1 Executive Lunch

by Maria E. Schneider

  "No really," Suzy reassured me, "Jimmy loves you so much, he won't care!"

  "So what do I tell him? That I fell out of my bunk bed?"

  She studied me carefully for a few seconds before saying, "He's been a little wild on his bike lately, trying to ride in the street. How about we tell him you were in the street and a car ran over you? Maybe then he will be more careful." She eyed me critically. "We could even mess your hair up a little more. You're going to have to get it cut anyway. It looks like some of it got torn out."

  What are friends for? "Thanks. Speaking of Jimmy, why isn't he with you today?"

  "I left him with Robert. They are having a man's day--bring your kid to work thing." She helped herself to another cookie. "It gave me a chance to go and get the rest of the things I need for the baby." She patted her stomach. "God should have made pregnancies six months instead of nine. The last three are hell."

  "If he made it too short, you wouldn't be so anxious to get to the delivery part. Even knowing the pain that you're going to be in, after these last three months of carrying her, you want it over with so bad you'll gladly endure the pain of delivery."

  She eyed me dolefully. "I will not "gladly" endure that pain. Do you know that Dr. Stanley had the nerve to call and warn Dr. Evans about me?"

  My head bobbed up and down enthusiastically. "I don't blame Dr. Stanley one bit. You ripped part of his beard out, Suzy. Do you know he has to shave now because that spot never grew back? What did you expect him to do, forget the incident?"

  She sniffed and fluffed her frizzy ginger curls. "He fired me as a patient and refused to be my doctor for Emily. When he recommended Dr. Evans, I think he could have just left the beard incident out of the history. Besides, I told Dr. Stanley I was ready for the epidural. He should have given it to me."

  Pointing out that the dear doctor didn't think it was the proper medical time to dispense the medication had not helped Dr. Stanley's cause at the time, nor since. I wisely said nothing, but she wasn't through.

  "Furthermore, Dr. Evans is female. I can't rip her beard off no matter how much pain Emily causes me."

  "I'm sure he was attempting to protect Dr. Evans in general, Suzy." Knowing she was quite temperamental at this stage, I decided not to push the point. "Sounds like you've picked the name Emily for the baby?"

  "She seems to respond to it. She didn't like Emerald." Suzy drank some milk and then munched the last of her cookie. "Do you have more of these?"

  Even though she was supposed to watch her sweets, I obliged and grabbed the cookie dough from the fridge. I pressed out a couple more cookies for the toaster oven. "The baby hasn't kicked you too hard yet?"

  "I'm pretty sure the name will start with an "E." It's going better than the "A" through "D" names." She grinned and grabbed some of the raw cookie dough out of the bowl. "I better skip the cookie and just eat this. If I don't get going, I'll be late, and I promised Robert I'd be home by three. He seems to think if he limits my time out, he can limit my spending." Her eyes twinkled. "Wait until he sees what I ordered for Emily!"

  "I don't think he meant the time limit as a challenge."

  She shrugged and smiled happily. "Maybe not. You better get some more rest. You look like you were in a room full of pregnant women that didn't get their epidural!"

  Chapter 3

  Even after my extended weekend, work was awful. Instead of a bright, up-and-coming genius in her twenties, I looked like a bruised and beaten homeless person. No one would meet my eyes, but every person that had ever met me for ten seconds had to stop in and see how I was doing. I was a bad traffic accident that everyone cursed because it slowed down traffic, but they all stopped to stare just the same.

  My boss, Turbo, kind person that he was, didn't stop in until very late in the day. Nicknamed after his coding style, he spent most of his time behind a closed door, usually without showers or food, until a final product was shoved into testers' hands. His hair was on the longish side, except for the round bald spot in the back. He was closing in on forty, but he dressed like a teenager. Today's t-shirt was an old company one that had the faded letters spelling, "Strandfrost," across it. His shirts were never tucked into his ubiquitous jeans.

  "Hi." He pretended not to notice my bruises, but only a blind man could miss them.

  "I sent the performance figures in on Friday since I couldn't be here in person," I offered in greeting.

  He helped himself to the chair on the other side of my desk. "Got them. Glad you could send them. From home." It was an oblique reference, his idea of offering to talk about what had happened if I wanted to unload.

  I didn't.

  After what he considered an appropriately polite pause, one in which I could have left, gone to the ladies room and returned, he decided I wasn't in the mood to talk. "Don't forget the patent dinner is Friday."

  "Uh…huh. Yeah."

  He looked at me a little sharper than usual, but his anti-social behavior resulted in him having little insight into other people's heads. In this case, it was a good thing because I had completely forgotten the dinner. "I'm going to rerun a couple more tests," I said to change the subject.

  "You look like you could use an easy week. Right?"

  There it was again, another offer to spill the beans. He was more curious than usual, or he had something he wanted to tell me. "I'm fine. Is everything okay here? Did I miss anything?"

  "Well, security has been improved."

  My eyes narrowed at this understatement. "I noticed the hired security people running around on the floor. Does someone think the thugs will come back?"

  Turbo actually smiled. The only time he smiled was at one of his own jokes, and no one but he understood those. Okay, there were two other guys in the company and maybe six other people worldwide, but other than that, he was on his own. "There's this little problem. No one seems to know what they were after."

  "Sex?" I hazarded. "Money?"

  Turbo looked very serious again. "Well, it could have been random, but the chances of that, according to statistics, are less than one percent. Especially since there has been no other sign of gang violence at any other business in the area."

  "Seems to me they were a little old to be in a gang."

  He nodded, pleased with my observation. "Of course." He rubbed his hands together. "They knew exactly where Allen sat. It's likely they were after him specifically."

  "Really?" I couldn't fathom it. "The man is incompetent. He spends more time golfing than in the office. What would they want with him?"

  Turbo waggled his eyebrows, causing them to disappear and reappear from under his long choppy bangs. "Personally I think he may have been gambling."

  "Gambling? Whatever for? He's paid enough. All he does is sit around, drive a nice car and wear brand new polo shirts that the company orders for him."

  Turbo sat back, disappointed that I didn't agree. "It's the latest thing. People get in over their heads."

  "Mmhmm." I wasn't convinced. "Maybe he lost a golf bet."

  He shook his head vigorously. "It has to be something bigger than that. They were going to make him suffer."

  "By attacking him?"

  "He and Sally."

  "Why Sally?"

  He looked at me as though it should be obvious. It wasn't. He could see the deficiency on my face so he began explaining. "Before you got there, they were threatening Allen. They wanted the money or else."

  "Or else they were going to hurt Sally?"

  He nodded.

  "But--"

  "The guys that broke in didn't know that Sally isn't important to Allen." He waggled his eyebrows again.

  I finally caught on. "Meaning all low-life scum sleep with their secretaries? Come'on. She's twenty-five, and he's an ugly old fart." I shook my head. "Why not just go after Allen's wife?"

  He sat back and looked at his shoes. His face got very red.

  I swallowed. He still wasn't looking at me. "Turbo."

  He tapped on the sid
e of his chair. He mumbled something I couldn't hear.

  "Turbo!"

  Without looking up, he said, "They threatened his wife. A couple of days earlier. They…they broke two of her fingers, one on each hand. They promised to come back if Allen didn't pay up."

  My stomach dropped and churned. I had almost convinced myself that I was right not to have shot them. Now I was pretty sure I should have.

  Turbo departed abruptly, leaving me with a queasy stomach and the feeling that I had missed my best chance at protecting myself. I just hoped it wasn't the only chance; better yet, I hoped I never needed another one.

  Chapter 4

  Tuesday morning, first thing, I had no choice but to call and wheedle until Angela agreed to squeeze me in for a hair appointment after work. If I had remembered the patent dinner, I could have gotten my hair set on Friday before the dinner, but this late, I was lucky to get an appointment period.

  As I hung up, Sally stopped by my office. Her hair was newly styled. Instead of a shoulder length cut, she now had a neat bob, stopping at her chin. I tried not to stare or think about why it was shorter.

  "I would have come yesterday…" She inspected her manicure as though the answers to the universe were hidden between her fingers and her nails. "I'm awfully glad you did…what you did." She gulped air quickly. Either she had just swallowed her gum or she was having a hard time keeping her stomach down.

  "I wish it hadn't happened." My own fingernails were suddenly interesting.

  Sally sat and dusted the desk between us, removing invisible crumbs. "They promised they would come back if Allen didn't pay."

  "Pay what?"

  Sally swallowed again. "I don't know." Her voice was mousy, a small child with a secret.

  "But you think you know."

  Frightened eyes danced around the room. She was up from the chair and bolting for the door before I could say anything else.

  "I have no idea," she squeaked around a deep breath. "Why would anyone think I know anything?"

  I shrugged. "I'm sure no one thinks that. You're his secretary, but it's not like you handle his personal affairs."

  Sally nodded emphatically. "No way. Not very many of them anyway." She slowly edged back inside my office. "Really, the only thing I can think of is the equipment deal that didn't happen. He put in an order by accident and everything was messed up."

  "What equipment?"

  "Last quarter he turned in equipment expenses for over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars." She leaned forward. "But no one in the group needed the equipment, and I was told to cancel the order." She waved her hand. "It wasn't that big of a deal because the equipment never showed up at Strandfrost or anything, but there was a check cut for it, and then there was a big tangled mess while I tried to figure out what happened."

  "Sally, those guys didn't look like the type of people that got promised a business order that fell through. I'm pretty sure none of them would be selling computers to Strandfrost."

  "I didn't think so either. I mean, I had forgotten all about the expense report until those guys started demanding money from Allen, saying he owed them business."

  "They said that?"

  She nodded. "What other kind of business could they have meant?"

  "I don't know. And neither do you. So if anyone asks, just keep telling them you don't know anything."

  She didn't look reassured. Wiping her hands along her navy pantsuit, she backed towards the door again. Before scurrying down the hall, she looked both ways.

  * * *

  I almost missed my hair appointment because people interrupted me all day, and I couldn't get my work done. Unfortunately, things didn't get any better at the beauty salon. I should have waited until the gossip about the break-in died down. Of course, by then my hair would have been long enough to wrap around my waist where I could cut it myself.

  "Was it terribly frightening?" Angela demanded, waving a brush wildly as if it were a dangerous weapon.

  "Not much scarier than having a woman dressed in a pink leotard with pink tennis shoes do your hair." I dodged the swinging brush.

  "Hey, my older clients like pink!" She put her hands on her pink-dressed tights and tapped her foot at me. Her hair was mostly a highlighted brown, but she had dyed one pink stripe across part of her bangs.

  "Uh-huh."

  She snapped her brush at me again and demanded, "So what happened? Tell us, girl! Details!"

  While she started on my hair, I filled her in with the minimum of details.

  She oohed. "What about the samurai?"

  "The what?"

  "I heard there was a guy with a sword as long as his arm."

  "Uh…" It took me a minute. "There was a guy with a tattoo of a sword on one arm."

  "No real sword?" Her scissors froze in the act of making a precise cut.

  "I saw a small knife," I told her apologetically.

  "How big was it?"

  I put my hands out the approximate length.

  "Oh honey, do you want to get your nails done today too?" she asked, spying the broken ends.

  I curled my fingers under my hands. "No thanks. I'll just file them." The bruises on my arms weren't gone. I had purposely worn a cotton-knit long-sleeved sweater to keep the greenish-blue spots hidden. Today wasn't going to be the day I rolled my sleeves up and gave her even more of an excuse to hover.

  She worked on my hair, but didn't stop talking. I ignored the rumor about one of the guys having a peg leg. Maybe it came about because by the time the thugs ran off, one of them was limping. I was half asleep when she said, "I heard they didn't catch any of them. Emma was telling me she heard from her nephew that they plan on coming back and getting even."

  "What?" I sat up, bumping the hand that held the scissors.

  "Sit still! You know that nephew of hers has been in and out of jail. I guess he must know some of them."

  My heart beat faster. "He knows who did it?"

  "That kid has been in a lot of trouble. Wouldn't surprise me if he was in the getaway car."

  "Emma told you this? Emma who?" I demanded.

  Her scissors stopped cutting for a heartbeat or two. She glanced quickly at the other stylists. "I don't know as I should tell you that. I mean, gossip like that could get someone in trouble."

  I had to bite my tongue to keep from screeching. Now was hardly the time for her to get high and mighty about gossiping; it was the reason half her clients came in! "I don't need Emma's name. Just tell me her nephew's name."

  "James." She eyed me carefully and then stole another quick glance in the mirror at the others in the shop. "And I don't know his last name. It's not the same as Emma's." She sniffed, focusing back in on me. "You really could do with an updated hair style. Next time you come in, let's look at some books."

  "Okay, but if Emma's name isn't the same as James, couldn't you tell me her name?"

  Snip, snip went the scissors. I started to fear for my hair.

  "No. She'd know I said something."

  I didn't nod, for fear of the scissors, but it was hard to sit still. I pleaded with my eyes, but Angela refused to look at me. "It was so scary," I said. "I have a lot of trouble sleeping at night." Which was mostly true, except for the first night. "I sure hope the police find out who did it."

  Angela said, "me too," but then pushed a couple of magazines my way. "Pick out a new style. You really need one next time. You're too young to let yourself go."

  I thought that description was a bit harsh, but she was the one with scissors. I dutifully flipped pages, trying to think of a way to convince her to give me the name.

  Angela kept up a constant patter, but suddenly none of it was about the break-in. Maybe I could call her later. Maybe she'd tell me on the phone when no one else was around.

  When I paid my bill, out of habit, I automatically pulled up the sleeve of my sweater to sign the credit card slip. A dark line of golden-green bruises showed. I hurriedly slid it back down, but Angela stared even after t
he sleeve covered them.

  I signed quickly. Angela looked over at the other two ladies cutting hair. She didn't say anything. When she took the slip back, she separated them, and then wrote, "Jackson," on my part of credit card slip. She pushed it over to me.

  I clutched it. "Thanks," I said, all inclusively.

  The minute I got home, I called Sean and told him about Emma and the nephew. "Do you think you could get one of your policemen buddies to look into it?"

  He grunted. "You don't have a last name for James? Address? Age? Anything?"

  "No," I admitted. "But he's been in jail, and you have the aunt's name, Emma Jackson."

  "That only helps if she happens to be his guardian. I'll just have Derrick check out every James that was ever arrested. No problem. The police always appreciate huge tips that make the job easy."

  I ignored his sarcasm and cautioned, "This James kid might have just been bragging, shooting his mouth off."

  "Let's hope so," Sean snapped back. He hung up, but I knew he'd try to find out more about James just in case. That's what brothers were for.

  Chapter 5

  The week didn't improve much, but no more thugs visited Strandfrost, so I counted that as a huge improvement.

  By the time Friday rolled around, most of the bruises had faded enough that I could cover them with makeup. The grand ball for the company patents was held in the Whispering Pines Resort. Technically I shouldn't have been invited, but Turbo had two patent awards. His wife was beside herself at the opportunity to attend such a huge event, which is probably where he got the idea that I would like to go. He wangled an extra invite and gave it to me.

  The pickings in my closet were lean. The blue silk top was one I usually wore with business suits; the black skirt had been on sale. I almost hadn't gotten it because I couldn't remember the last time I needed to wear anything with a slit. Make-up brightened the gray of my eyes, but blush just made my cheeks look like those of a chipmunk. I took it off. I was more an unfinished canvas than a masterpiece; the reality was "okay" but I kept hoping for the day I would wake up stunningly beautiful.