Chapter 59: A New Day

Ernie was chewing on a piece of canned yellow peach, thinking about Judy Garland.

At that moment, the voice of a neighbor echoed from downstairs: "Call for the Riser family!"

Hearing this, Ernie finished the canned fruit in two or three bites and went downstairs to take the call. Ever since he started writing novels, his phone calls had become the most frequent.

This made Ernie think... it was about time to rent a telephone for himself.

Otherwise, constantly running up and down the stairs was rather tiring.

Rounding the final flight of stairs, Ernie saw his neighbor standing by the telephone. After offering a polite word of thanks, he took the receiver.

It was Asimov calling from the university. Without any pleasantries, he got straight to the point: "Have you seen the latest issue of *The Saturday Evening Post*? They’ve published another article attacking you."

"What?" Ernie was slightly surprised.

He hadn't expected a sequel!

It really was endless.

"What does it say? Is the way they attack me still the same as that previous piece, 'A Distorted American Landscape'?" Ernie asked.

"Well... not quite," Asimov said calmly. "Your piece, 'Testimony from the Dust', carries enough weight that the *Post* editorial board had no way to refute it. The content of this new article can basically be described as 'venting emotions'."

"Oh, so it's just impotent rage."

"Impotent rage... that's a good phrase, Ernie. You've described it very accurately."

The two chatted for a little longer. Ernie told Asimov that he would no longer write articles to respond to the *Post*. Between himself and that anonymous person at the *Post* who only distorted the facts, an insurmountable "gap in strength" had already formed.

For someone who was unreasonable and throwing a temper tantrum for no reason, paying them no mind was the best approach.

However, after hanging up the phone, Ernie felt a bit curious about how the *Post* had "flamed" him. He went back upstairs to his apartment, intending to grab some loose change and head out to buy a copy of the latest issue of the *Post*.

Just as he emerged from his bedroom with the change in his hand, Mary—dressed impeccably and carrying a large cloth bag specifically reserved for churchgoing—issued a command: "Where do you think you're going? Come on, you're coming to church with me."

"..." Ernie only then remembered this engagement.

He had zero desire to go to church. A thought crossed his mind: "I don't have time, I'm getting ready to write."

Normally, whenever he said this, Mary wouldn't say anything more, seeing as her son was now a great writer.

This time, however, Mary was resolute: "You can write after we get back from church!"

Ernie: "..."

He didn't even get the chance to buy the latest issue of *The Saturday Evening Post*.

The July sunlight in New York bathed the streets, casting the shadow of the church spire. Few passengers rode the streetcars passing by on the tracks across the street; under the onslaught of motor buses, this mode of transportation was rapidly declining.

At the curb outside the church, a thin man was pushing a cart to sell hot coffee, the brass kettle spout emitting billowing hot steam. Many women arriving for church activities were buying cups.

Mary led Ernie, who followed behind her, as she walked over and struck up a conversation with acquaintances she met. "Ernie" naturally became an inescapable topic of discussion, but fortunately, Ernie had experienced scenes like this plenty of times in his past life and handled them with decorum.

The two walked into the church hall. Ernie still didn't understand why Mary had brought him along, especially considering he still had manuscripts to write and hadn't bought the latest *Post* yet.

He tugged on Mary's sleeve: "Mom, what am I actually doing here? I don't even know how to knit sweaters."

Mary glared at him, a split second away from scolding this blockhead for not even knowing why he was here!

Then she thought better of it; she couldn't let Ernie figure out her scheme, so she needed to keep him around first.

"Fine, fine, just coming to church has already saved face for me. Leave whenever you want, but at least eat something before you go. I even made key lime pie."

Even though today wasn't Sunday and there was no potluck, the women had still brought plenty of food and desserts.

Ernie didn't suspect anything and simply shrugged, thinking Mary had a point. Since his breakfast had consisted solely of canned peaches, he first walked over to the church donation box marked "For British War Relief" and made a contribution.

Then he strolled over to the long table to eat and drink.

It was rare to have a gentleman—and a handsome, tall one at that—among the Women's Auxiliary, and many of the women and young ladies gathered around.

Ernie handled himself with ease, offering compliments on youthfulness to the middle-aged women and compliments on beauty to the young ladies, and that was that.

In the church hall, Mary watched from a distance as Ernie proved immensely popular with the ladies. The corner of her mouth curved up in immense pride; this was her handsome and talented son... born of her!

Still, she maintained that among all the young ladies, only that girl who looked like "Judy Garland" was the optimal choice.

Carrying her cloth bag, Mary looked perfectly calm on the surface as she chatted animatedly with the other women.

Inside, however, she was extremely anxious... wondering if Miss Frances would come, and if so, when.

Eleanor, the president of the women's association, possessed a sharp eye and noticed Mary's restlessness: "Darling, you look as though the Germans are right at your doorstep!"

"Eleanor, go try my key lime pie right now!" Mary lacked the mental energy to entertain remarks and used food to shut her up.

Meanwhile...

Wearing a single-breasted plaid dress, Judy hopped down from the streetcar, crossed the street, and walked up to the church entrance.

These days, she wore her curly hair flowing past her shoulders and dressed in ordinary clothes, looking just like an average girl next door. Unlike the constant exhaustion that had previously shadowed her face, Judy smiled much more frequently, though she still had rather heavy dark circles under her eyes.

There was no helping it; after breaking her contract with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, she faced not only exorbitant financial penalties but also immense pressure from public opinion.

So for the past three days, she had been dealing with these matters, and now she could finally be said to have returned to the track of an ordinary life.

She had used the majority of her accumulated earnings to settle a twenty-thousand-dollar penalty, and then, with the tiny fraction of savings left over, she rented an apartment in Lower Manhattan to live in.

Although the damages demanded by MGM amounted to hundreds of thousands of dollars—an sum entirely beyond her financial capacity—she didn't want to dwell on that right now; she simply wanted to enjoy a few days free from work pressure... and of course, because she was utterly exhausted from the past three days, she was feeling rather sleepy.

Yet to her, feeling sleepy was a good thing, as it meant she had finally shaken off the torment of only being able to fall asleep using sedatives.

With these thoughts, Judy covered her mouth and let out a gentle yawn.

Compared to the legal papers from MGM, she found herself thinking far more about the author of *Dawn Over China*, Ernie Riser.

She hoped she would be lucky enough to run into Mrs. Mary today so that she could ask her son—Ernie Riser—if he might be free to accept an invitation to go out for a cup of coffee together.

Judy smiled faintly and stepped into the church.

How incredibly lucky~

She thought to herself, because right as she walked in, she saw Mrs. Mary carrying her cloth bag.

"Miss Frances, we meet again," Mary said with internal joy, though her face wore a restrained and decorous smile.

"Hello, Mrs. Mary," Judy said, offering a slight bow of greeting.

"You look truly lovely today~"

"Thank you, Mrs. Mary, and you as well."

The two exchanged pleasantries.

The next moment, almost simultaneously, they both spoke: "Ernie..."