Closed Doors

by Nancy Radke

  They walked out on the floor together. The hull of the first yacht stood encased in a mold that towered over them like a medieval church complete with flying buttresses—only instead of the buttresses being made of stone, these were steel and held the mold in place while the hull was being formed.

  "This one is one hundred and twenty feet long," Jared told her. "A retired airline CEO ordered her. He wants the interior to be wood, all the way through, although he didn't mind the hull being fiberglass."

  She looked up at the huge boat, in awe that a person could conceive and then build so marvelous a vessel. "Do people have them made to order, or just buy what you make?"

  "Old ones are refitted, new ones made to order. The owner chooses a marine architect and an interior decorator, both who work with us closely. He also hires a representative—his "rep," to stay here and oversee each part of construction. We assign each rep an office. You might have noticed the offices outside. They look like small portables."

  "And each rep has his own computer? Hooked up to mine?"

  He laughed. "Yes. Still having trouble?"

  She shuddered. "I’ll crash the whole system."

  "I don't think you can. Donna once told me things are pretty well backed up. There is an automatic save system in place, a tape of some kind."

  His confidence in her abilities, however unfounded, pleased her greatly. "That's good. We’ll probably need it."

  Laughing, he led her around to the next boat. "This yacht belongs to John Van Chattan. We're getting her ready to launch tomorrow. You'll enjoy watching that."

  Ellen craned her neck back to look up at the giant, resting on two solid cradles of steel. It did not appear to be getting ready to go anywhere. "She's so big. How do you move her?"

  "It's done with hydraulics. We have wheels which attach to those cradles. We pull the yacht out onto the wharf, then remove the wheels."

  She could hear sounds coming from inside. A worker waved to them from the very top, where he was cleaning windows.

  "Want to go inside?" Jared asked.

  "Could I?"

  "Yes. We'll have to hurry, though." He motioned her to proceed him up a set of steps placed beside the boat. At the top he handed her two paper slippers from a box sitting on the rail. "Put these over your shoes," he said, pulling one on one foot, stepping over the rail, then putting on the second. "We keep things as clean as possible."

  They were a little large for Ellen's shoes, but she walked carefully, following Jared inside.

  "Wow!" She had not seen homes as beautiful as this. The chrome reflected her image as she surveyed the aft deck dining area with its hardwood floor and tinted windows.

  "This is nothing," Jared claimed, leading her into the main salon, done in striking black lacquered wood and black marble, with gold fittings and golden lighting.

  "Keep coming," he said, laughing as she stood star-struck. He walked ahead down the hall, pointing out items of interest as they proceeded. Inlaid flooring of different colored woods, engraved marble tiles, built-in cabinetry of burly maple. The attention to detail overwhelmed Ellen's senses. The building of these boats required artisans, not ordinary workmen.

  "Now here's a room to blow your mind." Jared stepped aside for her to enter the master stateroom. A round bed sat in the middle and Ellen eyed it with longing. Her sleepless night had caught up to her, and she knew that if she yielded to temptation and collapsed on that bed, she would not get up for several hours.

  She actually took a step forward before she stopped herself. What would Jared think?

  He might join her. She could picture them together, side by side, Jared shifting his body close to hers, his hand cradling her head, kissing her with a passion that threatened to knock the yacht off the cradle.

  The image grew very vivid. It was what she wanted, desired with a strong desire, and her heart pounded in anticipation, a tango dancing along the base of her spine and up to her lips. She moistened them with her tongue, then pressed them firmly together, denying their need to touch his.

  She must not let him guess her thoughts. Her emotions were volatile, ready to burst forth and capsize her relationship with him.

  Over the bed, a circular trompe l'oeil skylight had been hand painted with flowers and cupids. A room made for love.

  Ellen wondered if the Van Chattans were going to honeymoon on this boat, and again her mind swung to Jared. Somehow all her thoughts returned to him.

  He stood just inside the door, smiling at her.

  "Like it?" he asked.

  "It's beautiful," she replied, tearing her gaze from the bed. A deep pile carpet covered the floor and a painting of yellow wheat fields dominated one wall. All was done in a soft beige with a shell-pink cast from the multitude of tiny lights sprinkled across the ceiling.

  Jared could tell she was delighted with the yacht; it gave him immense pleasure to show her around. "Watch this," he announced, moving over to a bank of light switches. As she stared at him he slid one slowly sideways and another slowly back. The lights changed, like twinkling stars, some gradually dimming, others becoming brighter. With each movement of the switches, the atmosphere of the room altered. The shell-pink tint changed, first to blue, then aquamarine, then green, as separate groups of colored lights were dimmed or brightened.

  They shone on her face, sweet and filled with the joy of the moment, reminding him of the stars shining down upon her in the Sea Sprite, her expression of pleasure rewarding his kisses. He ached to take her in his arms, kissing her under these artificial stars, bringing the soft sighs again to her lips.

  Those lips...moist and tender, slightly parted now as she smiled at him—a smile that shamed the cherubs looking down at them, bewitching him, filling him with a great need. He started to move toward her, feeling a connection between them, then stopped.

  This was neither the time nor the place. He had to learn to read first... to make himself whole for her. Now that he had her involved with the business, he could show her what he was capable of doing. Besides, there were workmen all over this boat... and they wouldn’t think to knock at a door.

  "How's that for different?" he asked instead.

  "Fantastic."

  "Mrs. Van Chattan couldn't decide what color she wanted the room, so I came up with this. I'd never seen it done before, but I contacted a stage designer and he told our electrician just what to do.

  "It's a wonderful idea, Jared."

  Pride swelled within him. Her praise meant more than a year’s paycheck, for he could hear the genuine ring to her voice, see the sincerity in her eyes. How wonderful she was! The room seemed to vibrate around them.

  Smiling back, Ellen was delighted that he wanted to share his invention with her. Like their trip on the Sea Sprite had done, this showed her another side of him; a man functioning outside the dark rooms of his house. A creative person, able to solve a problem successfully. He continued to astonish her.

  She could tell Jared loved his work. No wonder he was under such pressure. If he lost his place in this company, it would almost kill him. Where else would he find the success he had found here, in a job that required his talents?

  She vowed she would teach him, somehow. She had to. He had come so far, battling his way. She couldn't let him down.

  "The head has a Jacuzzi in it, shower, all the trimmings."

  Pushing her tiredness aside, Ellen walked over to view the marbleized splendor. "Would anyone dare use this?"

  He laughed as he joined her, reaching out to stroke one of a pair of brass lion towel rings, polished to perfection. "Kind of takes your breath away, doesn't it?"

  "I've never seen anything so opulent. I don't know if I could live in something like this, year around. I would feel like I was in a display case."

  "Most megayachts are spectacular, but a little more homelike than this one. The Van Chattans wanted pizzazz; something to knock your eyes out. I guess their home is beautiful, but toned down; they wanted an entirely different feel to the
ir boat."

  "They got it." So this wasn't a honeymoon yacht. Ellen glanced once more at the cupids. Maybe the Van Chattans were hoping to find a second honeymoon. She wished them luck.

  "By the way, I noticed you started to hover when Larry came in," Jared said. "I don't want you to worry about my handling things; just be available. I'll ask you, outright, when I need something read."

  His tone was slightly censoring, abrupt, as if critical of her actions and Ellen immediately became defensive, feeling hurt. "Of course," she said, amazed at the depth of her feelings, knowing that you can only be hurt deeply by people who are truly close to you. When had Jared managed to get such a hold on her emotions?

  She strove to make things sound a little lighter. "I guess I needed to see you in action once; now I know not to worry. I'm constantly amazed you've been able to keep your secret all these years. Hasn't anyone ever doubted you?"

  "Not that I know. I've had a few slips, like with Larry a month or two ago."

  "What happened?"

  "Nothing much. I was bluffing about the wrong paper, but he assumed he had given me the wrong thing to read, so apologized."

  "He doesn’t know?" she asked, suddenly alarmed.

  "Of course not. You didn't guess."

  Jared hurriedly showed her the galley and then the wheel house, as he was running out of time. Several men—all wearing paper slippers and looking like little elves—were checking over the galley equipment, making sure it was fully outfitted and ready to go. Jared introduced Ellen, then the two continued on.

  "The major items—such as the navigation system—were checked out long ago. The men are just making sure all the tiny details are taken care of now. They have a list so they don't miss anything."

  As they stepped outside, Jared removed their paper slippers and put them in a waste box. They descended to ground level and walked over to where they could view four other boats in various stages of construction.

  "Come meet the rest of the crew."

  Ellen did, shaking hands with everyone. Jared was proud of the business, and justifiably so. The Van Chattan's yacht was a perfect jewel.

  "What time is it?" Jared asked abruptly.

  "Eleven forty."

  "I'm gone, then. I'll be back at three," he said. "If you have any questions, page Larry on the intercom, or just leave it until I return." With that he walked out.

  Ellen stared at his departing figure, needing to go with him; her body empty where before there was a glow. She felt lost, deserted.

  Already, she was too attached to Jared. She knew it. But other than warn herself from time to time, there was not much she could do about it. She was in for a rough time when he no longer needed her.

  She had packed a brown bag lunch last night, not knowing what the arrangements were. She could eat it here, or drive to Gas Works Park. She might do so when the sun shone again, tempting her to relax and eat outside.

  She entered the office, noticing for the first time that the air conditioning was on. It felt artificial and uncomfortably cold on such a cloudy day.

  "Where's Jared?" Donna asked, looking up as Ellen entered.

  "He left; he had a lunch date with Bunny."

  "I hope he doesn't forget he's scheduled for another one at one-thirty."

  "He mentioned it. With Pat."

  "Good. He rarely forgets. He carries a beeper—I have the number written down here. Or do you have it already?"

  "No." Ellen was new enough in Jared's life; she did not know everything about him, although she wished she did. She was relieved that she could say something to deter Donna’s pre-conceived notions. "What should I do next?"

  "Practice on the computer some more before I leave, then break for lunch.

  Reluctant to struggle with the computer files, Ellen opened the mail, trying to sort the items into some order. Some were personal, she found out, as she opened one from a woman called Sharon.

  It contained a photo as well as a letter. Sharon was striking... no, more than that. She appeared sophisticated and rich and cover-girl beautiful, her ash-blonde hair streaked with highlights. She could have been the twin of the woman now engaged to Ellen's former boyfriend.

  There was no way Ellen’s red hair could compete with Sharon's; she had to face facts. The only reason Jared acted interested in her was because she was teaching him. Once he learned to read, he would drop her, just like her family, who called when they wanted something and ignored her the rest of the time. He would go back to his sophisticated women and she would be out the door.

  *12*

  Putting aside what could be unfair thoughts of the blonde beauty in the photograph, Ellen picked up the bill before her, then looked again at the envelope. She could not tell if Mark Allan was a supplier or a sub-contractor. The paper had Jared's signature on it, so she assumed he had handled it. She didn’t know if she should wait for him to return from his luncheon engagement, or try to file it herself.

  She opened Donna's book of instructions and searched through it. The name Mark Allen did not appear anywhere.

  After stapling the paper to its envelope, Ellen opened the filing cabinets for suppliers, then the one for sub-contractors. Finding the name in neither, she checked the customer file just in case.

  Nothing. Time to open a new file. This looked like it was from a supplier, so she decided to file it accordingly, and write herself a note to ask Jared about it.

  Finishing that task, she returned to the computer. Twenty- plus windows stared back at her, one on top of the other. Every time she tried to go from one window to another, she ended up with a new one. The computers she had used at the libraries never looked like this. She was doing something wrong, but did not know what.

  Frustration vied with the fear of losing everything in the files, especially if she turned the monster off and started over again, but she finally did just that, hitting the button Donna had pointed to. The motor died, then re-started when she pushed the button a second time. The monitor stayed black, with rows of short sentences passing so swiftly she could not read them. She had broken something for sure. And on her first day, too.

  Then, suddenly, the monitor changed to color and the basic array of icons appeared. The little mouse pointer shot off the screen and she wiggled it around until she had the arrow in the right direction.

  Now she had to find the file with the letter she was working on when Donna left. Ellen looked at the icons. Where were all the files and spreadsheets?

  And why was paper coming out of—she took a closer look at a nearby machine suddenly active—out of a printer? She had not even clicked on anything yet.

  "Jared in?"

  Ellen jumped. She had been so intent she had not heard Larry's arrival. "No."

  "How're you doing?"

  "Oh, fine.” She smiled cheerily up at him. “Except..." She pointed her finger accusingly at the printer, still printing. “Did I do that?”

  He leaned past her, glanced at the pages coming out. "No. I did.”

  She let out a sigh and he laughed at her evident relief. “Our computers are networked, you know. Several of us use that printer."

  “I thought I had done it... and I didn’t know how to turn it off.”

  “It’ll be through in a minute. Any other problems?”

  "Well... yes, there is. We have a bill from a person called Mark Allen. I didn't know where to file it."

  "That's a company, run by that person. File it with the suppliers. You'll need to put them in the books, too, and send out a check. Pay them ASAP, since that’s a small company and can’t carry us." He chuckled at her expression. “You’ll get the hang of it. Every company does it differently.”

  So anyone new would have her problems? She didn’t think so. Not as serious as hers could be.

  Larry stood over her, his body inches from hers. He had been working with wood; Ellen could smell the fresh scent of sawdust.

  "Open your main menu and I'll show you where to put it."

  �
��Uhhh...” She moved the pointer back and forth across the top of the screen, wondering how to do what he asked.

  “Look. Slow down. Hold your cursor on any icon for a second, and it’ll tell you what it’s for.”

  She did; it did. "Okay.”

  "That one," he said, pointing to an icon that looked like a dollar sign. He moved even closer, his breath fanning her hair as he talked. She edged slightly away but there was nowhere to go. He dropped one hand on her shoulder as he pointed toward the screen. "Use your mouse. Click on that."

  The mouse zinged across the screen a couple of times until Ellen got it under control and clicked the right spot. A blank screen appeared.

  "Open the file called supplier-hard," Larry said. "For supplier; hardware."

  "How?" she asked, wishing he would take his hand off her shoulder, but not quite knowing what to say to get rid of it. After all, he might not realize what he was doing.

  He pointed to the word "File" on the screen. "Put your cursor there. Click 'file' first, then 'open' from the menu."

  It was starting to make sense. Things were in sections, like a filing system. She just needed to access the right one. Glad for the help, but uncomfortable with his hand, Ellen wondered if she should just ask him to remove it. Still, she had to concentrate on what he was telling her, so she would not forget. He was going slower than Donna had, his explanations clearer. With Larry's help Ellen successfully entered a subfile and set up an account for Mark Allen.

  "Get used to opening new accounts. You'll be getting bills from new suppliers all the time. The owners choose their own architects and decorators that we work with. We pay them, then the owners pay us as each production level is finished."

  "Yes. Jared told me that." Just before he threw her to the sharks by leaving her on her own. Thank goodness Larry was taking some time with her.

  "Each owner uses a unique combination of suppliers. Some we've used before, some we've never heard of. As long as Jared's signature is on the bottom, it's been approved, so you can assume it's legit and cut a check."