Eleven O'Clock Number

MUSICAL #18: HOW TO SUCCEED IN BUSINESS WITHOUT REALLY TRYING

18: MY NICENESS DOESN'T EXTEND THAT FAR, JESUS OR NO JESUS

« i realise that i'm the president of this company, the man that's responsible for everything that goes on here. so, i want to state, right now, that anything that happened is not my fault. »

ALLISON'S PHONE rings at precisely two minutes to five on Christmas morning. 

"Fucking Christ," she says groggily, sitting up and fumbling for her phone on the dresser, then answering it without even looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?" she manages. 

"Allison! Merry Christmas!"

"Toby," Allison says, slowly because she's tired and also because she's trying very hard not to lose her cool. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Wishing you a merry Christmas?"

"Could you have maybe saved it for a later time?" Allison hisses into the receiver. "Maybe not five in the fucking morning?"

By this time, Lydia, too, has woken up, and is watching Allison's side of the exchange with sleepy amusement, a slow, lazy smile slipping onto her face. 

"Right," Toby says slowly, as though finally understanding that most people aren't awake in the hours of morning before the sun has even risen. "Uh - yeah."

Allison is tired. "You're ridiculous," she says, but this time there's a lot less bite and a lot more I am still really fucking mad but too tired to do much about it. "Did you wake up your dad like this, too?"

There's a silence on the other side of the line that's long enough for even a sleepy, considerably less observant Allison to catch onto. "Toby?"

"Uh - he's not - I mean - that is -" Toby stops short and takes a breath, a rush of static down the line. "No," he says. "I, uh, I didn't."

"Well, lucky him," Allison says dryly, unable to help the dig even though part of her is already thinking about Toby's strange excuse for an answer, because, sorry, but she is not and never will be in the mood to wake up at five in the fucking morning by Toby Martin, Jesus Christ's birth or not. 

"Look, Toby," she manages to sigh. "I get that this is a very important time for you, but, funnily enough, some people like actually sleeping to a time by which the sun has actually risen, even on Christmas.  So you're going to have to excuse me."

"Right," Toby says again, whilst Allison is busy being pretty impressed with herself for being able to form such coherent sentences at this ungodly hour. 

"Right," she repeats. "Text me later and I might be tempted not to throttle you next time I see you."

"Bye, Allison!" And Allison physically winces, because enthusiasm and very early mornings will not ever be compatible. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Toby," she says monotonously, before hanging up and practically flinging her phone back on the bedside table. 

"I can't do it anymore," she announces to both the ceiling and Lydia, who is still awake, as she slumps back down into a lying position. "He's too high maintenance."

Lydia hums in that way she has that Allison knows means she's thinking really hard, which, no, because it is five fucking am, why is Lydia thinking? "You think he has trouble sleeping?"

"Wait, what?" Allison frowns, trying to push her still sleep slogged mind into functioning even a little.

"Allison," Lydia says patiently, sitting up in the bed. "The guy called you at five am. On a holiday. What does that tell you?"