," she raises one of her legs, and wiggles it for Peter, "take risks. I mean you don't HAVE to. It's just that," she undoes the top button on her blouse, "that's how the big men in this business advance themselves."

"And...you think I can be a big man?"

She looks down on him, with a coy smile. "You are." She winks. "I can tell."

Peter gapes. "Okay. I'll take risks. I won't respect their space at all. I'll trespass their worship services, and photograph their priests' balls. And if they throw me out, I'll just go back and get more."

Ms. Brant smiles. "THAT'S a good photographer." She messes up Peter's hair. "I know I can count on you."

She stays where she is. Peter feels nervous...and small.

"So Peter...you have a girlfriend. How serious are you about her?"

"Honestly," Peter surveys Ms. Brant's long and tempting legs, "I don't think I'm ever sure."

Ms. Brant smiles. Peter may just be a herring, but as far as catches go, his bright red scales make him the most distracting fish in the sea.