hackthis_archive | Iron Man - His Girl Friday. Or Saturday. Maybe Sunday. (Pepper Potts, Tony Stark, PG)

Yes, there will be Live Free Die Hard fic too. I am feeling prolific this week.

Iron Man
Pepper Potts, Tony Stark
Rated PG

His Girl Friday. Or Saturday. Maybe Sunday.

Pepper Potts' third post-college job interview is with a company in Santa Monica that makes golf balls. It's not quite what a Political Science major from UCLA, with a 3.5 overall grade average, would aim for -- but Pepper's been job hunting for three whole weeks. She's not in the mood to be picky anymore. If she has to do another mass mailing, the post office is going to have to give her a discount rate.

Except that the guy who's interviewing her, a Mr. John Hill, isn't really interviewing Pepper as much as he's interviewing her chest.

"So, Mr. Hill, do 4Play's medical benefits start on day one?" Pepper's gamely trying not to smack her interviewer, but it's hard. So very hard.

"I think you would look really good in a short skirt," Mr. Hill announces. "You know, to show off our product."

"You sell golf balls," Pepper reminds him sharply.

"Yeah, but someone has to bend over to put the ball on the tee."

Mr. Hill licks his lips and Pepper wrinkles her nose; enough is enough.

Mr. Hill's gut prevents him from rolling his chair too close to his desk. It also puts him outside Pepper's swinging range. "I think this interview is done," she announces testily.

Mr. Hill smiles as Pepper stands up. Or maybe he's leering. Ew. "So, do you want the job?"

"Of putting golf balls on tees?" Pepper isn't a shrieker, but this might be close.

Mr. Hill's definitely leering. "You can put your golf ball on my tee anytime."

Pepper is still twitching twenty minutes later -- even after she's left the office, validated her parking and gotten stuck in traffic on the 10.

There's a special sort of hell associated with job hunting that no one told Pepper Potts about when she was in college. Of course, Pepper foolishly also thought that college was supposed to actually prepare her for the "real world" -- but she was wrong there too. After all, there was no class in college called "How to Balance Your Checkbook" or "How to Rent Your First Apartment" or "How to Interview for a Job and Not Smack the Interviewer."

Pepper really could have used that last one instead of Modern Art 403.

Pepper Potts' fifth post-college job interview is with an art dealer, who meets her in his building's waiting room. His name is Mr. Green. Mr. Green has got thinning hair, a mustache and two chins. Not that Pepper discriminates.

At least with Mr. Green there's no worry about office romance sending her to unemployment. That happened once to Pepper's roommate's ex-girlfriend.

That's why she's the ex.

Pepper is a little confused though, when Mr. Green ushers her outside the building to where his Porsche is idling on the curb.

"Are we going out to lunch?" Pepper asks. "I thought we were going to interview in your office."

There's something off, Pepper can smell it. She hesitates getting in the car.

Mr. Green shrugs over the hood of his car. "My ex-wife got the office," he announces breezily, "I got the car."

Pepper steps back. "So, where do you work, if you don't work in your office?"

"I work in my car," he says as though it's the most natural thing ever. Pepper thought only struggling actors and musicians lived out of their cars.

"And where am I supposed to work?" Pepper demands.

"From your car."

Pepper's car is a broken down Honda Civic. The door handle doesn't actually work on the passenger side, and yesterday, the air-conditioning starting crapping out. "You're joking, right?"

Mr. Green frowns. "I never joke about my art."

Pepper cocks her head to the side. "And I never joke about working in an office."

"So, you don’t want the job?"

Pepper can't believe she actually has to even think about this.

Apparently it's easier to job hunt when you already have a job, but since Pepper doesn't have a job to begin with, that's just being mean.

Pepper's seventh job interview is at Banana Republic. Not Banana Republic headquarters, but the Banana Republic at the Glendale Galleria. The last time Pepper worked in retail was her sophomore year when she worked at Nine West to feed her shoe habit. Pepper likes shoes. Pepper also likes clothes. Mostly, Pepper just likes to look nice. In fact, the manager of Banana Republic -- Regan -- likes her style, but she won't hire her.

"But I thought you liked my style," Pepper protests as the overpaid, over-styled manager gets up from their table.

"I do," Regan insists, "but you're kind of overqualified."

"I'm overqualified to fold tee shirts and jeans?" Pepper's not shrieking. She's really not. Did Pepper mention she's being interviewed at the food court? By the Sbarro's?

Regan steps back. Smart girl. "You have a degree from UCLA," she says, as though Pepper's forgotten. "Why don't you get a nice office job?"

"Because there are no nice office jobs," Pepper grits through her teeth.

Regan takes another step back. "Oh, look, Sbarro's is hiring."

And the sad part? Pepper actually looks.

It's not just that job hunting is demoralizing and irritating and aggravating and lots of other words that end with -ing, it's that it's tiresome, and did Pepper mention irritating?

Other people are stupid. And job hunting doesn't exactly pay the rent. The only person more anxious for Pepper to get a job than Pepper is Pepper's roommate.

Pepper doesn't even want to talk about the job interview she has with the very very famous actor in Silverlake. He's late, he's high, he calls her Salt-n-Pepa the entire time, and then he passes out in a pool of his own vomit.

Pepper is tempted to leave him there, but she'd a nicer person than that. She just sort of rolls him onto his side, so he doesn't choke to death like Jimi Hendrix, and then she leaves.

On her way back to her poor, abused, late-model Honda Civic with the now-broken air-conditioning, she passes by a church.

Pepper's not Roman Catholic, but if she converts and becomes a nun at least she'd get a roof over her head, plus, food and medical.

If nuns get medical.

The thing about Pepper is that she's an idealist. She won't tell you she's an idealist, but she truly believes that people are good, and that life is fair, and that if you are qualified, you will get the job that you want.

It takes her six weeks of pounding the Los Angeles pavement, or in her case, spending her food money on gas to drive from Westwood to Pasadena to El Segundo back to Westwood to think that maybe she might be wrong.

At least about the job thing.

Plus, she's getting a bit desperate. Yesterday, she stalked the head of HR at William Morris Agency, not because she wants to be an agent, or because she's a starlet wannabe, but because she needs a job and she's stopped being discriminating. Even the job fairs aren't working in Pepper's favor anymore.

Pepper's resorted to randomly stalking people in high school gymnasiums and begging them to hire her to arrange travel plans and pick up their dry cleaning. Her friend Frieda works for Paramount Pictures and does that exact job for $26,000 a year, but Pepper has student loans. $26,000 won't cover food, gas and those.

If Los Angeles Mass Transit actually worked, Pepper would gladly give up the gas part.

If Pepper could get a fricking job, she would give up a lot.

When Pepper sits down in the lobby of Stark Industries, she's just happy that their offices are air-conditioned. Los Angeles in October is kind of hellish weather, but you can say that about L.A. weather most of the time. Fires, earthquakes, heat waves, more fires. One day California is just going to burn and crack itself right off the map.

When a very stylish woman with a blond chignon calls her name, Pepper just sighs. The sooner they start, the sooner she can go home and watch General Hospital and Oprah.

After fourteen interviews and almost three months of looking, Pepper is done. Really done. Like the kind of done that if she was a hamburger, she could double as a hockey puck.

The woman introduces herself as Doris. She is one of those attractive women of an indeterminate age that L.A. likes to turn out. She could be 50 or 30, who knows.

"I love your name," Doris says as she leads Pepper towards a bank of elevators. "It's very alliterative."

"Thank you," Pepper says somewhat surprised. Pepper Potts has spent most of her life hearing crap about her name. 'Hey, Pepper, where's your salt?' 'Hey, Pepper, shouldn't you be called Freckles instead?' 'What kind of name is Pepper for a girl, anyway?'

"How do you feel about being on call twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week?" Doris asks Pepper rather abruptly. "Is there a Mr. Potts that might object?"

Pepper's pretty sure Doris isn't allowed to ask that, but who cares at this point.

"I just graduated from college," Pepper begins. "The only Mr. Potts is my dad, who probably would die of happiness if he didn't have take my calls collect again. I don't really have a life these days; I just job hunt, eat Ben & Jerry's and watch Oprah, so, I don't mind at all."

Doris just smiles and nods. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

Pepper smiles back and tamps down on the fluttering in her stomach. The last thing she needs screwing her up is hope. It takes her a moment to realize that Doris doesn't call the elevator until after Pepper has answered her questions.

The end of the short elevator ride deposits them in a fish bowl of floor-to-ceiling windows and blond wood.

"Mr. Stark will be with you in a minute," Doris says, after leading Pepper to an office the size of the ground floor of Pepper's apartment building.

"That's not true, Doris," a voice calls from somewhere Pepper can't see. "Mr. Stark will be with you right -- hello, Red."

Pepper blinks as a man appears from behind one of the large double doors. He's not a very tall man, but he's very well dressed. And he's got this sort of crazy facial hair that shouldn't work but does. He's attractive. This is bad.

Doris makes their introductions. "Tony Stark, Pepper Potts. Ms. Potts, this is Mr. Stark."

Pepper's seen Tony Stark in the Los Angeles Times. The photos don't do him credit -- even though they make him look taller.

"It's very nice to meet you, Ms. Potts," Mr. Stark says with a blinding smile.

"Ms. Potts is here to interview for the job," Doris says and Mr. Stark's smile dims fractionally.

"Of course she is," Mr. Stark says with a nod of his head. "Should I hire her?"

Pepper looks from Doris to Mr. Stark, her confusion evident. "Don't you want to interview me first?"

Mr. Stark makes a dismissive wave as he turns around and wanders over to his desk. "If Doris is introducing us then you have the job. Besides, if I tell you too much, I might scare you away. They don't call me the Grim Reaper for no reason."

Pepper ignores that last part. "But how do I know I want this job?" she asks no one in particular. "We're not dealing drugs or eating babies, are we?"

Doris smiles and pats her on the arm. "You want this job, sweetheart. Everybody wants this job."

"After all, who doesn't love cleaning up bodies," Mr. Stark mocks.

"Then why are you leaving?" Pepper asks Doris. This sort of round-robin interviewing would phase other people, but after fourteen interviews, Pepper is not other people.

"Because I'm going to have a baby," Doris says frankly. "And I can only take care of one kid at a time."

"Hey, at least I'm toilet-trained," Mr. Stark retorts good-naturedly.

"Yes, but that took almost ten years. You wouldn't believe the price of his diapers," Doris says to Pepper.

Pepper can't keep up with them. They have this sort of natural rapport that Pepper supposes explains their years together perfectly. Pepper can't imagine spending ten years in the same job. But then again, Pepper doesn't actually have a job to contemplate spending ten years at anyway.

"What about benefits?" Pepper interrupts their banter. "What about my vacation? Do you match 401K? When would I start? How much are you paying?"

"You're thinking about vacation already, Ms. Potts?" Mr. Stark laughs. "You haven't even made it through the week."

Pepper narrows her eyes. "I can make it a week. I can make it a month. In fact, you can get my ten year plaque ready today."

Pepper has no idea where that came from.

Mr. Stark smirks at Doris. "I like her, she's got spunk."

Doris smiles. "Never doubt my taste."

Mr. Stark winks at Pepper. "You've got big shoes to fill, Ms. Potts. In fact, Doris told you about the clown shoes, right?"

Pepper's not sure if Mr. Stark is joking or not. She thinks that's the point.

Pepper turns to Doris. "Is he always like this?"

"He is still in the room!" Mr. Stark replies.

"Don't let his bark scare you," Doris says. "He's had his rabies shots."

"Would you like to see?"

When Mr. Stark offers Pepper his backside, she can't help laughing. This is the sort of boss she's been looking for. One with a sense of humor. One who seems to appreciate his employees. One who is rich and not working out of his car.

"Where do I sign up?" Pepper asks.

Mr. Stark replies blithely. "Right below the life insurance policy."

"That's a joke right?"

Mr. Stark looks at Pepper guilelessly. "I don't know, is it?"

Doris laughs. "Welcome to the wonderful world of Tony Stark, Pepper."

Pepper glances at Tony Stark for a moment before smiling back at Doris.

What a wonderful world indeed.

-end-

Current Mood: chipper
Current Music: Embrace' Nature's Law'