The Encounter

by Norman Fitts

Three hours later she stood up and looked at the three-dozen volumes covering the top of the table. It would have been a lot less work for someone had they let her put them back. She started for the escalator. She looked at her watch, an hour to kill. Maybe she'd take another look at the red, metal thing outside.

  ***

  The office tower was forty stories. Her appointment was on the twelfth. The visitor parking area was full. She drove around for ten minutes before she found someone leaving.

  She shared the garage elevator with two men in business suits. They both looked at her. She could tell they wanted to say something, but neither did. They smiled politely and let her out ahead of them.

  Her interview was set for 2:30. She stepped onto the twelfth floor at 2:15. The glass doors at the end of the elevator lobby read, THE LAW OFFICES OF BENSON, WARD, TAYLOR & BRYANT. She walked up to the doors, adjusted her jacket and entered the reception area.

  ***

  Four hours later she breathed a little easier as she pulled out of the parking garage. The job was hers but interviewing for the job was an interesting experience and would warrant an entry in her journal.

  Fortunately the first step in the process had been an interview with a member of personnel whose job it was, to screen out unqualified applicants. The woman was so impressed with her basic knowledge of law, and her ability to recall precedence from cases dating back as far as fifty years; the whole process had been shortened. After three hours of orientation and lots of paperwork, which included a photo ID, she was told to report to personnel on Monday morning for assignment.

  ***

  Going north on IH 45, she took her exit from the freeway, and then a left at the light. As she drove along she replayed the events of the day in her mind. Something popped and the rear of the car began to wobble.

  "What the..." She pulled over to the shoulder, got out and walked to the back of the car. The right rear tire was flat. She'd taken a moment to glance through the owner's manual and knew what to do.

  Two men in a light green van eyed the lady, in heels and a suit, parked on the side of the road with a flat. They both saw, what looked like a good time coming up on the right.

  The van pulled off the road and stopped behind her. She glanced back, and then opened the trunk. The driver of the van and his passenger got out. The two men were large and sloppily dressed in dirty T-shirts and jeans. She turned and watched them approach.

  The driver smiled at her. "Well little lady, seems you gotta problem."

  She eyed them both, humans and their eternal smiles. "Well, it seems I have a flat tire. Thanks for stopping, but I can handle it."

  The passenger moved to her left side, the driver, to her right.

  The driver looked in the trunk. "You know, changing that tire will sure get those pretty little hands dirty." He looked at her. "What say, you let us buy you a drink somewhere. Then we'll come back here and take care of this for you."

  For a moment she thought about taking them up on their offer, but maybe not. Their tone was threatening and they smelled awful. "Thanks for asking, but it's not necessary."

  The passenger took her by the arm and grinned at his buddy. "How'd they put it? It's an offer you can't refuse."

  The driver took her other arm. "Look, all we want is a good time. Cooperate and you won't get hurt."

  It was the kind of confrontation she didn't need. But what could a girl do? She looked at one, and then the other. "A sweet offer guys." She raised her hands, placed one behind each neck and smiled. "You know if it weren't for the fact you're both, what’s the word, jerks..." She slammed their foreheads together. Both men collapsed to the ground. "Having a drink might've been interesting."

  She checked the road. Nothing was coming. She slipped her hands inside the tops of their pants, picked them up and easily carried both men to the side door of their van. The door was locked. She jerked and the locking mechanism gave way. The door slid open. She placed both men in the back of the van and closed the door. She checked the road again, and then started back to her car. She was thinking about her owner's manual. I need a jack, a spare tire and something called a “lug wrench.”

  ***

  With still nothing from the Council, Monday morning she started for work. The trip during rush hour took longer than expected. Margaret felt rushed. Showing up late the first day didn't seem like the thing to do. She pulled into the garage, this time through the employee entrance, and circled up five floors before finding a place to park. She left the car and half ran, half walked, to the elevator. She looked at her watch, 7:42. Eighteen minutes to spare.

  She pressed the `down' button and waited. She looked around at the sound of footsteps. Two women approached talking with one another. For anyone else, they were out of earshot. She listened in.

  The woman on the right seemed excited and concerned at what the other woman was saying.

  The woman on the left glanced at Margaret, and then back to her friend. "I'm telling you it happened here, on this floor, last Friday. Nobody's safe."

  "Are you talking about Terri Gibbins? Mr. Braton's secretary."

  "Yes, the little red head."

  "How bad?"

  "The Son-of-a-bitch raped her in the back seat of her car. Then he cut her face."

  Violence was something Margaret was familiar with. She knew the part it had played in Earth's history, as well as her own. The difference was, in her society, it seldom if ever happened between the sexes.

  The woman on the right was visibly shaken. "That's just great. I'm gonna be working late the next three days." She looked at Margaret. "Who's that? She's staring at us."

  The woman on the left looked at Margaret. "I don't know. Never seen her before. God, look at all that black hair." They were close and quit talking.

  The elevator arrived. Margaret stepped in and held the door for the others. The two women entered. They all exchanged glances and smiles as the door closed.

  Others joined Margaret, and the two women, as they entered the ground floor lobby of the office tower. The two women walked off in the same direction talking about lunch. Margaret and others went toward the elevators servicing the twelfth floor.

  She left the elevator on the twelfth floor, entered the reception area and stopped just inside the doors. She took a moment to look around. It seemed different to her this morning maybe because she was part of it this time.

  The glass doors opened behind her. Three men came in together, all in business suits. One of them was Lawrence Casey. Blond and six-two, he was carrying a briefcase. His two friends were David and Ernie. Lawrence held the door for the others.

  David, motioning to Ernie, half laughing, said to Lawrence. "How can you take this guy seriously?"

  Ernie was taken back. "I'm hurt." He took Larry's arm. "How many times have I steered you wrong?" He released him. "Don't answer that."

  Margaret was in the way.

  Lawrence touched her on the shoulder. "Pardon us."

  She shuddered, turned quickly and looked at him. "I'm sorry..." The words hung in her throat. She lost her train of thought.

  For all her technical and social sophistication, one thing had remained unchanged from the dawn of her time, her need to respond to the chemical triggers telling her to mate.

  Margaret caught her breath and stepped aside. "Sorry. I... I didn't mean to block the way."

  Lawrence watched her face. She smiled. Her pale skin accented her dark eyes and jet-black hair. He was caught up in her presence. He wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

  She felt a primal urge that she quickly suppressed.

  David and Ernie walked around them and stopped to wait. David still wanted an answer from Lawrence. "Hey, you aren't gonna let this fool talk you into making this stupid bet are you?"

  Ernie stepped back and eyed David. "Stupid? They're two months into the season and they're five games over five hundred. The smart money says the Astros'll take it all this year."

  Lawrence
caught himself staring, returned her smile, and then rejoined his friends. "I'm thinking about it."

  The three of them continued down the hall. Ernie nudged David on the arm. "He knows a good thing when he hears it."

  David looked back at Margaret. "When he sees it too."

  Margaret was fixed on Lawrence and watched him disappear around a corner at the end of the hall. She stared for another moment, and then blinked. She continued, a little dazed, to the reception desk.

  The girl behind the desk looked up. "May I help you?"

  Margaret looked at her. "Ah, yes. My name's Margaret O’Donnell. This is my first day. I was told to report to a Mrs. Drake this morning."

  The receptionist checked her log. "Yes Miss O’Donnell, they're waiting for you. Down the hall, first door on the right."

  "Thank you." She followed the instructions to the first door on the right. She paused and watched the end of the hall for another second or two.

  On her world the female always made the first move. When she met someone her body told her she could bond with, she had to approach him. If the male agreed, the act of having sex brought about certain changes in both of them. They would never have the desire to bond with anyone else as long as they both lived. Because they mate for life, it rarely occurred outside their own species, but it wasn't totally unheard of. Genetically and physically she was compatible with humans. Funny thing about nature, when it finds something that works it usually sticks with it.

  She shook her hair, more to clear her head than anything else, and then checked her skirt and blouse. It was time to get down to business. She gripped her handbag, opened the door and went in.

  ***

  Lawrence's office seemed small. Well, let's face it; Lawrence's office was small. Paralegals didn't exactly rate corner offices. There were no windows and two of the walls were consumed by volume after volume of legal reference. His desk and chair, along with two other chairs and a credenza behind the desk, took up most of the floor space.

  The desk was covered with file folders, yellow legal pads and several reference books from his library. A computer terminal and keyboard occupied the right side. The credenza held a coffee maker and several framed photos taken during various backpacking trips.

  The only open wall held a large photo of him taken during a recent Kung Fu tournament. The picture caught him in the middle of a flying crescent kick. His folks had it blown up and framed as a birthday gift. It wasn't something he would have chosen to decorate the office, but allowances had to be made when it came from your parents.

  Lawrence entered his office. He dropped his briefcase into one of the chairs, walked around his desk, plopped down into his chair and leaned back. What was it about the woman out front? He couldn't get her out of his mind. Her face? Her hair? What? He glanced around at the coffee maker, took hold of the pot and the phone rang. Why was it, he thought, phones seem to have this inordinate sense of timing? He let go and picked up the receiver. "Larry..."

  The voice on the other end was telling him Philip Ward, one of the partners, wanted to see him in his office. "Okay, thanks." He hung up.

  Why hadn't he asked her name? Something... He got up and left his office.

  The coffee pots were beginning to do their part to jump-start the office. Lawrence made his way to Philip Ward's office. He was running on autopilot, returning the nods, smiles and mumbled greetings from the people he worked with. His mind flipped back and forth between the two-week vacation he'd start as soon as he disposed of the Caldweld suit and the young lady he’d just met up front. The door to Philip’s office was open. He knocked on the door case.

  Philip looked up. "Larry, come on in." He pointed to a chair. "Have a seat."

  Philip Ward was in his mid fifties. Graying more than his hair color indicated. He always had a disarming smile, which concealed the shrewdness of his nature. In the courtroom, he would dodge in and out of the gray areas of the law, skillfully molding the court's perception to his point of view.

  Lawrence stepped in. "Good morning. Got your message. What's up?" He took a seat.

  "This'll just take a second." Philip watched Lawrence across his desk. "Fill me in on the Caldweld preparations?"

  "I'll have it wrapped up by the end of the week."

  "What's left?"

  Lawrence was confused. His status report had gone in on Friday. "Half a dozen depositions. Some background. Didn't you see my report?"

  Philip took a moment to come back. "We just hired a new research assistant. I'm gonna assign her to you. She can help with the background."

  Lawrence thought, why do I suddenly need help? "I appreciate that, but I really don’t need..."

  Philip stopped him mid sentence. "I know how much you're looking forward to this vacation. God knows you've earned it. This new girl, they tell me she's got some kind of photographic memory. She can pull precedence out of her head quicker than you can get it out of the computer."

  Lawrence was curious. "What's her name? What does she look like?"

  "Margaret, I think. I've never met her. Give her a try. If you can tie things up sooner you can get an early start on that vacation."

  Lawrence wanted a compromise. Just in case it wasn't who he hoped it was. "Okay, but if she just gets in the way I wanta be able to change my mind."

  Philip smiled. "Sounds fair..."

  Lawrence got up and started for the door.

  Philip wasn't quite finished. "Larry..." Lawrence looked back. "I want to know if she's as good as they say she is."

  Lawrence gave him a thumps up and left the room.

  ***

  Margaret had been assigned a desk in an open office with five other women. The company's Research Assistants sometimes helped the Paralegals run down information, but their primary function was preparing the finished briefs that would go to the Attorneys, in other words typist or in this case the job description that filled in under her name, Data Processor.

  She walked down the hall looking for a Mr. Casey's office. The problem was there were no names on the offices, just numbers. The first occupied office belonged to a woman. She directed Margaret to the office at the end of the hall.

  Lawrence had reserved the entire day to recording at least some of the depositions he needed. He was on the phone with the client. "I can be there in say... an hour and a half.... Any place as long as it's private... Fine, I'll see you in a little while... Bye." He hung up the phone. He needed his small recorder.

  Margaret was a few feet from the office door. She paused. Her senses were very acute and her nose recorded something familiar coming from the doorway ahead of her. She hesitated, letting pass the emotional spike brought on by his scent. Why did it have to be him, on the first day?

  Lawrence made some notes to himself while trying to remember where he'd put that damned recorder. He was suddenly aware of someone standing in his doorway. He looked up.

  Margaret stood watching him. She glanced back down the hall. "There aren't any names on the offices. I hope you're Mr. Casey?"

  Lawrence caught himself staring. He blinked. "Yes..." He stood. "I'm Mr. Casey... Larry. Call me Larry." He stammered. "Come in. You must be Margaret?"

  She stepped in. "That's me, but if you're Larry I'm Maggie. I guess you were warned ahead of time?"

  "First thing this morning." That was stupid, he thought. "Well, I mean, I wouldn't say warned, exactly..." That wasn't much better. Having failed at introductions twice, all he could come up with was "Please, sit down."

  She sat in one of the empty chairs. He sat back down. He had another chance. "I saw you out front this morning. Your first day?”

  "If you count the interview yesterday, it’s my second. I'm still getting accustomed to things... What do you want me to do?"

  Lawrence put his hand on top of a stack of folders. "This is the Caldweld suit. It has to do with patent infringements. Our client is suing a Japanese firm. It's all here in the files." He glanced at the chair with the briefcase. "Would you hand
me the briefcase, please?"

  She leaned over, picked up the briefcase and handed it to him. He took it and placed it to one side.

  "Thanks." He took the top folder and opened it to a marked page. He turned it so she could see. "I've marked where we need legal precedence to support the law or our point of view... You need to supply the precedence. They say you're pretty good at that. Any questions?"

  She looked at the opened folder, the stack, and then him. "No, I don’t think so."

  "Great." He closed the folder, stood up and put the notes he'd started, in the briefcase.

  She stood up. "You seem to be getting ready to leave. If I have a question, who do I ask?"

  "Just call my cell." He removed a business card holder from his pocket and placed a card on the desk. “The number is on the card. I'll be taking depositions all day."

  He remembered where he put the recorder, removed it from a side drawer in his desk and dropped it into the briefcase. He walked around the right side of his desk. She moved around the other side, to his chair.

  "Feel free to use the coffee maker”, he said. “The stuff’s in the drawer. Did they show you how to access the database?”

  “Yes”

  “Personally, I still like the books."

  She sat down. "Me too."

  He walked to the doorway and paused. "Maybe, between the both of us, we can pull this together in a couple of days."

  She opened the file in front of her. "I'll do my best."

  He hesitated for a moment, wanting to say something else, but unfortunately he'd covered it all.

  She smiled. "I'll see you when you get back."

  He recovered his voice. "Right...”

  They were eye to eye for another second, a bead of sweat trickled down his brow. He absentmindedly wiped it away, took a deep breath and almost hooked his nose on the door case before making it safely into the hall.

  She watched the doorway for a moment. This burning urge she felt inside had been there only once before. He was killed before she could do anything about it. She hadn't felt it since, until now. The timing, and the species, was all wrong. It almost scared her enough to pick up and leave, almost, but not quite. She was supposed to be a trained professional. She could handle it. At least that is what she told herself.