10:30 p.m. I laughed as I read Nigel’s silly email full of quirky British expressions. Again, he asked for my phone number. I promised to send my numbers soon and then signed off. Dogged by a creepy feeling I was being watched, I kept looking over my shoulder for Sunglasses and his boys. I should have felt safe in my own home.
It was almost midnight when I finally settled down to sleep, thoughts of the RICO guys and Leslie eased out of my mind by a little pink pill.
~ Friday January 8
Curiouser and curiouser
12:15 a.m. When I slid into dreamland I felt the pull of an email. It was like a kiss on my cheek. I walked to the computer and clicked on the Internet. Nigel had sent me his photo. Hesitantly I hit the download. A picture had slowly taken shape on my computer screen. Well, he had a face and a body. That was good.
The picture couldn’t have been more out of focus if it were taken under ten feet of water, none of his features were discernible; just a blurry man in a red sweater. He was standing in a doorway raising a wine glass in a toast. Under-impressive.
I had to admit, this was NOT Cary Grant. The picture was too fuzzy to reveal much. If Dana were here, she’d say, “It’s out of focus for a reason.” She’s such a little cynic.
If I squinted my eyes just right, I could make Nigel looked a little like John Cleese. I have always been an unreliable witness to my own life.
Slipping between the sheets, I fell asleep with thoughts of England happily squeezing out visions of Leslie and Sunglasses.
1:10 a.m. The sound of bagpipe music told me I had a call on my cell phone. My heart raced. It could only be an emergency with Dana. I fumbled for the phone without looking at the caller ID.
“Why didn’t ‘cha call me back?” Maris whimpered, she sounded drunk. “I’m in the bathroom, crying my eyes out. Here’s what you have to do for me —”
She hadn’t called me. “Maris,” I spoke slowly so she would understand. “It’s the middle of the night. You scared the daylights out of me. I don’t have to do anything for you.”
“No, no. You have to talk to Leslie. You have to explain to him —”
“Maris, I’m fast asleep —”
She cut me off. “Leslie thinks I told you about him listening to his tapes of your conversations every night. He is really hot. Really mad. You have to tell him, right now, that I didn’t tell you.”
“I couldn’t care less about your domestic squabbles. Leslie is a paradox.”
Maris hesitated. “What do Leslie’s pants have to do with this? He’s never worn Dockers.”
“Maris, I’m hanging up. Go back to bed.”
Clicking off, I promised myself I would be out of the Archer trap… soon, very soon.
8:00 a.m. I had hoped to find the office empty so I could review all my client files without being watched. Did I have anything on Red Queen and if I did, should I share it with Sunglasses?
I was surprised to hear loud male voices. Sam Church, one of Leslie’s many lawyers, barreled out of Leslie’s office with Leslie swaggering after him.
“You’re on your own.” Church yelled over his shoulder as he made his exit. “I’m not going up against those PETA people. You’re crazy if you try it. I quit.” Church jumped when he saw me.
Leslie waltzed back into his office.
The scent of a lawyer gave me an instant migraine. It was the smell of nasty divorce court memories. The stench of retainers paid to “sympathetic” lawyers who forgot to return my calls once my check had cleared. It was the essence of confidences broken and life savings taken by those sworn to uphold the law. It was a feeling of utter helplessness.
Was this scene one of the things I was supposed to report to Sunglasses? Or was this a test to see if I would spy on Leslie? I decided I didn’t see or hear anything.
11:30 a.m. I spent two hours looking in my files. There was nothing on Red Queen, Ltd and nothing on Jug Hare.
Salli put a call through from Ron. We talked about his listings and the slow market. I was sitting on the corner of my desk when my female intuition kicked in. He sounded relaxed, too relaxed.
“Have you got a new romantic interest?”
“Connected with her on the Internet,” he said.
“Really?”
“We finally met face to face…”
I was nonchalant but kind of angry Ron hadn’t told me about her. What are best friends for and why didn’t I feel happy for him?
“Got another call, can I put you on hold?” He slammed me in to elevator music while I pondered his news.
Ron Watson… on the Internet? I rolled the thought around in my brain like a marble.
My friend Ron in a chat room? I wasn’t pleased with the thought of losing him to some Internet babe. Strange things happen to sane people when a mysterious someone appears on a glowing screen in short sentences and frantic punctuation.
It was like the days of pot and mushrooms. Back then there was an induced romantic haze over almost everyone; they were all lovesick and loving every minute of it. In the 70s everyone was a bed head with glazed eyes and silly smiles. And now it was happening again — but this time the drug of choice was the Internet.
THUD. My office door blasted open. Leslie stood in front of my desk, hands in the pockets of his trendy baggy jeans. He was wearing a Tommy Hilfiger shirt with the logo on the pocket. He wore no socks and loafers with tassels. Ugh.
He smiled an unfriendly, condescending smile. His large reptilian eyes were fixed on my phone.
“Just a minute, please.” I dismounted my desk and stood meeting my employer’s possessive gaze.
“I have to call you back,” I told Ron.
Leslie sat on the far corner of my desk. Desk-sitting was the only thing we had in common. “I’ve been thinking and I’ve come up with a deal for you. You sell Lizard Links for me and you’re off the hook. You can leave in peace with no strings.”
I tried not to look dumbfounded. Lizard Links was a “lemon” property Leslie had been holding onto for years. To my knowledge, no one had ever seen the abandoned golf course. My sense of it was that Leslie had screwed it up in some way. He never talked about it because he never admitted his mistakes.
“Leslie, I’m not even sure I know exactly where Lizard Links is. It’s out near the Everglades, isn’t it?” Why this property and why now? Was this part of the RICO case? It smelled like a set-up.
“Think of it as the escape clause from your employment contract with me. Want to terminate early? Sell the Links. Otherwise you’re mine. Here’s the package on the property. I’m asking ten million, no less.” He handed me a red folder with Lizard Links written on the tab line.
I’m not a quick thinker. I hate that about me. I struggled to get my mind around his challenge. Was this something I should tell Sunglasses or was it a trap?
~ Sunday January 10
Presently the Rabbit came up to the door and tried to open it.
10:30 a.m. The weekend slipped by with my head spinning. Should I communicate with Sunglasses? What about Lizard Links? I looked at the package Leslie had handed me. The folder was the color of blood — not a good omen.
Back to my escape plan. I typed out an email to Nigel, hoping I had a future in England.
Hi Nigel,
Our correspondence has been one of my first ventures into cyberspace. I was cautioned by friends (aren’t we all?) The usual thoughts occurred. I could make contact with a serial killer or worse yet, the teenage son of a client. But I feel so comfortable now and like I said, I’m very open. So…my full name is Alice Harte.
I typed in my telephone number and the best time for him to call. Gem jumped into my lap, a hungry feline fuzz ball. I hit SEND. “Okay girl, I get the idea.” I laughed and followed obediently while she scrambled to the kitchen tripping over my feet.
As I popped a plastic lid back on the foul smelling cat food, I felt a “you’ve got mail” tingle dart through me. I was getting good at sensing when Nigel was communicating. That’
s a true sign, I told myself.
Hi Alice.
Thanks for your email. Yes, your friends are right. One should proceed cautiously on the Internet. There may be the risk of predatory violence, alternatively, there may also be the risk of meeting someone that one gets very fond of and…bang go those carefree (dart playing) bachelor days. I will ring you after three your time — today.
Kindest regards,
Nigel.
12:20 p.m. I wandered around the house, afraid to leave in case he called early. “I’m acting like a swooning teenager,” I scolded myself.
A powerful urge to dust something engulfed me. Busy work. I rubbed gray powder off the frame of a picture of me — dragging a downed hot air balloon through a clearing. My cheeks were flushed and my hair looked like shit, but my smile told it all. A renegade rush of adrenaline pumped through me, spurred by the memory. I balled the dust up between my fingers; at least I could control dust.
I lifted another picture from my memory shelf. Taken just after my first wedding, I wore a light blue suit and big hair. We had borrowed witnesses. We ate Chinese dinner afterward. I remembered thinking, I’d try the marriage thing and if it didn’t work out I’d just escape.
I pushed a few trinkets aside while I dusted. My little porcelain statue of Alice in Wonderland. That was a good omen.
I changed my mind about leaving and opted for a run to the grocery store.
2:10 p.m. The phone was ringing. I knew in my heart it was my Englishman. I dropped my grocery bags on the counter, kicked the kitchen door shut, and went long for the phone. I caught it on the fourth ring.
“Hey there,” I said all bright and breezy. “I knew it was you.”
“How could you possibly?” His voice was rich and creamy, like English butter.
“I just did. Oops.” One bag flopped off the counter. “Dropped my mushrooms.”
“What? Is that one of those clever American expressions?” he asked.
“It means I really did drop my mushrooms… Portabellas.”
He laughed a deep, salty laugh. “I love mushrooms, but especially Portabellas.”
I sighed, clutching the package of mushrooms to my happy heart. “I slice them and cook them slowly in olive oil and fresh garlic. One plate is enough for a meal for me.” I wondered why my mouth was rattling on about mushroom nonsense when my head was so full of romantic thoughts.
He spoke again, his words tastier than any mushrooms. “When you come to London, I’ll take you to a restaurant that specializes in mushrooms. I’m told that every dish they prepare from soup to dessert is made with mushrooms. They have thousands of varieties”
“Really?” I heard my little voice say, trying hard not to interrupt his great big voice.
“You’ll love it. I promise we shall dine there for sure.”
“Wonderful,” I said. “Thank you for the picture, but I couldn’t see you very clearly, you were a bit fuzzy.”
“I am always fuzzy. That is my nature.”
I laughed. Noticing a puddle forming under the ice cream in the unpacked grocery bag, I checked the stove clock. “Nigel, we’ve been chatting for more than an hour. This must be costing you a fortune.”
“Not to worry. But I’m being thoughtless. You have more important things to do. I just feel such wonderful pleasure listening to your voice.”
I was caught. I was wrapped in the silk words of a man who spoke of his heart and listened to mine. Reluctantly, I hung up.
Pacing around the house, I mentally replayed our conversation. “Yummy.”
Returning to the phone, I picked it up. Nigel was on the line. It didn’t ring. What just happened? Serendipity?
“What kind of champagne do you drink?” He asked. “And your birthday?”
Nigel continued in his perfect upper class British accent. “I just remembered I may have to schedule a trip to New York City within the month. Perhaps we can chat in person.” He paused. “Would that be possible?”
“Oh yes, I’d love it. Just give me a few days notice.”
I heard a sigh from his end of the phone. I stumbled, looking for the words to put him at ease. “I love Manhattan. Where do you stay when you’re in the city?”
“Well, I won’t repeat my last stay. It was a nice enough hotel, just off Lexington at 41st Street, I think. Do you know the area? It’s right across from the firehouse. And all night long the firemen would circle the hotel with their hooters on. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Arf.”
“Are you all right?” He asked in response to my choking.
“Just swallowed wrong.”
That night I fell asleep to the sound of my own laughter. Visions of firemen with huge hooters circled in my head.
~ Monday January 11
Thus grew the tale of Wonderland. Thus slowly one by one.
8:00 a.m. I was tucked in bed, cradling the phone between my head and the pillow talking to Nigel. The diary sat in my lap. The blinds were slightly open and I could see the morning moon with just the slightest haze around it.
“Alice,” He spoke and I melted.
“I was afraid our conversation hadn’t really happened. But here you are, so it did,” he laughed softly. “And someday perhaps you’ll be with me.”
“Beep.” Call waiting cut through his words.
I looked at the caller I.D. It was Sunglasses’ lawyer’s number. I let it go to voice mail.
9:15 a.m. Spurred on by the negative ions in the shower I came up with a plan to have my cake and eat it too. I would pass my clients on to Ron and we could settle up if and when he made any commissions. He was my equal at brokering apartments and in his current financial condition, he could use the money. He was the one who had all the listings and I had the institutional buyers. Ron would work well with my clients. I wouldn’t have to worry about Leslie screwing with their corporate brains. My move to England could be accomplished with a clear conscience.
“Good plan,” I said to my reflection as I toweled off.
11:30 a.m. I was in my office packing a few of my smaller personal items into a bag, hoping Leslie wasn’t watching me on his video screens. Packing my files would have to wait until the Archers weren’t around.
I wasn’t about to sell his Lizard Links, I had never seen it and didn’t want to. I knew in my gut it was a trick and I wasn’t going to fall for it. If Leslie tried to stop me from leaving, I would have to deal with whatever he threw at me.
The door to my office burst open and there he was in his Tommy Bahama splendor. “So…” Leslie began.
Just then, my cell phone piped up. It was Nigel, “I’m sending you a special email,” he said.
Leslie’s eyes narrowed while he watched the expression on my face. “I look forward to receiving it,” I replied and flipped off.
“Who was that?” he demanded.
“That was none-of-your-business.”
“If you are cutting deals on the side, I’ll have your head,” he spoke in a deathly cold voice. “Have you done anything on the Lizard Links offering?”
“No. And I don’t intend to.” I grabbed my shopping bag and flounced out of the office to meet Ron for lunch.
I could feel Leslie’s eyes laser through the back of my head.
12:40 p.m. Ron arrived ten minutes late. “Sorry, parking is a bitch.” We were at Kelly’s, a downtown bistro famous for its steak burgers and wheeler-dealers. The place was a zoo crowded with people chowing down. Wannabe’s and bottom feeders plied air kisses and hugs, while plates clattered and glasses clinked.
“I should have remembered there was some sort of political gabfest going on at the Convention Center. The waitress hasn’t come by yet.”
“So what’s the latest on your Brit?”
“He’s funny and understanding and sweet and attentive…”
“Trust your instincts.”
“How about you? What happened with the lady you met on line?”
Ron squirmed. “The chemistry just wasn’t there. I
would say something really funny and she would give me a blank look. So… if it doesn’t click, don’t stick.”
I laughed.
“On the other hand, you sound like things are going swimmingly well.”
“Yes, I have a blossoming romance, threats from the employer-from-hell, and being called as a witness in a racketeering case.”
“Have you heard anything more from Sunglasses?”
“Oh, nuts. I had a voice mail from a woman in his office this morning. I forgot to call her back.”
“It’ll have to wait until after lunch. You couldn’t hear a canon in here.”
“I took a shopping bag full of my stuff out of the office today, moving piece by piece. I can’t help but wonder if Leslie knows about Sunglasses. He’ll have my head.”
“People don’t have people beheaded. That’s more of your Alice in Wonderland fantasy.”
This wasn’t a fairy tale. His remark annoyed me. I hadn’t said it was Alice in Wonderland. I just mentioned a few similarities. I knew it wasn’t, didn’t I?
I told him about Leslie’s challenging me to sell Lizard Links. “This is a property that he owns, but never talked about before.”
Ron moved his head in closer and spoke softly. “Eventually you’re going to end up in court with him unless you’re in England. Don’t trust anyone except me. From what you said, he loves his electronics. Not to make you paranoid, but watch what you say on the phone and even at home. It would be easy to bug your place.”
~ Wednesday January 13
“You’d better not talk.” said Five.
“I heard the Queen say only yesterday you deserved to be beheaded.”
11:00 a.m. The doorbell rang as I was moving furniture in the living room. Adrenalin scrambled to my head. I wasn’t expecting anyone and I’m not a “drop-in” kind of gal. Based on Ron’s warning I was searching my house for listening devices.
Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories Page 53
