by Ann Mullen
“Not to worry, girl. We’re going to do fine. We have each other and a good home. How lucky can we get?” She started that licking thing again as I slipped back to the spot in my fantasies where Cole and I were relishing each other. Our first embrace was followed by our first kiss, and right then and there, I knew I was hooked. My mind had shifted into a realm of confusion and emotional make-believe, brought on by a lifelong need to have someone to love. I gathered my wits and continued my job search, trying to put Cole out of my head. I was just about to give up, when an ad caught my eye: Help Wanted. Office girl. Billy Blackhawk Investigations. 200 Greenbriar Road, Charlottesville. No phone calls.
The ad was appealing. I can do this, I told myself. I hope the job hasn’t been taken. I bet working for a private eye could be exciting. Yet, deep in the back of my mind, I kept remembering that old saying... Be careful of what you wish for...
Chapter 5
I tore the ad out of the paper and hurried upstairs to shower. I didn’t want to waste any time, however, choosing something to wear might take a while. My selection of clothes was pitiful. I had a jeans skirt and jacket outfit, one black skirt I could wear with different blouses, and two dresses that should’ve gone into the trash years ago. I had one pair of black high heels and the Reeboks that I wore most of the time. I definitely needed to buy some new clothes. I gave up and pulled my newest pair of jeans out of the dresser and went back to the closet to get my white silk blouse. The blouse was tapered and short to the waist with short sleeves. Maybe it would dress up the jeans a little.
I had just finished taking a shower when I heard the beep-beep of the door alarm that goes off when someone opens either one of the three different entrance doors to the house. Good, Mom and Dad must be back from the store. I was wondering whether I was going to have to leave Athena in the house, or put her outside when I left, but now I wouldn’t have to worry about her. If I left her outside and she took off into the hills and never came back, I’d feel terrible. Dressed in a towel, I went to the hallway and called out, “Is that you guys?”
“Yes,” Mom replied. “We went to the IGA to get some groceries.”
I heard them downstairs rustling paper bags and talking to each other, and the familiar click, click of Athena’s toenails scraping the hardwood floors. An occasional bark echoed up the stairwell. Mom must have bought her a treat, and she wanted it now!
“I found a job in the paper I want to check out,” I shouted. “I’ll be down as soon as I get dressed and tell you all about it.”
I got dressed and applied a little mascara and blush. I’m not much for wearing a whole lot of make up because I can’t stand the feel of all that junk on my face. I’d rather be plain than have to take a putty knife to my face to get the layers of crusted foundation removed. I don’t wear lipstick because it makes my lips look like a prune covered with paint.
After quickly checking my computer to see if I was still connected, or if I had fallen into a dark hole somewhere in the bowels of hillbilly hell, I grabbed my purse and car keys and went downstairs.
Mom and Dad were putting away groceries. Athena was laid up in a corner chewing on one of those fake bones made out of rawhide. Somebody loved that dog besides me.
Not wanting to go into any long, drawn out conversation, I said, “I found a secretarial job in Charlottesville, but I need to find out how to get there. Do you have any idea how to get to Greenbriar Road?”
Dad walked over to a kitchen drawer, retrieved a telephone book and said, “The telephone directory has maps of the city. I’m sure we can find the street you’re looking for.”
We scanned the pages until we found Greenbriar Road. It was off Route 29, which meant I had to take a right at the stoplight in Ruckersville and go down for about five or six miles. That didn’t concern me. What did concern me was trying to figure out how to get to the main road to Ruckersville. I’m not the best when it comes to following directions, and I would be dealing with small, curvy back roads that lead into different crevices and dead ends. The one thing I remember from my association with my new beer-drinking, gun-toting friends was to stay away from a place called Bacon Hollow. That was good enough advice for me.
Assured of my ability to find what I was looking for, I said good-bye and headed out. It was still raining outside, so I grabbed a piece of the newspaper to cover my still damp hair, and then ran to my car. The minute I slid into the seat, I crumbled the newspaper and threw it down on the floorboard. Crap. I was going to look like a drowned puppy when I got there. The minute I started the car, the windows fogged up. Give me a break! It was warm in the car and it was raining outside... does that equal fog? Needless to say, that didn’t last long. I turned on my defroster and the cloudiness cleared. However, once the car had been running for a few seconds, I heard a weird, thumping noise. On our drive here for the big move, I had passed a car on the interstate to keep up with Mom and Dad, and that was the first time I noticed the engine making a noise. It was the same now, only louder.
“Car... don’t freak out on me!” I mumbled to myself. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I knew that noise wasn’t a good sign.
I put the car in drive and headed to the end of the driveway. I made the right-hand turn and followed the road to the concrete bridge. By then, my old Chevy sounded like it was beating the drums to some tribal dance ritual. Actually, it wasn’t that bad, but the noise was getting louder, and to me, that was a sure sign something was not right.
Should I turn around and go get my folks’ van, or should I take my chances in a place I wasn’t familiar? As soon as I crossed the bridge, I made a U-turn and went back home.
Back on the road again, I managed to make it all the way to Charlottesville without a hitch. I memorized all the landmarks, and checked out the scenery for future references. I wanted to see all the beautiful trees and mountains. I was finally getting a chance to soak up the magic this place held for my parents. There must be something special about this area. People come from all over the United States to visit the Luray Caverns, Skyline Drive, Blue Ridge Parkway, and to ski at the Massanutten and Wintergreen Ski Resorts. Also, Charlottesville is the home of the University of Virginia Cavaliers, which is one of the finest basketball teams in the country, as far as I’m concerned. I try not to miss one of their games on television. But baseball is my true passion. I love the Atlanta Braves. I even have a Braves’ jersey—one of the few expensive purchases I allowed myself. I do have my little idiosyncrasies.
Forty minutes after I left the house, I reached Greenbriar Road. I wasn’t sure whether to take a left or a right at the light, so I flipped a coin in my head, and since I was in the right-hand lane, right won out. Shortly, on the right side of the street, I saw the number 214—a Quick Stop gas station mini-mart, and next to it was 212—a McDonald’s. This led me to believe I was going in the right direction. After passing several business establishments, I came to a two-story, brick building with the number 200 on the front. The parking lot was big enough to hold six or seven cars, but there was only one there, and it looked pretty rough. The car was a faded green Mercury sedan that had to be at least twenty years old. I hoped this wasn’t any indication of the boss’ clientele, or worse, belong to the boss. I guess I’m just the pot calling the kettle black. Even so, I was out to make a living. On the left side of the building was a driveway.
It was still raining. I scanned the inside of the van hoping to find an umbrella, but no such luck. Contemplating how I was going to get inside the building without getting soaked, I sat there and looked around. Maybe I should take some time and look this place over before I get out of the van. The building itself reminded me of a warehouse because of the size, but the red brick on it was clean and looked new. There weren’t any windows in front, just two glass doors with Billy Blackhawk Investigations written in three-inch, cursive letters on the left door. From what I could see through the doors, the office looked like one big open space with a desk in the middle. Behind the desk were two
offices, separated by a hallway down the middle. Straining to see through the rain, I could tell the desk was a large, heavily carved mahogany piece of furniture. I appreciate real furniture... not the junk you put together in ten-easy-steps, and then turn into a sponge if you get the least bit of water on it.
With my spirits lifted a little, I jumped out of the van and ran to the door. Once inside, I shook the water off onto a slate foyer the size of a small bedroom, and was immediately and pleasantly surprised. The beep-beep of the alarm system sounded. The desk was indeed a fine piece of furniture, uncluttered with the usual paperwork normally scattered everywhere. On top of the desk sat a computer, telephone, and various office supplies. To my right was a set of double windows with a pair of burgundy leather, Queen Anne chairs. A large rubber tree plant separated the two chairs. To the left of the room was the same arrangement of chairs and plant, but instead of a rubber tree, the large plant was a schefflera. Both of the plants were so healthy looking; I was beginning to wonder if they were real. The carpet was a dark gray Berber pile with specks of burgundy. The walls were painted a light shade of gray and all the wood trim and doors were stained a deep, walnut shade. Someone had impeccable taste. I wished I’d been a bit more selective in the clothes I’d chosen to wear for this job hunt. I felt like a waif going to dine at the Captain’s table on a luxury liner. I thought about turning around and heading to the nearest clothing store, when the door on the left opened and a man appeared. He was not just an ordinary man, either.
Now I understood where the name Blackhawk originated. This man was obviously of Native American descent. He was huge—six-three possibly, and at least two hundred and ten pounds. Are all the men around here that big? He had long, shiny black hair, pulled back in a ponytail that went down the middle of his back. His skin was dark, and under his reading glasses, a pair of brown eyes focused on me. He was dressed in a well-tailored, black suit with a gray and red-striped tie. I thought the ponytail and suit were a strange combination. I guessed him to be about forty, or forty-five years old.
“Hello, may I help you?” his husky voice greeted me.
I held out my hand to him and said, “Hello, my name’s Jesse Watson. I’m here to see about the job you had advertised in the paper. I hope I’m not too late. I just moved here a few days ago, and I didn’t know how long the ad had been running. I’d like to apologize for the way I’m dressed, but I still haven’t finished unpacking.” I lied and continued to ramble. “This is the type of work I usually do. I don’t mean work for a private eye... but the office part of it.” I was falling all over myself. Later, I would realize my reason for acting like this was because he was such a big man, and the fact that he was Indian intimidated me. I don’t think I’ve known but one Indian, and I didn’t know her that well. He didn’t scare me—I just felt tiny and limp. Perhaps it had something to do with the lie I’d just told.
He reached out his hand and took mine in his, shaking it firmly, but not hard. Looking me directly in the eyes, he stated matter-of-factly, “Take a deep breath, Miss Watson. The job’s still open. My name’s Billy Blackhawk and I own this agency. I’ve talked to a few people so far, but I haven’t found the right person yet.”
All the anxiety and nervousness I had amassed in the last hour or so seemed to slip away. He was a large man, but he also was gentle. He made me feel calm and safe. I felt bad about telling him a lie. I had to clear that up immediately.
“I lied about the clothes thing. I’ve finished unpacking and the truth is I don’t have many clothes. I have enough to get by, but I can tell from my surroundings, I did a poor job of dressing for this interview. I mean, this isn’t Taco Bell. Please don’t hold that against me. Next time I promise I won’t be an embarrassment to you because of the way I dress.”
He released my hand and replied, “I like that in a person. I like someone who will feel guilt when they have told a lie, but one must learn how to control that guilt. You must be strong and firm about your beliefs and learn how to channel them for your own good. You must never follow the paths that others will try to send you.” He motioned for me to sit in the chair behind the lobby desk.
I didn’t know if he was preaching the word of God to me, or if this was some Indian thing, but I did as he instructed. I sat in the chair.
It felt nice. The chair was one of those computer chairs with armrests, only the cushioning was thicker, and the fabric was the same color of burgundy as the rest of the furnishings. There was a heavy, clear plastic mat underneath. I rolled the chair around on the mat and decided I could get used to this. God, I hope this guy isn’t some weirdo.
Looking up at a man the size of a bear made me feel small. I think he sensed it, too. He walked into his office, returned with a small chair and sat down at the corner of the desk.
“I’m looking for someone to run the front desk, take calls, do all the paperwork that needs to be done, make coffee when the pot is empty, and help me keep things cleaned up when it gets dirty. We don’t have a cleaning service. I can’t seem to justify paying someone a hundred dollars a week to come in two times and vacuum. Also, you have to know how to use a computer,” he stated. “You tell me how much of this you can do.”
“I can do all of the above, and I’ll even dust. I know my fair share of computer, but I can’t go in there and draw a butterfly, not yet anyway.”
“Suppose I asked you to sit in a car with me one night and listen to people talking. What would you say to that?”
“How much do I get paid and would I get to carry a gun?” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but it didn’t matter. At least, I didn’t think so at the time. I was only joking about the gun.
He leaned back and laughed the laugh of a good-natured man.
“Okay, tell me about yourself, and I don’t mean that embellished junk most people put on job applications.”
“I’m thirty-one years old, single, and I don’t have any children. I just moved here from Newport News, Virginia. I live with my folks in Stanardsville. I have a dog named Athena. I inherited her from my roommate back in Newport News. My life has been average and duller than dirt, so why not make a change? I need a job. I have some money saved, which is good because I think my car just died. I borrowed the family van. There’s always Mom and Dad if I get desperate. I figured it was time I got a life. I want to do something different and I think this job would definitely qualify as different. I’ve worked for quite a few companies doing various types of work, but never for someone who carries a gun.” I noticed the weapon in his shoulder holster earlier when he walked out of his office. “Do you always wear a suit to the office?”
“No, I don’t. I have an appointment with a client in an hour. Why don’t you run over to Belk and find a skirt and a pair of shoes to go with that pretty blouse, and be back here in time to greet them?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Here, take my credit card and ask for Jerry. He’s the manager. I’ll give him a call.”
I couldn’t believe he was going to trust me—a stranger—with his credit card. Was he that desperate?
“Does this mean I have the job?”
“Yes, but only temporarily. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll have to let you go, and then I’ll send you a bill for the clothes. How’s that?”
“It sounds like a deal to me. Where’s Belk?” I asked as I took the card from his hands.
“Go out to Rt.29 and take a left. The store’s two blocks down on the right. Please hurry back. My appointment will be here soon.”
I left him standing in the middle of the floor and ran to the van. It was still raining outside, but rain was the last thing on my mind. I had a strange feeling Billy Blackhawk and I were going to become good friends.
Chapter 6
As soon as I walked into the store, a young man with the appearance of someone fresh out of high school, politely greeted me. “Hello, Miss Watson. Mr. Blackhawk called and asked me to help you find a nice outfit for the office. He said you were having a little
problem with your wardrobe due to a recent fire. I’m sorry for your misfortune. I understand time is of the essence. A size six?” he asked as he rushed me into a room where two ladies were busying themselves with clothes and shoes for my benefit. Wow, talk about feeling special!
Twenty minutes later, I was on my way out of the store, dressed in a lightweight, black linen skirt and fitted jacket to go with my blouse, a pair of black leather heels, and black sheer panty hose. I hadn’t worn hose in a long time. My jeans and tennis shoes were placed in a plastic shopping bag for easy carrying. I was a new person. The rain had let up, which was good because I’d forgotten about the umbrella I was going to buy.
I walked into the office feeling like I was right at home. This is where I was meant to be. I could feel it. Now all I had to do was fit in. I was going to do my best to make Billy glad he hired me. Speaking of which, we never did get around to discussing money. We barely knew each other and already he was giving me a chance to... what... help him out? He needed me to be his office girl when his clients arrived. This was to be a test. It was either going to make or break my chances of a permanent job with Mr. Blackhawk. I had to impress him if I wanted this job.
I walked over to my desk and stuffed my ragged excuse for a purse in one of the drawers, just about the time Billy walked out of his office. He had a serious look on his face.
“We don’t have much time to get to know each other before my clients get here, but we will when they leave. For now, just follow my lead. Act like you know what you’re doing. If I ask for a file, they’re in the back conference room through that door.” He pointed to the closed door at the end of the hall. “Everything’s filed under last names. The toilet’s on the left, down the hall, and the coffee pot’s on the right. The office across from mine is vacant, and I’ll tell you about that later. Do you have any questions? Oh, always refer to me as Mr. Blackhawk when others are around, otherwise you call me Billy. I’ll address you as Miss Watson in the company of clients. P.S. That’s a nice outfit.”
