Small Bytes

by Robert Germaux

  “Are you asking me to break the sacred confidentially of womanhood?”

  “C’mon, Ang,” I pleaded, “this is me, remember? Hey, who used to give you his chocolate milk at lunch in fourth grade?”

  “Oh, that’s not fair,” she laughed. “Oh, all right, I’ll tell you this much. You’re not the only one with butterflies in your stomach today.” After a pause, she added, “Hope you guys have a good time tonight, Jeremy. I’ve got to run. I have two hungry kids to feed.”

  “Thanks, Ang. Give Matt and Abby my love.”

  After hanging up, I sat on the sofa for a minute and thought about Tommy. Then I made some lunch and ate it out on my deck. One of my neighbors, Mrs. Pendergrass, was walking down the alley, and she stopped to chat for a bit. Mrs. Pendergrass is eighty-five years old and has more energy than any other five people I know. Just listening to her describe what she had planned for the rest of the weekend wore me out. After promising her that I’d go over to her place soon for some homemade apple pie, I said good-bye and went inside to get ready for the evening. After shaving and showering and splashing on some Halston cologne, I put on a pair of lightweight tan wool slacks with pleats, a white shirt with button-down collar, a tie with blue and tan stripes on the diagonal, cream-colored loafers, and my navy silk blazer. I put on my expensive gold watch, the one Uncle Leo had given me the day I’d become a full partner with him in the agency. Then I added a white silk handkerchief in the pocket of my blazer. One must accessorize. Stepping back from the free-standing mirror in my bedroom, I took a look. Pretty as a picture. Then I grabbed my wallet and keys and went down to the garage to get in the 4Runner, which I’d cleaned, inside and out, earlier in the day. Pressing the automatic garage-door opener, I drove out onto the street and into the evening.

  Saturday night.

  Date night.

  Chapter 38

  Laura lived in Monroeville, a suburb a few miles beyond the city limits. Monroeville was just another of many suburbs around Pittsburgh until 1969, when the Monroeville Mall opened. It was the first large, fully-enclosed shopping mall in the region, and it became the linchpin of a retail and population growth spurt in the municipality that continued for decades. The area right around the mall is heavily commercial, with dozens of shops and theaters and family restaurants and fast-food joints and bowling alleys and pet shops and every other type of business enterprise you can name. In the middle of all this, though, there is one small patch of green, a place called the Tennis Club. Actually, it was there before the mall appeared, and over the years, as the population of the area grew, so did the Tennis Club. Today, there are six outdoor tennis courts and fourteen indoor courts, along with both indoor and outdoor pools, a dozen racquetball courts, a weight room, a quarter-mile indoor jogging track, and about a zillion jazzercise classes every week. There’s also an apartment building adjacent to the club, The Tennis Club Apartments, and that’s where Laura Fleming lived. I pulled into the parking lot just before six-thirty, and two minutes later, I was calling apartment 821 from the entryway. Laura answered, said she’d be right down, and buzzed me into the lobby.

  The lobby was expensively furnished, with a large chocolate-colored suede sofa and two matching overstuffed occasional chairs, a couple of end tables with lamps, a glass-topped coffee table, plants and a few pieces of artwork on the walls. The floor was polished slate, and the late-afternoon natural light that flooded in from the glass wall facing the entryway filled the room with a cozy glow. Up one step was a carpeted area where two elevators could be seen. Out of one of them walked Laura Fleming.

  She was wearing a golden tan suit. Very short skirt with a matching fitted jacket that reached just below her waist. An ivory-colored collarless silk blouse. High-heeled pumps the color of the suit. Her hair was swept back and held in place by a simple gold clip, and around her neck was a thin strand of pearls. She carried a clutch the color of the suit. Her legs were elegant and sexy and I was having trouble breathing.

  She paused before stepping down into the lobby area, twirled once, and said, “What do you think? Appropriate for an art exhibit opening at the Frick?”

  “Or for meeting the king and queen of England,” I said.

  She smiled and stepped down and walked over to me, the scent of her perfume trailing lightly behind her.

  “I wasn’t sure exactly what to wear, so I decided to err on the side of dressy.”

  “An excellent decision,” I told her.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said.

  “Well,” I said, “it’s amazing the bargains you can find at the Big Boy Shop downtown.”

  “Hm-mm,” she said. “Right.” Fingering my lapel, she added, “Except that this feels like an expensive silk jacket. Angie told me that you cleaned up nice.”

  “Geez, don’t tell the guys down the plant, okay? I’m in enough trouble with them from when I wore my power tie at the last union meeting.”

  By this time, we were at my car, and Laura started to take off her jacket. I helped her with it, noticing that the blouse was sleeveless, revealing slim, taut arms. It was obvious that Laura spent some time keeping herself in shape. She opened the back door and placed her jacket on the seat, then stepped up into the front seat while I held the door.

  “I don’t want to wrinkle my jacket,” she said.

  “We’re of a mind on that,” I told her, as I went around and hung my sports coat on a hanger in the back seat on my side of the car. Briefly, it crossed my mind that it was a habit that I apparently shared with the late Terry Pendleton.

  On the twenty-five-minute drive to the Frick Art Museum, we talked about a variety of things, from school to local politics to Angie and Simon and their kids. It was all very natural and comfortable. When we pulled into the driveway of the Frick, a valet appeared at Laura’s side of the car. He glanced at the back seat, opened the door and retrieved her jacket, then opened her door and helped her on with the garment. Nobody opened my door or offered to help me on with my coat. I could have sat there and pouted, but I decided to be a bigger man than that, and I did everything myself. No one noticed that I’d taken the high road. Sometimes, virtue has to be its own reward.

  As we approached the front door, a young woman smiled at me and held out her hand for the engraved invitation I’d received in the mail a few weeks earlier.

  “Hi, Jeremy,” she said. “How’re you doing?”

  “I’m fine, Katie,” I said. Turning to Laura, I said, “Laura, this is Katie, one of the docents here. Katie’s working her way through art school.”

  Laura and Katie exchanged hellos, and then we went inside.

  “Good grief,” said Laura, “you know the docents? How often do you come here?”

  “Only when the porn shops downtown are closed after a raid,” I said. “Then I have to find other outlets for my cultural development.”

  “Seriously, Jeremy,” she said, “how did your interest in art come about?”

  I told her about my brother and his passion for art.

  “Between Jim and an art appreciation course I took in college,” I said, “before I knew it, I had an art jones.”

  By this time, we were walking around the exhibit space, looking at works by Monet and Manet and Pissarro and Renoir. Laura had several intelligent observations about the paintings, whilst I mostly contented myself with admiring the pretty colors.

  “You’re not fooling me,” she said. “I know you realize these works have meanings on several levels.” After a moment, she added, “Which is something I’m learning about you, too.”

  I smiled and said, “Nice that someone here appreciates me. Last time I came, they tossed me out on account of I got a little rowdy. But it wasn’t my fault. It was a Jackson Pollack exhibit, and they know how he affects me. It was their fault for sending me the invitation in the first place.”

  After a couple of hours of looking at the exhibit, we joined a few hundred other people in the main hall for the wine and cheese reception. La
ura saved us a couple of seats on a small sofa in a corner, while I went for two glasses of Chardonnay and a plate of fancy crackers and cheese. Sitting beside her, sipping the wine, I felt a sense of contentment that hadn’t been there in a long time.

  Suddenly, in a mock serious voice, Laura said, “So, Jeremy, how is it that a fine figure of a man like yourself hasn’t been lassoed yet by some pretty little filly?”

  “Just lucky, I guess, ma’am,” I said, matching her tone. “What about you? Surely you’ve had countless marriage proposals.”

  Fluttering her eyelids, she said, “Oh, I’m saving myself for Mr. Right, of course.”

  We were both quiet for a minute. Then Laura said, “Angie says you’re the last of the great romantics. She also told me that you were looking for your split-apart. What’s that?”

  “Oh, it’s from a movie called The Butcher’s Wife,” I said. “The idea is that when the world began, with that big explosion, all the atoms were split. If you’re extremely lucky, sometime during your life, you’ll meet the person whose existence began with the other part of your atom, your split-apart.”

  “I love it,” she said. “It’s so romantic.” She just sat and looked at me for a moment. Then she said, “You’re a pretty neat guy, Jeremy.”

  “Please,” I said. “I’ve been told that I blush easily.”

  “So I see,” she said.

  * * *

  Later, after we left the museum, I drove her back home. She invited me up to her apartment, and once we were inside, she told me to make myself comfortable and excused herself for a minute, leaving me in her living room. I took off my sports coat and hung it over a chair in the dining room, which was adjacent to the living room. Looking around, I could see that the place was tastefully furnished, with all the pieces working together to form a whole that was more attractive than its individual parts would have indicated. When Laura returned, sans jacket, I complimented her on her decorating skills.

  “Thanks,” she said, as she sat down next to me on the sofa. “It’s sort of a hobby. I love reading all the home decorating magazines and watching the shows on the subject. Some of what I have came from that, some from my own ideas.”

  As she spoke, she crossed her legs, allowing her already-short skirt to ride even further up her thigh. I discovered that I was once again experiencing breathing problems.

  “I had a great time tonight, Jeremy,” she said, and her voice seemed to have lowered an octave.

  I put my right arm around her and said, “Me, too,” and kissed her. The kiss was gentle and sweet. Neither one of us rushed things, or pushed too hard, but when our lips parted, she suddenly sat upright, and there were tears in her eyes.

  “Jeremy,” she said, “could we not . . . I mean, would it be okay if we just . . .oh, God, you must think I’m terrible.”

  She had clasped her hands together in her lap, and I reached over and covered them with mine.

  “Okay,” I told her. “Take a deep breath. When you feel like talking . . . if you feel like talking . . . I’ll be here to listen. Until then, how about if I just hold you?”

  She leaned back and I put my arm around her again. We sat like that for several minutes before she spoke.

  “It’s just that all this seems so familiar. A little over a year ago, I was dating a man, a man I thought was wonderful. Believe it or not, our first big date was also at a museum. We went to the Carnegie for a recital. Afterward, we came back here and made love, and over the next few months, our relationship seemed to be going so well. One night last fall, we went out for a special dinner. I was halfway expecting a ring that evening. Instead, David told me that he needed more space in his life. He wasn’t cruel about it, but he made it clear that we wouldn’t be seeing each other anymore. And now, tonight, sitting here with you, I just started reliving all of that. I thought I was completely over the whole thing, but . . .” She sat up again and looked at me. “God, I’m sorry, Jeremy. You must think I’m an awful tease. I invite you in, take off my jacket, sit down next to you and . . . well, you must think the worst of me.”

  “Un-uh,” I said. “I think you’re wonderful, and I think David is an idiot. And as much as I want to make love to you right now, this isn’t the way it should happen. I don’t want David lurking around in your mind at that moment. Let’s just sit here for a while, okay? I like holding you. Then, later, I’ll leave, and whenever you’re ready to see me again, you call me. I said see me, Laura, not necessarily have sex with me. I just want to spend time with you.”

  A while later, she saw me to her apartment door. I kissed her gently on the cheek and then stood in the hallway for a minute. She told me, “I know you’re not David. In so many ways, you’re not David.”

  I smiled and started walking down the hall.

  “Jeremy,” she called.

  I turned back and looked at her. There were no tears in her eyes now, just a certain impishness.

  “I think you’re cuter than Simon.”

  And I got the smile again, and then she was gone.

  I did myself proud, walking the length of the hallway just like a normal human being. When I got to the elevators, there was no one else around.

  Laura Fleming thinks I’m cuter than Simon.

  I double-pumped my fist in the air.

  Yes!

  Chapter 39

  Late Monday morning, I called Chaney and Cox and, for my trouble, got the mellifluous tones of the adorable Melanie.

  “Hi, Jeremy,” she said, after I’d identified myself. “Who will it be today? Sandra? Elias? Cameron?”

  “Sandra,” I said, on the spur of the moment. I’d suddenly thought of something I wanted to ask Ms. Richardson.

  “Okay,” said Melanie, “but to tell you the truth, I thought she’d have scared you off by now.”

  “I’m disappointed in you, Melanie,” I said. “You’d think that after our long and intimate relationship, you of all people would be aware of my steely resolve in matters of the heart.”

  “Um-hmmm,” she said, with a giggle. “I’ll put you through right away.”

  The next voice I heard was Sandra’s.

  “Jeremy?” she said. “What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”

  “I just need to ask you a question. Does Chaney and Cox ever use private investigators?”

  “Soliciting business, are we?” she laughed.

  “No, not exactly,” I said. “The question came up a couple of days ago, and I figured you’d be able to answer it for me.”

  “Well, since I’ve been here, we’ve hired investigators maybe two or three times. The kind of work we do doesn’t usually lend itself to that arena, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do,” I said. “So there would be no reason for the firm to take on a fulltime investigator.”

  “Not unless Elias and William are contemplating taking us in a completely different direction, legally speaking.”

  “Listen, thanks, Sandra, I appreciate it. And could you do me one more favor? Don’t mention to anyone that I asked about this, all right? Especially anyone at the firm.”

  “Is this going to get me into trouble with my bosses?”

  “I don’t think so. In fact, the trouble would probably come from your bringing it up with them.”

  “Okay, Jeremy, my lips are sealed.”

  “Good.”

  “You remember my lips, don’t you, Jeremy?” she said.

  “Hard to forget, Sandra.”

  “Good. Hold that thought. Bye.”

  “Jeremy, it’s Melanie again. Where to now?”

  “Elias, if you please,” I said.

  Within a minute, Elias picked up his phone and said hello.

  “Good morning, Elias. I’m calling to thank you for the job offer. Unfortunately, I have to say no.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I hate to see you pass up such a wonderful opportunity. I’ve already mentioned the salary, of course, and the benefits package here at Chan
ey and Cox is outstanding.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I told him. “But I wouldn’t feel right dropping my other cases in midstream, especially the Pendleton matter. Listen, in case I’m able to clear things up sooner than I’d expected, any chance that the position will still be available later?”

  “I’m afraid not,” he said. “We need someone immediately. You’re quite sure you couldn’t see your way clear to accepting it?”

  “Quite sure,” I told him. “Thanks again, and best of luck in finding the right person for the job.”

  After hanging up, I sat and thought for a minute. Now that I’d put the ball in Elias’ court, I’d just have to wait and see what he’d do with it. Meanwhile, hoping to get lucky, I dialed Irv’s number. He answered on the fourth ring.

  “Irv, this is Jeremy Barnes,” I told him.

  “Hey, Jeremy, I just got home about an hour ago. How’s it going?”

  “Everything’s fine, Irv. How’s your dad?” I asked.

  “He’s doing a lot better, Jeremy. He’s home, and there’s a nurse who’s gonna stop by every day for a while to check on him. Thanks for asking. What’s this about a disc?”

  “I got one I want to get into, but I can’t get past the password. Any chance you could take a look at it for me?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Tell you what. I gotta use the rest of today to get organized, but I’ll be at the shop tomorrow morning by eight. Wanna stop by then and give me the thing?”

  “That’d be good, Irv. Thanks. I’ll see you then.”

  I was anxious to have Irv look at the disc as soon as possible, and I knew that if I’d asked, he would have agreed to get it from me right away. But I also knew that it was the end of the school year at Carnegie Mellon, and as a graduate assistant, he must have a ton of work to do, work that he was probably already a week behind on because of his trip to Tennessee. I didn’t want to put any more stress in the guy’s life. Tomorrow would be soon enough. It’s not like I’d been making lightning moves on this case so far, anyway.