by Ray Flynt
Oliver stood and walked toward me. “Hi, Honey.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“You used a key.”
“I could have been the landlord.”
“He usually knocks first. Besides, he reeks of stinky cigars.”
We enjoyed a lingering kiss.
“It’s definitely you,” Oliver announced after we’d broken our embrace. “I ordered a pizza. Figured we could relax and talk easier here.”
“Great idea. However, we might want to turn on a few lights, or the pizza guy will get the wrong idea.”
Oliver laughed.
Blind since birth, Oliver navigated a dark world and never thought to turn on the lights. He utilized his other senses in ways that compensated for his lack of vision.
I placed my suitcase in the bedroom and then cuddled next to Oliver on the sofa. He seemed to have a perpetual smile in my presence, and I was jealous of his full head of ginger hair. His roaming fingers reacquainted themselves with me, and he even remarked on my having a new hairstyle—thanks to the lingering aroma from the home permanent—before a chime signaled the arrival of our pizza.
Oliver buzzed in the delivery guy and met him at the door with a generous tip, while I grabbed plates from the galley kitchen and Diet Cokes from the fridge. We sat at a two-person dining table and opened the steaming box of pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, green pepper, and black olives—my favorite. I caught him up on my day, including the visit from Warren Tulverson.
I chastised Oliver for not dropping a hint of what he knew about the Attorney General’s investigation. As he reached for a slice, he ignored my dig. “It’ll be fun that we get to work together.”
“I guess.”
His smile faded.
I touched his arm. “Nothing against you. I’m still not sure how this is going to work or what I’ll be doing. Warren told me to report to Carmen Castillo.”
Oliver froze as he prepared to take another bite, the triangle of pizza dangling in front of him. “Wow. She’s Howard Parson’s gatekeeper. Her official title is executive assistant.”
“Did you have to deal with her when you were hired?”
“Nope. Went through HR.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
He pursed his lips. “They call her the Dragon Lady. Parson must attract business for them, since the city councilman has special status in the firm. Most of the partners share support staff, but Parson has his own secretary in addition to an executive assistant. Castillo has fired three clerical staff in the short time I’ve been there. On my floor there’s a secret pool taking bets on when the next one will be leaving.”
“Great.” I hadn’t considered that my undercover role in the firm might be as a secretary, a prospect that would not appeal to me.
Music shifted from jazz to Ravel. I knew Oliver’s playlist, which also included classical and 50s rock and roll. His head swayed to the undulating rhythm of Bolero.
“Warren mentioned another insider. Any idea who that might be?”
“I heard the same thing. Wondered if it might be…” His voice trailed off.
“Don’t hold back. It’s not like I’m gonna quote you.”
“It could be anyone.”
I gawked at Oliver before realizing a stare wouldn’t make him cough up his speculation. “Give me a wild guess.”
He exhaled. “Might be my boss.”
“Does your boss have a name?”
“Kate Bignell.”
“Ah, one of the partners.”
“No.” Oliver shook his head. “Her dad was one of the founding partners, but he passed away last year. There are twelve partners in the firm, including Kate’s brother, Isaac, the managing partner.”
“Hold on. What does the managing partner do?”
“Isaac’s like the chief operating officer. He supervises accounting, human resources, and any contracted services.
“What makes you think his sister might be the inside source?”
“Her background. More than half of our business is corporate legal work: contracts, mergers, and acquisitions. About forty percent is devoted to medical malpractice law. Kate’s in charge of the criminal defense division, where I’m one of only six attorneys. She did a stint in the DA’s office out of law school and has a reputation as a law and order type.”
“Even though she’s in charge of criminal defense?”
“We don’t handle many street thugs. It’s mostly white collar.” Oliver pushed back his chair. “Would you like another soda?”
“No, thanks.”
He headed for the kitchen. In public, he used a white cane to help negotiate his way. However, he freely moved about his apartment in a demonstration of self-reliance.
I processed what Oliver told me about the firm, eager to put faces to the names. Curious that Isaac Bignell is a partner while his sister isn’t. Chauvinism?
Oliver returned to the table with his Diet Coke and grabbed his third slice of pizza.
“Any tips for dealing with Dragon Lady?”
He grinned. “Smile politely and don’t talk back.”
“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” I laughed. “You might have to keep me in check. Warren promised I’d be in proximity to Parson. Where are you?”
He gritted his teeth. “Parson’s office is on the sixteenth floor, and I’m on the fourteenth.”
I sighed. “Maybe just as well. We should probably limit our interaction at work.”
“Uh…”
“Is there a problem?”
“There’s a guy from the firm who lives downstairs in the first-floor apartment. Ron gave me the lead on this place. He might see the two of us coming and going.”
“Surely Ron, or anyone else, can’t object to you having a social life.”
“Of course not.” Oliver chuckled. “But if your name comes up in conversation, I can truthfully say I’ve never seen you.”
Oliver couldn’t see my eye roll either, but probably imagined my reaction in the moments of silence that followed. “Anything else I should know? I’m to report at nine. What time do we need to leave?”
“I have to be there by eight-thirty for a meeting, so let’s plan to leave by eight. There’s a bagel shop on the ground floor at the office. You can hang out before your meeting with Carmen Castillo.”
I cleared the table and stored the last piece of pizza in the refrigerator. When I returned, Oliver emitted a noisy yawn.
“Is that a clue you’re ready for bed?”
“Only if you are.”
“I’m not tired yet.”
“Well, we could figure out something else to do in the bedroom.” He grinned.
“You know what they call a guy like you?”
He flashed concern. “What?”
“Transparent.”
After organizing my clothes for the next morning, I used the tiny bathroom first. When I emerged, Oliver stood naked, waiting to enter—perfectly natural for him. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen him in the buff before. I felt my face flush, vestiges of a straight-laced upbringing. He didn’t have abs of steel, and we occasionally joked about his love handles. I enjoyed the sight of freckles dotting his shoulders and ginger hair sprouting from places other than the top of his head.
He stepped into the bathroom and immediately turned off the lights above the vanity.
“Uh, how did you know they were on?”
Oliver tapped the side of his head with his finger and gave a slight grin. “Obviously you wouldn’t be getting ready in the dark, but these are incandescent bulbs and when I felt the warmth it reminded me.”
Amazing.
I pulled the bathroom door closed, turned off the lamp in the bedroom, and slipped under the covers where I lay staring at the ceiling. My mind raced in anticipation of what the next day might bring, including my first encounter with the Dragon Lady.
Finally, I closed my eyes for a better sense of Oliver’s world. A toilet flushed in the bathroom f
ollowed moments later by teeth brushing. Traffic noise outside joined with the vibrations of the refrigerator’s compressor. Shower sounds drowned out Oliver’s humming. Soon after, the water stopped and an electric hair dryer came to life. When the bathroom door creaked open, Oliver’s bare footsteps padded across the wooden floor in my direction.
He slid into bed next to me, wearing only the coconut scent of his shampoo. He nuzzled my neck, and I quivered as his fingers caressed my right breast.
The first time we’d made love, Oliver assured me that in a darkened bedroom I wouldn’t realize he couldn’t see me. In reality, I’ve come to adore his gentle touch, understanding that in just such moments is when he saw me best.
5
After a twenty-minute walk with Oliver from his apartment, we parted company at the entrance to Bignell, Watkins, and Clark’s headquarters. The firm occupied the top three floors in a modest building within Logan Square near 17th and Ben Franklin Parkway. Its granite cathedral-style design stood like a sturdy oak in a forest of towering glass sequoias comprising Philadelphia’s skyline.
Oliver wished me well, promised to message throughout the day, and headed for his office. I enjoyed a cinnamon raisin bagel and coffee while waiting, with more than a little trepidation, for my appointment with Carmen Castillo, AKA Dragon Lady.
The bagel shop had a separate entrance to the lobby where I presented my Sharon Rojo photo ID, explained the reason for my visit, and was directed to a bank of four elevators. Instead of 16, my floor’s button held the letter P for penthouse. La dee da!
I’ve heard Brad pontificate on old money versus new among Philadelphia’s elite. From the moment I exited the elevator at the penthouse I inhaled old money, starting with a cushioned step onto deep-pile carpeting. Mahogany paneling lined the hallway, crystal sconces with old-fashioned mini lampshades graced the walls, and each door was stenciled in gold leaf with an attorney’s name. I didn’t need to consult the directory to find Howard Parson’s office. Stars and Stripes and the yellow and blue of a Philadelphia city flag flanked his entry, with City Councilman lettered in gold above Howard J. Parson, Esq. If I were a prospective client, I’d be sneaking back aboard the elevator with the realization I couldn’t afford their services.
Following a deep breath, I pushed open the door to his suite, confronting more mahogany and a receptionist with rainbow-colored hair—the full spectrum from red to violet. Her jacket, in coral shades, featured images of seashells. She capped her fashion statement with a ruby piercing in the cleft below her lips.
Crazy fashion fads dotted my past, but it took every bit of self-control to avoid laughing at her appearance. “Hi, I’m Sharon Rojo for a nine o’clock appointment with Carmen Castillo.”
“Ms. Castillo is expecting you. If you’ll kindly have a seat, she should arrive momentarily.” The receptionist’s British accent and flawless diction surprised me more than her hairstyle.
I settled into a cushioned wing chair trying not to appear nervous. Through an open doorway behind the receptionist sat the councilman’s empty desk. He had a corner office with a view toward Drexel University’s College of Nursing.
The young woman I’d pegged as a receptionist kept busy answering the phone. Eavesdropping revealed Miss Rainbow Hair’s name as Ellie. My ears perked up at any mention of the councilman, although in those few minutes I heard nothing that would assist Warren Tulverson’s investigation. Between calls she swiveled in her chair and typed on a computer keyboard. Perhaps she was the latest in a string of secretaries Oliver mentioned. At one point, she disappeared into a room close to the entry. The gleam from marble and white subway tiles as she opened the door indicated a lavatory.
My purse chirped with the ringtone I’d assigned for texts from Oliver. The noise drew a disapproving glance from Ellie. When I set it to vibrate, a kiss emoticon stared back at me. He’s so cute.
The suite’s door flew open. In swept a woman with jet-black hair wearing a turquoise designer pantsuit and matching cape. Her rosy glow hinted at a recent Caribbean vacation or hours at a tanning salon. She ignored my presence, going directly to Ellie’s desk and retrieving a stack of messages before bustling into the inner sanctum of Parson’s office and slamming the door behind her.
That’s when I noticed two glass bowls on the front of the receptionist’s desk, one containing mixed nuts and the other cellophane-wrapped caramels.
Parson must have a sweet tooth.
Ellie gazed at me benevolently. “It should only be a few more minutes before Ms. Castillo will see you.”
I managed a whatever-you-say smile.
As time passed I grew paranoid, wondering if the protracted wait was intentional to gauge my reaction. Could I be under scrutiny? A surreptitious scan of the room identified an air vent above an oil painting that might serve as a hiding place for a video camera. I sat demurely trying not to draw attention or let my imagination run wild. Meanwhile, Ellie kept busy and seldom glanced in my direction.
Parson’s door opened and the dark-haired woman called out, “Ms. Rojo.” Initially, I thought she was getting the secretary’s attention, until my new alias dawned on me. I leapt to my feet and headed for the corner office.
Carmen Castillo introduced herself using only her first name, offered a firm handshake, and directed me to a seat in front of Councilman Parson’s desk.
Curious her sitting in his chair. As his executive assistant, surely she had an office of her own. A power play on her part? Perhaps making sure I knew who was really in charge.
I cooled my heels a little longer under the full impact of the Gentleman’s Club feel of the mahogany paneled walls and thick wool carpet. Carmen propped her elbow on the desk and, with chin in hand, she opened a folder with the faux résumé prepared by Warren Tulverson’s office.
Tulverson thought it best to minimize my Philly roots and present me as an Upstate New Yorker with a business degree from Syracuse University. His suggested backstory: I’d moved to the area in order to help care for my aging grandmother and needed a job.
Carmen squinted adding crow’s feet to her eyes and another ten years to my estimate of her age, which I now figured for mid-fifties. She relinquished her vanity and reached into her purse for a pair of glasses.
After several anxiety-inducing minutes, Carmen leaned back and peered at me over the top of her glasses. “Who are you, really?”
My mouth turned to sandpaper as my tenure at Bignell, Watkins, and Clark seemed over before it began. I croaked, “The best employee you’ll ever hire.”
She swiped the air with the back of her hand. “I mean what’s Isaac’s relationship to you?”
Who the hell is Isaac?
I flitted through my mental database before connecting the name to the firm’s managing partner. “Don’t know him directly…a friend of a friend. A gal I knew from college days.” My underarms felt damp, and I hoped she wouldn’t ask for a name.
Oliver thought his boss, Kate Bignell, might be Tulverson’s inside contact, which could still be the case since, based on the question, her brother had advanced my hiring.
Carmen tipped her glasses onto the top of her head. “How familiar are you with Excel?”
I beamed. “Proficient.” Another lie, but I knew my way around the program. Unless Carmen watched over my shoulder, it would take days before my fib became apparent.
“What do you know of Councilman Parson?”
I’d done my homework. “Well, only from his reputation, but he’s the most prominent member of this law firm. He was re-elected to City Council last year with 88% of the vote, and the Jaycees selected him as their Man of the Year. I heard a rumor he’s considering running for Congress.”
Her smirk told me she was impressed. “Yes, he’s a very busy man, and my job is to make sure this office runs like a well-oiled machine.” She closed the folder in front of her.
My interview is over?
The iPhone inside my purse startled me with repeated vibrations—an incoming cal
l. I hoped she hadn’t noticed. Whoever it is can leave a message.
Carmen stood. “Follow me.”
She led me to the outer office. “This is Eleanor Padgett, the councilman’s personal secretary,” Carmen announced. “Ms. Rojo is going to be my assistant.”
“Call me Sharon.”
“Ellie will be fine for me.” Her British accent still surprised.
“This way.” Carmen had no interest in chitchat and barreled toward a side door in the main reception area, pushing it open to reveal another spacious office with a view toward the dome of the Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul. “You’ll be working in here, sharing the space with me.”
She guided me to the smaller of the two desks, with hers being closer to the window. The arrangement benefitted my assignment for the AG’s office, since I could eavesdrop on her conversations. However, depending on how much time she spent in the office, my actions would be in a fishbowl.
Carmen glanced at the Rolex on her wrist. “I have an out-of-office appointment at ten-thirty. The file on your desk is from the Zandor estate. Prepare a spreadsheet with formulas for the distribution of the proceeds. We’ll use it to calculate individual amounts once we have the audited valuation of the estate.”
Sounded like a piece of cake until she added, “There are more than a hundred and fifty beneficiaries.”
I gulped. “No problem.”
My untruths are mounting.
“If you have any questions, check with Ms. Padgett.”
After stopping briefly to examine a note on her own desk, Carmen opened a different door leading into the councilman’s private office. The suite’s layout provided access between Parson’s office, the main reception area, and the space now shared by Carmen and me—where a separate doorway to the hall offered an easy escape for the councilman should he not want to be seen by a waiting visitor.
