Elizabeth Stewart - Stray Thoughts (Ellora's Cave)

by Nicole

  “No sweat. I told my dad they oughta put an elevator in this place but he says it’s too tough for a guy his age to get another job so he’s not gonna tell ‘em.”

  “It’s all right, Brian. It’s not like this is a fifty story high rise. Besides, as the Yuppies say, ‘it would wreck the building’s ambiance’.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed with a shy laugh, “that sounds about right.”

  “Well, I better get going. I’ve still got a lot of stuff I need to get done.” Sheridan began gathering up her laundry things.

  “I thought you were off on the weekends.”

  “Only in that I don’t have to go into the office. On the weekends I have to clean house, do laundry, shop, do errands. All that stuff I don’t have time for during the week. Not to mention my writing.”

  “You write?”

  “A little.”

  “Cool.” It was the ultimate adolescent accolade. “Like what?”

  “Nothing you’d know.” For some strange reason, the subject embarrassed her. Like the young man had accidentally stumbled into a private part of her life. “I mean, I’ve had a couple of short stories published in emagazines, but I’m still shopping my novel around. Someday, though.”

  His eyes got round and he leaned forward. “What’s it about? The book, I mean.”

  “A mystery.” The embarrassment was growing. “Hey. Thanks again for the help. See you.”

  Upstairs, Nick was stretched out on the sofa, his eyes only half open. Hearing the front door open and close, he twitched his ears, his eyes opening another millimeter.

  “Boy, if you could see yourself,” she kidded, squatting down to stroke his side. “You’re higher than a Macy’s Thanksgiving balloon.” Gently, she pecked his nose. “Talk about ‘feeling no pain’.”

  As she stood up, the phone rang. It was Pat.

  “Hi, Sher,” she said brightly. “Just calling to see how you and the cat are.”

  “I’m fine,” she smiled. “Nick’s floating about four feet off the sofa.”

  She laughed. “Then I guess his leg isn’t bothering him?”

  “What leg?”

  Another round of laughter.

  “Look, I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Sorry, Pat, I’m not interested in meeting this guy from Bruce’s office.”

  “Wrong, Smarty. That would be me doing you a favor. No, ‘Mommy Dearest’ is coming for dinner tomorrow and I was wondering if I could borrow your rug cleaner. I understand it’s not going to do any good because she hates my guts and thinks I’m a pig, but it’ll give me something to do beside stick pins in a doll.”

  “Come on, Pat,” Sheridan teased her friend, “Bruce’s mother’s not that bad. I met her at your Christmas party, what…two years ago? She seemed perfectly nice.”

  “That’s because you’re not married to Bruce,” she answered tartly. “Honestly, I keep hoping she’ll croak but if it’s true the good die young, that makes her practically immortal.”

  “Okay, Pat, I get the idea. Sure, you can borrow the cleaner.”

  “You’re an angel, Sher. I promise to do a kindness for you sometime.”

  “It’s nothing, Pat. You’ve done a lot for me over the years, far more important than the loan of a mere appliance. Glad to do it.”

  “Okay if I come by in about an hour and pick it up?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. See you then. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  *

  “So you’re Nick,” Pat commented, leaning down and inspecting the dozing cat. He opened his eyes a little, blinked at her, and closed them again.

  “You’re right,” she giggled, standing back up and turning to her friend. “He’s in another time dimension from the rest of us. You’re also right about him being gorgeous. Looks almost like one of those black panthers you see in the movies, only smaller. And those eyes! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat with such blue eyes. I’ll bet they’re beautiful when he’s actually awake.”

  “They are,” Sheridan agreed, setting down the bulky rug cleaner she’d lugged from the hall closet. “I think he must be part Siamese. That sleek body and those big blue eyes.”

  “Well, he’s a definite keeper. Bitch about the leg, though.”

  “Could have been worse, I guess. Doctor says he’ll be fine as frog’s hair in a week. Gotta stay off that leg though. That’s why Dr. Montgomery gave him the heavy-duty stuff. Not just to kill the pain but keep him home for a few days as well.”

  “Whatever it is, it seems to be working. That cat isn’t going anywhere. Anyway, thanks for the loan of the cleaner. Probably won’t get it back to you until next weekend. Unless you need it sooner. If you do, I can bring it to the office.”

  “Weekend’s fine.”

  “Speaking of the office as we were, what’s the latest medical update on the Prince?”

  Sheridan shrugged a little. “According to Cupcake, he’ll be in the hospital until at least next week sometime. Been hinting strongly that the department, or at least me, should go and see him. Cheer him up.”

  Pat’s nose wrinkled up like she’d just smelled burning cabbage. “You actually gonna do it?”

  “Bite your tongue. I have to put up with him in my jugular vein on the company’s time. No way on my nickel.”

  “What’s a little brown-nosing among friends,” she insisted sarcastically. “After all, if memory serves, you should be coming up on your yearly evaluation soon. A dozen roses and a pint of good whiskey might go a long way towards erasing some of your more egregious sins. Couldn’t hurt.”

  “In the immortal words of Methuselah, he should live so long.”

  “No shit.” Pat and Sheridan roared with laughter. Wiping her eyes, she patted the other woman’s arm. “Look, I really gotta be going. Thanks a bunch for the cleaner.”

  She swiveled her head to the sofa. “Take care of yourself, Nick. We must do this again when you get back.”

  Later that evening, Nick and Sheridan shared some roast chicken for dinner. Still on the sofa, he chewed the meat like he was doing it from memory, those eyes vague and faraway. Perhaps selfishly though, it was easier for her to see him a little drifty than in pain.

  “Don’t worry, Nick,” she soothed as she laid him carefully on their bed and prepared to turn in herself, “it won’t be for very long. You’ll be out tomcatting again before you know it. Good night.”

  Chapter Eight

  “And this is Sheridan Phillips,” Diana giggled. “She’s the Administrative Assistant for Design and Construction Division. She works for you, of course, but she does all the administrative work for the entire division. Sher, this is Jim Eldridge. He’s going to be taking over as Assistant Director of Design and Construction while Jarvis is laid up.”

  “Ms. Phillips,” he smiled warmly, extending his hand to her.

  “Mr. Eldridge,” Sheridan replied shaking his hand. It was a firm, friendly shake. “Please call me Sher.”

  “And I’m Jim. Seeing as how we’re all part of the same team, I don’t see any need for a lot of formalities.”

  Diana did a double take, surprised that a member of management, even a temp, would utter such an unthinkable sentiment. Sheridan figured she’d make a point of telling John so that he could set Jim straight. Here, there was no teamwork. Only those in charge and the peons. Still, in spite of her natural cynicism, she had a feeling she was going to like her new boss, even temporarily.

  As they made the tour of the office, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. Forty-something probably, full, wavy brown hair (what was known as “Dishwater Blonde” in Sheridan’s youth), deep gray eyes, perhaps five-ten, well built, husky but not fat or paunchy. Not devastatingly attractive, but with a nice face and a kind smile.

  About two hours later, she was surprised when her intercom flashed.

  “Sher. This is Jim. Could I see you in my office, please?”

  “Certainly, sir.” Picking up
a yellow pad and pen, she shook her head slightly. Please? From someone in this office above the rank of janitor? Unbelievable.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” She stood respectfully in the doorway.

  “Yes, Sher. Please, come in.” He smiled and motioned to a chair in front of his desk. Uncertainly, she moved to the chair and perched uneasily on the edge.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked timidly.

  “Yes,” he replied warmly, “several things.”

  Sheridan poised her pen over the paper and looked at him expectantly.

  “The first thing you can do is stop calling me ‘sir.’ As I said, I’m not one much for formalities. Jim’s fine.”

  “Yes, sir…” She felt red rushing to her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Jim. It’s just that, well, I’ve never really been on a first name basis with any of the management staff here.”

  “Well you are now. At least for the next six months or so. I’m going to be relying on you quite a bit, especially in the beginning while I’m feeling my way. I’ll need help to understand how everything is done around here from the format of reports to where the coffee is. I’d also like to have your input on how you think things might be improved. From an administrative standpoint.”

  Her mouth must have dropped open because he smiled and leaned back in his chair. “You look surprised.”

  “I am,” she managed to stutter. “No one ever asks the opinion of the administrative staff about how to run the administrative end of things. I thought there was some kind of managerial rule against it.”

  Jim laughed. A deep, hearty, friendly laugh. “Not that I know of,” he answered, “but it probably seems that way sometimes. No, I believe that the only way to run any enterprise is to hire the best people you can and then let them use their expertise and knowledge to do it. I assume you were hired because someone thought you were the best person for the job. You’ve been here a lot longer than I have and I assume you’ve been doing your job. I also assume that in the what…six years you’ve been here, you’ve probably also had one or two thoughts about how the job might be improved. Am I right?”

  Still stunned, she could only nod.

  “Well, I’m interested in knowing those things. Streamline the workflow. Reduce or eliminate as much paper as possible. Stop duplication of effort and get the job done quickly, efficiently, and, hopefully in budget. So, if you’ve got a few minutes, I’d like to talk.”

  Sure, she thought amiably. After all, any minute now the alarm’s gonna go off and I’ll wake up.

  They spent almost an hour in his office, discussing office procedures, personnel, projects. They also talked about football, good seafood restaurants and vintage cars. And they laughed, something Sheridan thought was against company policy. It was like being paroled after solitary confinement.

  Walking back to her office, she felt positively giddy. As she turned the corner back down the hall to her desk, she had the stray thought that not only was she free of Jarvis Duncan for six months, but Jim Eldridge was a really decent human being. With a double-digit IQ and a soul.

  *

  “How’s Nick?”

  “Getting there,” Sheridan answered, washing down a bite of barbecue chicken sandwich with a sip of tea. “Limps around a little. Once in awhile he goes over to the window and looks up at it. Mostly though, he’s so high, he doesn’t do much besides just float around near the ceiling.”

  “How long he gonna be outta action?” Pat picked up the other half of her turkey sandwich and glanced at the break room clock. They still had more than half an hour before lunch was over.

  “Dr. Montgomery said he should stay on the medicine and off his leg for about a week. I’m gonna start weaning him from the dope in a couple of days. He should be out and about by the weekend.”

  “You ever figure out what happened?”

  She shrugged and wiped a dollop of rich, red sauce from her chin with a paper napkin. “With a stray, who knows? I’m just glad he managed to get home. The thought of him being hurt, out in the snow and the cold, alone…” A sharp pain stabbed in her chest and she couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Hey, it’s all right,” her friend soothed, patting her gently on the arm. “It’s easy to love an animal. Even a stray cat.”

  Love. It was not a word Sheridan had used to Nick, or even to herself. But it was exactly how she’d come to feel about him. And how she knew he felt about her. The touch of his paw, his tongue, the look in his eyes when he looked at her.

  “Yes,” she told Pat softly, “it is. And I do love him.”

  “Good. It’s high time you tried loving someone. And that gorgeous cat of yours is a start. Now why don’t you let me invite Lou Magris to dinner?”

  “You can invite anyone you want to dinner,” she laughed.

  Pat’s face brightened. “Now you’re talking.”

  “Just don’t expect me to show up so you can play matchmaker.”

  Immediately the other woman’s face fell. “But…”

  “Don’t ‘but’ me,” Sheridan insisted. “You’re so bad, every time I see you I can practically hear ‘The Wedding March’ coming out of your ears. But I’ll tell you what. When and if I ever decide to take the plunge again, I’ll definitely bring my business to you.”

  “Very funny,” Pat retorted sourly.

  “Look, Pat,” she teased, “I have to wade back into this whole thing gradually. It’s been five years, for Christ’s sake. Let me see how it goes with Nick. If it turns out I don’t screw up this relationship, maybe I’ll let you set me up with a man. Okay?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.”

  *

  At five minutes to five, Sheridan saw Jim heading toward her desk with a fist full of papers.

  Oh well, she thought wearily, she’d known it was too good to be true.

  “Getting ready to go home?”

  “Yes sir…Jim. Unless you need something.”

  “Oh no.” He placed the papers in her inbox. “These can certainly wait until tomorrow. I’m not much on overtime. Don’t like it myself.” He grinned. “Besides, if you abuse your staff by crying ‘crisis’ too often, it gets very hard to convince them to help you when you really do have a problem. Anyway, you have a good night and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “You too si…Jim.”

  *

  “Hello, Nick,” she whispered softly, rubbing his head lightly.

  He was lying on the sofa, asleep. At her voice and touch, he roused himself enough to open his eyes. It seemed to take him a moment to focus. Moving his head under her hand, he laid a paw softly on her leg.

  “I don’t need to ask what you’ve been doing all day,” she laughed. “Well, enjoy it while it lasts ‘cause tomorrow I’m gonna start cutting you off. By the weekend, you’ll be back to earth. You think you can hover long enough to eat some dinner?”

  They had leftover pot roast for dinner and banana pudding for dessert. As they ate, she told him about her day, including her meeting with Jim Eldridge. He seemed more interested in his pudding than in her talking but he listened politely, nonetheless.

  “He really is something,” she finished, gathering her plate and wineglass from the table. “Intelligent, kind, professional. Generally a good guy. I have a feeling that after working for him for six months, the Prince of Darkness will be a hundred times worse.”

  She smiled at Nick, happily lapping up pudding from his perch on the sofa. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance the Prince would decide to retire and sail to Tahiti, is there?”

  Nick looked up for a moment, continuing to enjoy his dessert, that same vague look in his eyes.

  “I didn’t think so. Still, a girl can always hope, can’t she?”

  When dinner was over they settled on the sofa in front of a cheery fire. Sheridan watched a romantic comedy as Nick relaxed, alternately snoozing and enjoying having his stomach rubbed gently.

  D
uring one of the commercials toward the end of the movie, the early news talked about a special report on the Fairview Heights rapist. Something “exclusive” to their newscast. She wasn’t actually interested but at the end of the movie, she wasn’t quite ready to go to bed so decided to stay up and watch the weather report.

  “Channel Six News,” the anchor began solemnly, “has learned today that the police have what may be a significant new clue in the Fairview Heights rapist case. Linda Sanchez has been following this story since the first rape almost four months ago and joins us now with the update.”

  The picture changed to an earnest looking young Hispanic woman standing outside the local police headquarters.

  “Four days ago, the Fairview Heights rapist struck for the seventh time in less than four months, attacking Sylvia Jones of Carolton Avenue. As in the past rapes, the rapist escaped, leaving no clues. However, within hours of the rape, rumors began to circulate around police headquarters that the rapist may have injured himself while leaping from the fire escape of Ms. Jones’ building.

  “Unconfirmed reports indicate that a man, dressed in black sweater, pants, gloves, shoes and watch cap, was seen limping badly by at least two people at about one p.m., less than ten minutes after police believe the attack occurred. The man was seen going rapidly west on Tenor Street, which backs to Ms. Jones’ apartment building, less than a block from where the man was seen.

  “Police refuse to comment, saying only that this is an ongoing investigation. However, I talked with Mr. Hu Lin, owner of Lin’s Market, one of the people who saw the man.”

  Video film of the interview began rolling.

  “Mr. Lin,” the reporter asked seriously, “can you tell us what you saw?”

  “Yeah. About one o’clock Tuesday afternoon, I’m bringing in some stock round back at the delivery entrance. In the alley. As I’m picking up a box of tomatoes, I look up and at the end of the alley, I see this man. He’s coming from Tenor and while he’s trying to walk fast, I can see he’s limping real bad. I think maybe he’s hurt so I put down the box and yell to him. ‘Hey. You need help mister?’ He doesn’t answer, just limps away. I run out to the end of the alley, but I don’t see nothin’ but a stray cat sittin’ in a doorway across the alley.”