Crazy in Chicago

by Norah-Jean Perkin

  No matter. He had no intention of breaching office etiquette. But neither did he plan to let opportunity pass. Just the thought of the seduction he planned stirred him as nothing had for months.

  Roberta looked at her watch. “You’re early,” she accused.

  “Yes. I came here straight from home. It didn’t make much sense to go to The Streeter when your offices are on the way.”

  “Well, I’ve only got together a couple of the reports you wanted. It will take me a few minutes to find the tapes of the other speakers, as well as the list of contacts and their numbers.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t mind waiting.”

  Cody looked around once more, than settled himself on the couch. “You don’t have much room here,” he said conversationally.

  “No, I don’t.” Her backside faced him as she pulled open a filing cabinet and began to pore through the contents.

  He watched with growing interest as she bent and her dress slid up the back of her legs. The silky material molded to her firm, round buttocks, the starting point for a thousand heated fantasies.

  His mouth grew dry and he swallowed. Leering was definitely not his style. But today he couldn’t seem to help it. To all intents, he’d been dead to sex for the last year. Suddenly, thanks to his early morning encounter with Bobbi, his interest had reawakened. Just thinking about making love to her aroused him more than he could remember. His head filled with a vivid picture of how and where that might take place.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He looked up to find Roberta standing puzzled in front of him. “No,” he said quickly.

  She frowned. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I’ll be a while longer.”

  He folded his hands strategically across his lap. “No, thanks.” Hell, he was acting like a teenage boy caught in an heated clinch. This was ridiculous.

  “Oh, okay. Here are copies of the three abduction reports you also asked about. You’ll note that the names have been removed to protect the abductees’ privacy. Of course, you can always speak to Dr. Jones for permission to talk to them.”

  As if on cue, the outside door swung open. Garnet Jones, cool and professorial-looking in a tan linen jacket and khaki pants, breezed into the room. “Good morning, Roberta. I hope you’ve . . .”

  He stopped as his gaze lighted on Cody. His brow wrinkled. “Have we met?”

  Before Cody could respond, Garnet turned on Roberta. “I told you I didn’t want any appointments this morning,” he snapped.

  “You don’t have any,” she said, clenching one hand at her side.

  She nodded at Cody. “Mr. Walker is from The Streeter. He’s here to pick up a couple of reports and numbers to reach conference speakers he missed. He’s doing a series on UFOs, the abduction experience, and government response.”

  “Oh, really?” Interest replaced the annoyance in Garnet’s gray eyes. “You attended the conference?”

  “Most of it.” Cody stood up. He was at least a couple of inches taller than the spare Dr. Jones, and easily thirty pounds heavier. “But that was just the groundwork for my series. I’ve still got a lot of legwork left to do, looking into sightings, abductions and any evidence I can find. Now I’d like to . . .”

  “Come right in.” Dr. Jones extended his arm towards his office door. He smiled expansively. “I’m sure I can answer all your questions.” He glanced at a mirror on the wall and straightened his tie.

  Cody quelled the spurt of irritation. He didn’t want to talk to Dr. Jones now. That wasn’t why he’d come. But it was too good an opportunity to miss.

  He nodded, and Dr. Jones smiled again. He opened his office door and urged Cody to enter. Cody started for the door, Dr. Jones behind him.

  “Oh, Roberta, would you bring us some coffee? Right away, please.”

  Cody glanced back. He saw Roberta’s sunny expression darken as Dr. Jones shut the door in her face.

  * * *

  Cody frowned as he turned into Dr. Jones’s office. Was this one of the frustrations Roberta had referred to the other night? Despite the fact that she ran the office, had organized the conference, and presumably assisted Jones with his research and books, he treated her like a mere gofer.

  Cody raised his head, then froze. Huge black eyes stared at him with a sinister combination of speculation and malice. They latched onto him and held, demanding something that only he could provide, something that he had no choice but to surrender.

  For a moment, a strange yet familiar terror grasped him by the throat, cutting off his breath. His fists clenched and he gritted his teeth. Finally, with an act of will, he dragged his gaze from those mesmerizing eyes.

  Freed from their grasp, he took a deep breath, then looked again. He realized the eyes belonged to a gigantic, gray, E.T.-like head, surrounded by a swirl of cosmic purples, blues, greens and silvers.

  Only a painting, he told himself. But what a painting. Easily eight by six feet, it filled the wall, dwarfing Dr. Jones’ desk beneath it and blotting out awareness of anything else in the room.

  Uneasily, Cody perused the painting, careful to avoid the pull of those terrifying eyes. Even without looking, he could feel the malice, mixed with equally unsettling regret and longing. What kind of a mind would conceive of such a face? And perhaps more important, how could anyone go to bed at night with that image in his mind?

  “Stunning, isn’t it?”

  Cody broke away from the picture’s hold and looked at Garnet Jones. The man nodded proudly. “I painted that a year ago, following my third abduction by aliens. The image plagued me, haunting my days and my nights. But once I got it down on canvas, it seemed to lose its power. It’s like that with many alien experiences. Only when we face up to them and explore them do they lose their power to disturb us.”

  Cody nodded uneasily. He didn’t know, actually. But it would explain the many individuals he’d met or seen at the conference, individuals with white, haunted faces who seemed driven to tell their stories to anyone who would listen. He’d had doubts about many of their stories, but still they disturbed him on some level he could not pinpoint.

  Dr. Jones, however, was a different case. The man sat down in a sumptuous leather chair behind his desk. Cody noted that the chair matched the expensive carpeting and furnishings of this office, in contrast to Roberta’s dreary space. For years Jones had made a lucrative living from his highly-publicized abductions. He had documented the experiences of countless others and had become an “expert” of sorts, milking his own and others’ experiences for financial benefit. He definitely had a motive for promoting belief in aliens and UFOs.

  Cody resisted the swell of dislike for the man that surged through him, a dislike that had begun with Dr. Jones’s first curt question to Roberta. Assuming a professional mask of politeness, Cody sat down in a chair to one side of the desk and launched his first question. “So what made you start the Society for UFO Watchers, Dr. Jones? At least a couple of other organizations are devoted to the same issues.”

  “Call me Garnet, please.” Dr. Jones sat back in his chair. In that position, it appeared as if his head was cradled in the hands of the alien pictured behind him. Cody had no doubt the positioning of man and painting was deliberate, designed to provoke a response of awe and fascination. And it worked.

  “You’re right. There are other organizations. But none has taken the same approach as we have. We try to be open and supportive to anyone who has had an alien experience. At the same time, we bring scientific method to each event deemed worthy of investigation. Everything is documented down to the last detail.”

  “But didn’t you write in Alien Experiences that often much of the evidence can be interpreted more than one way?” Cody prodded. “That ultimately it comes down to the individual’s decision to believe or not to believe in UFOs and aliens?”

  Garnet straightened. Lines of annoyance creased his forehead. “That’s not the intent of my words. Words that I believe I’ve clarified in later texts. It�
�s clear today that governments everywhere, in particular our government, have a stake in preventing widespread knowledge of UFOs and alien encounters, starting with the Roswell incident. The kinds of questions you and other members of the media ask are evidence of that.”

  “Pardon?” Cody narrowed his eyes. “Are you suggesting that I’m part of some conspiracy?”

  Garnet shook his head and sat back again, his irritation fading. A tiny smile played about his thin lips. He rubbed his bearded chin.

  “Oh, I’m not suggesting anyone is trying to control you in particular. The conspiracy is so widespread, and has consumed so many parts of our society, including the mainstream media, that that’s no longer necessary. It’s insidious, you see. You don’t even know that you’ve been manipulated. For example, you don’t believe in UFOs or aliens, do you?” he asked smugly.

  “I have an open mind.”

  Garnet smiled in delight. “Ah yes. In other words, you think it’s all malarkey. No matter what you write and what you say or how even-handed you pretend to be. I’ve seen this all before.”

  “Aren’t you the one being close-minded now?”

  “No. I’ve been interviewed a thousand times before. That’s all. It’s almost always the same. In this case your disbelief is palpable.”

  Cody chose to ignore Garnet’s last smug comment. “Isn’t it true that there is a huge difference between interpretation of so-called “extraterrestrial events” in Europe and America? In Europe, UFO experts tend to see these events and sightings as products of the inner workings of the human mind. Here UFO experts take a much more literal approach. They actually believe UFOs are from other planets and galaxies, in some cases even from other dimensions. How can you account for these differences?”

  “Easy. It’s . . .”

  Roberta, bearing a tray with two mugs and sugar and cream, stood at Cody’s elbow. She placed one mug on the desk before him, and the other before Garnet, then laid the tray down.

  “Thank you,” Garnet dismissed her with a nod of his head. But before he could resume his comment, Roberta jumped into the conversation.

  “Dr. Jones was about to tell you of the evidence here in the States concerning aliens and alien encounters,” she stated.

  Garnet frowned.

  If Roberta noticed, she ignored him. “There are just too many incidents—for example, that night in Wyoming where everyone in the whole town of Glenrock heard nine knocks in three distinct sets of three, with no plausible, earthly explanation. Just because we can’t explain it, doesn’t mean it should automatically be marked as a product of the mind, a fantasy of sorts.”

  “Thank you, Roberta,” Garnet’s voice was dripping acid. Apparently he was used to holding center stage, and didn’t like interruptions, even in his defense.

  He continued as if she’d said nothing. “I have had too many personal experiences—with resulting physical responses—to doubt the reality of what has happened to me. Just read any of my books, including the one coming out next month, Alien Agenda, if you want all the particulars. And then there are the dozens of individuals who have come to me, the hundreds who have written about their experiences. I know I’m not fantasizing, and I’m confident enough in the people whose cases I’ve documented to know they aren’t either.”

  From her pursed lips, Cody guessed Roberta was piqued by her dismissal. But not cowed, he noted with a chuckle. As she retreated to the door, she piped up, “Perhaps you should ask Mr. Walker to the hypno-regression session planned with the woman you’ve been investigating the last few weeks, Garnet. Then Mr. Walker could see first-hand the effects of her encounter with aliens, and judge for himself.”

  “Hypno-regression?” Cody looked up. His gaze collided with the hypnotic eyes of the alien in the painting. Without warning, a wave of nausea struck him. In an attempt to control his equilibrium, he forced himself to focus on the conversation. “Hypno-regression,” he repeated. “I’d like that. I’ve wanted to see an example of that ever since I heard about it at the conference.”

  Garnet cast Roberta an irritated look. “It’s not appropriate for you to suggest any such thing, not without the woman’s agreement.” He returned his attention to Cody. “But we probably can arrange it.”

  He looked at his calendar, and tapped his fingers on the desk. It wasn’t clear who had annoyed him more, Roberta or Cody. “I’ll talk to the woman and see what she says. It shouldn’t be a problem. Roberta will call you with the date and time. In the meantime, I’d forgotten. I should be making a call to my publisher right now.”

  Cody stood up, glad of any excuse to escape before his nausea got worse. “Thanks. I’m looking forward to the experience. And I’d like to talk to you at more length later.”

  Cody couldn’t resist glancing at the painting once more. His gaze connected with the alien’s gaze. The malice and unspoken demand Cody saw in the intense black eyes filled him with horror. He shuddered, then staggered, as a new, stronger wave of nausea rolled over him. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

  As he passed through the doorway, he faltered. Roberta grabbed his arm. She used her small frame to support his weight, and escorted him to the couch in the reception area.

  Cody fell onto the couch. He shut his eyes until the cold wave of sickness passed. Finally he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Roberta stood over him, observing him with concern.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes. I’m fine now.”

  “This is the same as what happened the other day at the conference, isn’t it?”

  Cody nodded. No need to tell her it had occurred several times and, if anything, was growing worse. He concentrated on her full lips. How the mere brush of those lush lips across his forehead might unleash a whole new form of sickness, one he would welcome.

  “Have you seen a doctor?” Roberta demanded.

  He wanted to tell her that he was certain a little TLC from her would take care of everything that ailed him. Instead, he smiled wearily. “It’s nothing. I told you I haven’t been sleeping well. God knows why. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  His well-being regained, he straightened and smiled again. “Maybe you should come over tonight with milk and cookies. I’m sure that would help.”

  A smile blossomed on her face. “Cookies, huh?” For a moment her eyes danced with light. Then she shook her head and turned away. “I’ve got everything you want right here, now. All photocopied, packed and ready to go.”

  Yes, he thought, as he watched her move smoothly across the room. You do.

  * * *

  Through the roar of the vacuum cleaner, Roberta heard the chime of the doorbell. She clicked the vacuum off, pushed her damp hair back from her face, and glanced at the clock on the VCR. It was nine eighteen.

  At the door, she peered through the peephole, then frowned. Cody! What did he want? She glanced down at herself. The flat sandals, white denim shorts and halter top she wore hardly presented the professional image she wanted a reporter to see. Especially this reporter. But it was too late to do anything about it now.

  Anticipation rippled through her as she unlocked the door. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s not interested in you—only the information you can give him. She composed her expression into one of neutral welcome and opened the door.

  Despite her resolve, her lips turned upwards in a smile of genuine pleasure as her gaze lighted on him. How could she do anything else when he smiled at her with a male delight she’d rarely seen before? When he looked so good, standing barefoot in the hall in his cutoffs and t-shirt. His crooked smile lit up his tanned face, and the gleam in his dark-as-chocolate eyes would have done the Big Bad Wolf proud.

  Only she wasn’t Little Red Riding Hood. Roberta cleared her throat. “Hi Cody. You wanted something?”

  Oops! Wrong thing to say!

  His lips curved upwards again, with a warmth that seared her down
to her toes, fanning fantasies already running hot from too much daydreaming and wondering about her next door neighbor. Wondering why he seemed so enticingly mysterious yet familiar in some odd way she couldn’t fathom.

  Slowly Cody stretched one arm over her head until his hand rested against the door frame. His smile broadened further and his dark eyes sparkled. “Just came over for that milk and cookies you promised me.”

  “Milk and cookies . . .” Roberta’s voice trailed off. It had been a joke. Hadn’t it?

  “I distinctly remember you agreeing to give me milk and cookies for my insomnia,” he purred. “So here I am. You are going to ask me in, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Roberta straightened. She told herself he just wanted to pump her for information about SUFOW.

  She stepped back, and he sauntered past into her living room. Chairs and couches were pulled out from the walls, and knickknacks, lamps and cushions were piled on the coffee table and end tables. He would come over the night she decided to give the living room a thorough cleaning.

  He looked around with open curiosity. “Hmm. It’s always interesting to see what someone’s apartment tells about them.”

  Roberta wrinkled her nose. Even when everything was in its place, it was far more cluttered than his apartment. “So what do dust bunnies behind my couch tell you?”

  He laughed. “That you’ve got better things to do than clean.” His expression turned little-boy hopeful. “For instance, make chocolate chip cookies?”

  Roberta chuckled. “Give it up, Cody.” She surveyed him. “You don’t really want milk, do you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. One large glass. And cookies, too, if you’ve got them.”

  “The milk I can do. But you’re out of luck on the cookies, homemade or otherwise. I rarely buy them. Too much temptation.”

  “Spoken like a true Puritan.”