Listening at the door of George Taylor's office was Jack, an errand boy and general assistant. Jack was nearly thirteen and spent part of his time at the Daily Record learning how to set type and file a story. He hoped to one day to become a reporter like Craig Crent or Dolores Delvecio, the paper's top journalists.
Hearing Ned Whisman starting to leave, Jack quickly went to make some coffee and then brought some to Dolores, who was working at her desk. She wore a modest red dress with a white collar and red lipstick. Her dark hair was short and permed.
"Thanks, Jack," said Dolores.
"Sure thing, Miss Delvecio," returned Jack. "Mr. Crent sure is lucky."
"How that's?"
"He's going to interview Cerulean."
"Is he?"
Minutes later, as Craig came out of Taylor's office, Dolores went up to him. "Hello, Craig."
Crent could barely believe his ears. "Are you speaking to me now?"
"Of course, silly," she said smiling. "How are you?"
"But you've been mad at me for weeks, every since we came back from San Monte. Why the change of heart?"
"I decided there's no point being mad at you. You're a good reporter, I see that now and we should get to know each other better. So will you take me out tonight to celebrate?"
"I can't tonight," replied Crent. "I have an assignment."
"So your assignment is more important than I am?"
"No, not at all. Why don't you come with me and we'll have our date afterwards."
"All right, if it won't take long?"
"It shouldn't. See you at seven then."
Later that evening, Craig arrived at Dolores' apartment. Ringing the doorbell, Dolores answered it. She was wearing perfume now, Craig noted. Vanilla and something.
"We have an hour before my appointment," said Craig. "Let's stop at a night club along the way."
"Fine," said Dolores. "Where is the appointment?"
"501 Main Street, apartment 4e."
They danced together for a few minutes. "I care for you a great deal," Craig said. Dolores only looked away. Then the music stopped.
"Oh, they are starting the floor show," noted Dolores.
They sat down at their table and a young woman with short red hair and a green sleeveless dress entered the ballroom. The dress was tight and accentuated the curves on her body. She held a microphone in her hand. The audience applauded when she appeared and as the clapping ebbed, she spoke into it.
"Thank you. Tonight we're going to introduce a new song that's sure to be a hit. It's called You're like Cerulean.
The music started and the young lady sang.
You're like Cerulean.
You make my heart beat faster
Like I was in a disaster.
You're like Cerulean.
But I'm the one gal who kin
Can under you're skin
When you take me in your arms I must confess
It is you who I want to possess.
You're like Cerulean
With your ardor so strong
I know that is not wrong
You're like Cerulean
And when you come to me
I am as happy as can be
Some day you're gonna see
What you really mean to me
Then the whole world will know
So I will tell them so
You're my Cerulean.
Dolores listened enraptured. Craig watched her feeling crestfallen. Clearly Dolores had a crush on Cerulean and there was no way he could compete with that.
He waited a few minutes for Dolores to come to her senses again.
"Shall we go?" he asked.
"Let's have a drink first," remarked Dolores.
"All right." Craig turned aside to take two glasses of champagne being served. He placed them both on the table and then turned back to tip the waiter. As he did, Dolores slipped something into his drink.
Craig sat down and raised his glass. Dolores raised hers clinking it with his. "Cheers," she said. They both drank a little. Almost immediately Craig felt something.
"So sleepy," he murmured before passing out, sprawling out on the table.
Dolores smiled. My plan worked, she thought. Now to get an exclusive interview with Cerulean. Immediately she left the ballroom and got a taxi.