Best of Luck Elsewhere

by Trisha Haddad

  Ms. Li grabbed my right hand firmly. “I’ll let the police know that little detail. For now, anyway, I actually came to tell you that the police would like to talk to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. They want to talk to people who might know something. They probably chose you because you worked so closely with Ms. Orwell. They’re going to be talking to Jane, too. And they’ve already talked to me, of course. I’m sure it will be very informal.” She handed me a card and said, “Can you give them a call this morning? I think they’d like to see you sometime this week. Please feel free to go down there on company time.”

  “I’ll call,” I replied, taking the card.

  * * *

  When I smiled at Jane as I entered the office, she just looked annoyed. I wondered if she was angry or nervous about having to talk to the police. Because I was uncomfortable with being associated with Rain’s murder in any way, I decided to cut Jane some slack.

  In Rain’s office—my temporary office—I looked distractedly through Rain’s desk calendar, trying to figure out what I should be doing outside my own reading duties, trying to procrastinate on calling the police. On her calendar, Rain had scrawled:

  Follow-up call to J. D.

  Proof corrections due back for S.I.N.

  Ms reports due from ET

  I called through my open door to Jane, who was sitting at her desk right outside the office. She didn’t answer, and I got up to check if she was even there. She was.

  “Did you hear me call?” I asked.

  “On the phone?”

  “You were on the phone?

  “No, I was asking if you called on the phone.” She rolled her eyes and I could scarcely believe this rudeness.

  “No,” I answered curtly. “Through the doorway.”

  “You should have just called me. Just press six, five—”

  “But you’re right here.”

  “So then it was easy for you to walk out here and talk to me.”

  “But Rain always—”

  Jane slammed the pen she was holding down on her desk. “You’re not Rain. Now what do you want?”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks. I was struck dumb for a moment, and it was all I could do to cast a glance around the room to see if anyone was watching this spectacle. In my mind our conversation had been very loud, but evidently it was not as no gaze was cast on us. All eyes were down on their work. I set a hand onto Jane’s desk and leaned a little closer to her, speaking softly, trying to keep my cool. I was supposedly her boss now, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t start my reply with Now listen here, bitch! Instead I said, “What’s the problem, Jane? We were always okay before, you and I.”

  She picked up her pen again and turned slightly away from me, as though she didn’t even want me that close to her.

  “What?” I insisted. “What in the world do you have against me?” Even as I said it, my stomach turned to think that she might have a problem with my race. My gaze hardened, as if daring her to go there. She wouldn’t get away with it, not from me and not from J Press.

  She looked up from the paper she had been writing on. “Why are you trying to start an argument with me, Eliza?”

  “I’m trying to start—?”

  “All I want to know is why you were calling me from across the office.”

  I stood up straight again. Enough diplomacy. I had to work. “Has J. D. had been told about Rain yet?”

  “I told him.”

  “Okay, good. That’s all I wanted to know. It didn’t have to be a big production.”

  “You’re welcome. I figured he needed to be told right away. He is our star author, after all, and no one else took the initiative.”

  “Rain had a note for a follow-up call on her calendar and I just wanted to make sure—”

  “I’ve taken care of it.” Jane was entirely focused on her paper now, and I realized that the conversation was done.

  “Good. Glad you’re doing your job.” She was about to mutter something else, but I turned and walked back into the office, wanting to have the last word.

  As I crossed the follow-up call off Rain’s calendar, the esprit d’escalier hit. All the things I should have said. She had no right to treat me that way.

  I couldn’t sit still. Popping up from the chair, I paced back and forth, following the wide window.

  I should have told her that her behavior was inappropriate.

  I should have told her that I used to feel sorry for her because of how Rain abused her, but that I now understood why Rain had to act that way.

  I should have told her that she’s lucky I’m not Rain, or else she’d never work another day at J Press.

  I should have forced her to tell me what her problem was.

  I should have told her that I knew the police wanted to talk to her. I knew that would make her understandably nervous. I should have told her that was why I was putting up with her behavior. That my tolerance was not going to last much longer.

  I moved to the door and glanced at the back of Jane’s head. Her curls stopped moving for a split second, so I knew that she knew I was there. I didn’t speak, but simply shut the door.

  Back at my desk, with a barrier between myself and my bitchy assistant, I tried to focus on the tasks on Rain’s calendar. Obviously, I was not expecting manuscript reports from E.T. as that was myself and I already knew that I had come across no new manuscripts that I wanted to pursue further. All that was left was to follow up on the author’s proof corrections for a sequel called Safety in Numbers.

  Like all but the most successful authors, this one had a full-time job and thus it was her answering machine that picked up when I called her house. “Hi, Amy. This is Eliza Tahan at J Press, calling to follow up on your proof corrections. We haven’t received them yet and so I’m just checking to see if you have any questions. The book looks great, and I’ll be looking forward to getting your corrections so it can be ready for the scheduled time.”

  Then the only call I had left to make was to the police. I pulled out the card that Ms. Li had given me. After a half minute of fret and a twisted stomach, I glanced up at the clock. Less than two hours to my date. Being worried about calling the police would not make me a fun date, I decided. So, for the sake of romance, I was going to stop procrastinating. I took a deep breath and dialed the police station.

  “Wilson,” was the husky answer to my call.

  “Um, this is Eliza.”

  “This is Detective Wilson. Who is this?”

  “Eliza Tahan. I’m at J Press. Our human resources manager said that you wanted to talk to me about Rain Orwell.”

  “Sara Orwell, you mean?”

  “Sara Orwell?”

  “Yes. The editor that was killed.”

  “In a car accident, yes.”

  “She was killed in her car. And you are Eliza Tahan.” I heard him shuffle through some papers. “Ah yes, the assistant editor. Can you come down to the station to talk with me this week about Ms. Sara Orwell?”

  Sara? Of course she was too much of a wannabe hippie to go by a biblical name. Her “S” initial had always been top secret, but I kind of assumed it was a normal name that she was hiding. “Rain” was much more exciting and glamorous.

  “This week?” Adam’s handsome face popped into my mind’s eye and I replied too quickly, “Not today. I mean, I can’t do it right now. Can I come in some other afternoon this week?”

  “Not a problem. Let’s say three o’clock on Thursday. Would that work?”

  “Yeah, that would be fine. I can reach you via trolley, right?”

  “Yes. We’re on the Blue Line. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  After we hung up, I felt much more at ease. What a kind, hearty voice. This wasn’t going to be a gruff interrogation under hot lights. Not a “Where were you on the night of the murder?” To which I’d answer, “I was in Greece, officer, I swear!” This was going to a friendly conversation about my job, Rain’s job, and who I knew
that would like Rain dead. Two weeks ago we’d have all liked her dead. Everyone in this office and most of the people who sent her a manuscript for consideration. But really, none of us would have had actually gone through with it. I ought to tell him that, I thought confidently. It might be helpful for them to know that no one liked Rain, but that we are decent enough not to have killed her.

  I smirked and looked up. The door was open slightly and Jane was standing there with a stony look on her face. “Why are you laughing?” she demanded quietly.

  “I was just—nothing, Jane. Did you need something?”

  “No,” she replied, turning to leave. “I just thought I heard you say my name.”

  * * *

  At ten minutes to noon, I looked up from a contract that I’d been trying to decipher. I had just enough time to run a brush through my hair and add a little lipstick before making my way downstairs and out of the building into the sunlight. I entered the mocha granite of the Wells Fargo Building, nodded at the security guards, and then took running steps to make it into one of the elevators before the doors closed. “Three please,” I said with a smile to the other person in the elevator, who was blocking the buttons.

  She pressed the button and replied, “Going to the deli?” I nodded and she continued, “They’re the best. I’ve gained five pounds since I started working in this building.”

  I exited at the third floor and the lady in the elevator said, “Bon appetite,” as the doors closed. I made my way down the hall and to the last room on the left. One of the best delis, in my opinion, in all of downtown. Not that I was specifically excited for the food this time.

  I scanned the long line at the counter as well as the indoor eating area, seeing no sign of Adam. When I looked through the windows to the large balcony, I spotted him right away.

  He’d seen me first and was already out of his chair and on his way inside.

  “Eliza!” He greeted me with a wide smile, hand extended. We met in a handshake. “So great to see you again. You still have that Greek glow to you.”

  I blushed. My caramel skin felt instantly bronze. “Thank you. It’s good to see you, too.”

  He put a hand on my back lightly and looked at the menu above the counter. “Let’s go ahead and order and we’ll get started on our meeting.”

  My heartbeat quickened at his touch, but my stomach dropped at the change of vocabulary from “date” to “meeting.” What had I been thinking? But I nodded, and when we reached the counter, I ordered an egg salad sandwich, not worrying about the calories because obviously this wasn’t a date anyway.

  When we sat down, Adam became instantly shy. He stared at his hands for a moment before admitting, to my dismay, “I almost canceled our meeting, you know.”

  “Well, that’s a good start,” I muttered sarcastically. “You’re just flattering me now.”

  He held out his hands with a surprised look. “Hey now, I just meant that when you told me about what happened to your boss and then I immediately…um…made a move, that really seemed to turn you off. Which I guess I can understand. I felt like a bit of a creep when I left your place the other day. Like I had been dishonoring the dead.”

  I looked down at my sandwich and leaned over the table to explain in a low voice, “I am sorry about that, Adam. About closing up, you know. It wasn’t about honoring or not honoring Rain. It was just about how I was feeling right then.”

  “I don’t know if that’s better or worse. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ Come on, Eliza.”

  “I’m out with you now, aren’t I? So if you’re a creep, so am I.”

  Adam smiled, loosening up. “You’re right. Let’s get this date rolling then. Have you read my article yet?”

  “My article, you mean?”

  “My article about you.” He laughed easily now.

  “Not yet. I checked the picture, not that I was being vain, but I wanted to make sure I didn’t look horrible or something. And then I set the article aside to read when I could focus on it. I need to catch up on some reading for work, and sometimes it’s hard to split my attention between personal business and work.”

  I could see that he was disappointed. I tried to draw him in. “Do you have that problem, too? Mixing work and personal life?”

  “Not really,” he said with a shrug. “I mean, I do mix them—obviously, since you and I are here— but I don’t find it to be a problem for me.”

  “You’re lucky then. But how did you think the article turned out?”

  “Great. I’m sure you’ll have an increase in submissions addressed specifically to you, now that people think they have an ‘in.’ Plus, your picture came out really nice, so you may have some calls come in that are not business-related at all.”

  “You’re flattering me, Mr. Mestas.”

  “You know, you never did tell me about your trip.”

  What to tell? It was not the life-changing journey that a solo overseas backpacking adventure is made out to be, but it was also the best time I’d had in a long time. So I just said, “Great. It was great.”

  There was a smirk and then, “Oh, please, Eliza. We are both word people, and all you can say about your two-week ‘adventure’ in Greece is that it was great?”

  I looked at him sideways and then took a sip of my water. What to say? “When I got off the ferry on Santorini island, it was windy and cold and I had forgotten my jacket. I hadn’t slept in two days since I went straight from the long plane ride to Athens to the bus to Piraeus to the ferry to Santorini. I accepted a ride from the first hotel person who offered me one, since there is a twisty, steep cliff road that goes up to the towns. He told me that he had rooms for twenty-two euro and that I could look at them and then decide if I wanted to stay. That’s how I ended up in Fira. I didn’t stay at that hotel, since the guy who took me up there was a little slimy and I didn’t feel comfortable there.”

  “Slimy?” Adam broke in, confirming my suspicion that he had, indeed, been paying attention.

  I chose my words as though I was picking them right out of a thesaurus, taking my time. “Yes. I think slimy is the best word. When we got to the hotel he increased the price to thirty-five euro, which made me mad on principle. But when I tried to leave, he blocked the door and said I took advantage of the ride and that now I had to stay there. Who wants to spend the night in a hotel where a slimy guy has the master room key, right? So I squeezed past him and made it out the door, deciding for sure that I was not going to go back.

  “I wandered the streets trying to find an open hotel, but everything was closed since it was off-season. I guess ‘wandered the streets’ sounds a little dark for what it was really like, but the sun was setting and I was afraid I’d be stuck staying at the slimy guy’s hotel. Finally I stopped at a little market where someone suggested I try the Pension Delphini, which was open. That ended up being the place where I spent my entire time on Santorini. I mean, you know, where I slept.”

  Adam frowned. “It almost sounds as if you didn’t have a good time.”

  “I know. I wanted to tell that story first, but I actually did have a great trip, a beautiful and memorable trip, one of my best vacations. I guess the thing is that it wasn’t really what I was expecting. Moments like that just kinda kicked into my mind how everyone had been right about how I should have reservations and a traveling companion for a vacation. I hated that they were right.” Why am I telling him all this? I wondered. Does he make me feel that comfortable, or maybe that listened-to, that I can tell him the darker side of the story that I’ve not mentioned to anyone else who’s asked?

  “When you were heading out for the airport, you called it an ‘adventure,’ not a ‘vacation.’ And sometimes the more risks you take, the more fun you end up having. Did you really end up having fun, when it came down to it?”

  “Other than those first few hours on Santorini, I sure did.” I thought about how I must have gotten good vibes from Adam right off the bat to be able to trust him with my weaknesses. Pl
us, I was a little flattered that he remembered my use of the word ‘adventure’ from our conversation weeks ago. I decided to bare a little more of my soul. “To be honest, Adam, you’re right in the fact that I was expecting this trip to be more than a vacation. I’d forgotten that I told you I was going on an adventure. I didn’t really admit this to anyone, but I wanted it to be this glorious, life-changing adventure. As if the earth or some of those places were supposed to speak to me and tell me what to do with my life. Inspire me to make needed changes.”

  “The earth can’t do all that. And history can’t be depended on to inspire your spirit.”

  “If not history and landscape, then what?”

  Adam smiled wryly and noted, “Maybe partly yourself and partly someone who inspires passion in you.”

  “Someone passionate?”

  “You never know. Now, tell me one of the good memories.”

  I took a bite of my egg salad sandwich before continuing. “Right next to the Pension Delphini was this little fruit stand with all kinds of bright, deeply colored fruit. I went there every morning I was on Santorini to grab something to eat for breakfast while I explored. Those rich, bright hues contrasted with the white walls. The sun coming through the distant cloud cover gave the sky the appearance of a blank sheet of paper. They’re pictures forever pressed in my mind. A good memory.

  “One morning I saw the oldest lady. She was really short and round and wrinkly, with wind-chapped skin. She was wearing a black dress and black shawl, and a black hood covered her hair. The wind blew little wisps of hair out from under the hood, and they matched the white-washed walls. She bought an orange—just one orange—right ahead of me and then moved easily over the uneven stones and up the hill. I bought my fruit and then followed her to a bakery around the corner, then watched her as she bought bread. Then she climbed a really steep hill in this long black dress and these chunky heels, smiling at the kids running down it, nodding and chatting with whoever passed her. In one hand she held the orange, her big black purse was over her wrist, and under her other arm was a long loaf of bread.”