He hadn't e-mailed yet today. It was only 11:15, but they usually exchanged at least a line or two first thing in the morning. But then, what could she expect? The night before, he'd made a move on her and she'd recoiled like his hands were made of banana slugs. Admittedly, not her finest moment, but surely Dominick had to know how attracted she was to him. To her, it seemed painfully obvious that the man's mere presence sent her into a manic state. Even if he couldn't feel her heart beating like she'd just run five miles, or the abnormally humid condition of her body.
Well, at the very least, she wanted to keep Dominick as a friend. That much she was sure of.
Chapter 5
Lonnie walked quickly to Macey's office. She'd just sent Dominick an e-mail asking him if he wanted to go to happy hour at Whiskey's on Friday night. It was three days ahead of time, but she didn't want him to make other plans. Plus, she figured the sooner she did Rattlesnake damage control, the better.
Lonnie knocked on Macey's door. Although Macey was supported by a paralegal, she hadn't had her own administrative assistant since her last one abruptly left the firm a year ago. "Come in." Macey's voice had a sultry, throaty quality that Lonnie wondered if men in the office had noticed.
"Hi, Macey. You wanted to see me?" Lonnie crossed the plush, lavender-pink threshold into Macey's immaculate office. Macey sat behind an ornately carved teak-wood desk, her blue eyes glowing with the reflection of light off her thin silver laptop.
"Yes, hi. You can close the door. Please sit down." She motioned toward the royal blue, high-backed chair facing her desk. The first time Lonnie sat in it, she noticed that it was surprisingly soft, despite its rigid appearance. Sort of like Macey herself, maybe. Lonnie wasn't sure yet.
Macey closed her laptop, folded her hands on her desk, and smiled at her. "First of all, how have you been? I realize I haven't been in the office much in the past two weeks." Lonnie lit up, and knew it was borderline ridiculous. But Macey always projected a kind of invincibility that was awe inspiring. And being beautiful only added to her radiant presence. Lonnie replied humbly, "I've been okay. I'm just trying to solve the catering problem for the party next week."
Macey furrowed her dark blonde eyebrows and, with businesslike concern, she asked, "What catering problem?"
Lonnie waved her hand casually—not wanting to appear overly martyred—and said, "Oh, well it's not the end of the world or anything, but the Twit—uh, I mean, Beauregard—just told me yesterday that now he wants Chinese food for the party. I know I have to cancel the caterer we already booked, but yesterday I left messages at four different catering companies, and no one's gotten back to me yet. Sorry, I don't mean to complain—"
"I see. This has to do with Lyn Tang, I presume?" Lonnie thought she saw the beginning of an eye roll, but then Macey seemed to catch herself, and her face returned to inscrutable. "Let me give you a number," she said, and pushed some of her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. Normally Lonnie would loathe being pitied, but somehow it felt fine at the moment, as Macey rooted through her desk drawer looking for the number. Finally, she pulled out a gold business card.
"Here," Macey said, handing the card to Lonnie, who rose off the chair to take it. "Make sure you speak with Meijing personally." Lonnie looked down and saw that the card was for Bunker Properties. Before she could question it, Macey explained, "Meijing is a Realtor but she's also an unbelievable cook, and she will make the time to do this for you. Make sure to mention my name, and tell her I'll take care of any and all expenses promptly."
Lonnie nodded. "Okay. Thanks so much. Is she a friend of yours or...?"
"Yes, Meijing and I are friends, in a manner of speaking. I'd call her myself, but I think you should do this. You'll make a connection that way."
Lonnie nodded again, probably too eagerly, but what else was new? "But you shouldn't cover her expenses."
Macey smiled. "Oh, don't worry, Twit and Bell will be paying in the end, but in the short run, we can't have Meijing worrying about money." She rolled her desk chair over to the minifridge near the plate-glass window. She grabbed a Snapple for herself, and one for Lonnie, and rolled back to her desk. "Now, the next issue is: do you think you would have time for an extra project? And please, be candid about your time constraints and previous obligations."
"I'd love a project!" Lonnie offered, too quickly to appear candid about her constraints and obligations.
"Oh, terrific," Macey said, and sighed with relief, which was uncharacteristic of her usual fortress-like demeanor. Could it be that she was the only person at Twit & Bell who Macey Green considered a friend? Warm self-approval flooded Lonnie's chest, as she waited to hear about the latest project.
"Okay, now this would have to be done very discreetly, and kept between the two of us." She held up a small spiral notebook and lowered her voice. "In this notebook, I have outlined several hypothetical case scenarios." She flipped open to the first page. "You will see that I've listed a group of citations next to each scenario." Lonnie nodded. "Each citation correlates with a real, precedent-setting case that is documented in The Black Book. Are you familiar with The Black Book?" Lonnie nodded again, recalling the fat legal encyclopedia in question. "Wonderful," Macey said. "What I need is for you to look up each citation and write down the name of the case it references. Does that make sense?"
Lonnie processed her assignment. "Yes, I understand."
"I realize it's not glamorous, and believe me, I would do it myself if I didn't have too much on my plate as it is." She set down the notebook and refolded her hands. "Let me know your thoughts, Lonnie."
Well now that she mentioned it... Lonnie thought the assignment was a little strange. It wasn't that it would be difficult, but it just seemed odd. After all, if Macey had written down the citations in the first place, wouldn't she know what cases they referred to?
"It's not just that I'm too busy," Macey amended. "I trust you; you are obviously very intelligent." Lonnie felt her cheeks glow with a proud, rosy pink. She trusts me. She thinks I'm intelligent.
"I'd love to help. If I can. I mean, I'll see what I can find."
"Great." She sighed again, sounding relieved and grateful.
Lonnie stood to go, with her Snapple in one hand and the spiral notebook in the other. Macey asked, "By the way, how much longer are you going to be with us?"
"Well, I was hoping to line up a teaching position for next fall," Lonnie replied. "But so far there's been no word. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere yet."
She'd meant the last part lightheartedly, and was surprised when Macey muttered, "I doubt I'll be here that long." Then she motioned to the notebook. "Let me know what you turn up."
"Yeah, sure, of course. By the way, when do you need it done?"
Macey thought for a second, and said, "How does the end of next week sound? And, Lonnie, remember what I said. We have to keep this confidential, so it would probably be a good idea not to have that notebook lying around." Macey's tone was back to cool and businesslike, but when her blue eyes locked with Lonnie's, they betrayed a certain urgency.
"Okay. I'll just go put this in my bag right now."
"Now don't leave on my account." It was Lunther Bell. And he was slowly pushing the door all the way open. Except Lonnie remembered shutting it. Did she leave it ajar by mistake?
The door finished opening and revealed Lunther's full-size form. "Pardon me, ladies," he continued in the same I'm-just-a-Southern-bumpkin style. Lunther often seemed to forget that he was from New Jersey. His eyes, Lonnie noticed, immediately zeroed in on the spiral notebook in her hand.
How much had he heard?
Lunther said, "I just wondered if I could have a word or two with you, Macey. About a legal matter, a'course." Translation: beat it, ignorant temp. Lonnie could take a hint. She politely excused herself and left Macey's office.
* * *
The good news Thursday morning was that she got a seat on the 8:15 T. The bad news was that it was the first seat by the do
or, which meant if anyone boarded who looked more "in need" than her, it would be Lonnie's civic duty to give up the seat. Please don't let anyone handicapped or elderly get on. Please no crutches or canes or pregnant ladies. She had a splitting headache—the only cure for which she figured was Starbucks—and Beauregard was scheduled to be back in the office today. She decided she could use a little fortification.
Lonnie leaned her head back against the wall of the T, right under a poster for adult education that read: Are you tired of your life? She closed her eyes and thought back to the night before. She and Peach had gone to dinner at their parents' town house in Brookline.
On the T heading there, Lonnie had issued a warning to Peach that if their mother annoyed them—excessively more than usual, that is—it was going to get ugly. Of course Lonnie adored Margot, who was actually a near-perfect mother. She was super-affectionate, and had the self-sacrificing thing down pat. Unfortunately, she was a little bit of an overachiever when it came to that nagging-about-things-you-already-know-but-are-trying-to-forget part. And Lonnie could always count on her to hit the basic talking points. Point one: career update. Point two: husband-prospect update. Point three: you-have-such-a-pretty-face-and-if-only-you'd-just-lose-fifteen-pounds pep talk. Oh, goodie.
Occasionally, Margot tried to be subtle. For instance, instead of making a direct comment about Lonnie's weight, she'd just serve her smaller portions than everyone else, and slice her a super-thin piece of pie for dessert. Then she'd conversationally say things like, "So, I hear Delta Burke's lost some weight." But Lonnie was no fool, and she knew the way her mother's mind worked. Margot figured that if her daughter slimmed down a bit, she'd gain the kind of confidence needed to secure a prosperous career—not to mention, a successful man. Her mother meant well, but Lonnie just didn't share her oversimplified, reductive reasoning.
The night pretty much went the way she had expected. As soon as she and Peach walked through the door, Margot captured each in a loving bear hug and called to their father who was in the other room. "Jack, the girls are here."
"Nazi storm-trooping pigs!"
Okay, so he was watching the news.
"Jack!"
"They're stealing your freedoms! Does anyone even care? They're stealing your freedoms!"Margot waved her hand and shrugged: in dismissal. "He's watching his news shows. Jack, I'm putting dinner out in five minutes!"
"Yes, fine, " he answered in a very put-out voice, as if she'd been telling him that most of his adult life.
Four minutes later, Margot put out dinner: baked rigatoni with garlic bread and broccoli on the side. Lonnie skipped the broccoli, although she did accept her puny portion without question... or furtive augmentation. The truth was, despite her regular slips, she was trying to watch her weight. But not for any other reason than lifting her own mood. She could deal with curvy, and had accepted that she would never be skinny, but chubby just wasn't comfortable to lug around every day. She wasn't there yet, but she didn't feel all that far from it.
There had only been one point when Margot was more direct than usual. Point two. Over dessert, she'd flat-out asked: "So, Lonnie honey, where's this relationship with Terry going?" Of course, Lonnie didn't have much of an answer. Somehow, saying "nowhere, that's the point" isn't the best way to pacify your Catholic mother. So Lonnie just circumvented the issue, which she'd had a lot of practice doing in her own head anyway. Sure, Terry was a great kid, but—wait, did she just think of him as a kid? This was worse than she thought. Terry was only twenty-five and a silly comedian, and now she thought of him as a great kid?
The T came to a jerking stop, and Lonnie hopped off the train, bustled past the panhandler who was hitting an overturned bucket again and again with no variation, and walked quickly down the street to Starbucks.
"Venti, double soy, decaf cappuccino, no foam," the man directly in front of Lonnie ordered brusquely. "A grande, caramel macchiato, with skim milk. Light on the whipped cream. And a tall Americano. Don't leave room for milk."
The cashier nodded curtly, and hollered to the drink maker: "Venti, double soy, decaf cappuccino, no foam! Grande, nonfat caramel macchiato, easy whip! Tall, no-room Americano!"
The drink maker echoed fiercely: "Venti, double soy, decaf cappuccino, no foam! Grande, nonfat caramel macchiato, easy whip! Tall, no-room Americano!"
The man moved to the side to wait for his drinks, and Lonnie went up to the cashier, who appeared so expectant and poised to shout, it threw her. "Uh, a grande coffee," she ordered, and watched the cashier's crestfallen expression as he quietly filled her cup. She paid and took her coffee, but just as she was turning to leave, the first man was whipping around with his drinks, and bumped into her. Of course. Luckily, she was able to jump out of the way quickly, and her ice-blue coat was spared, as a big splash of soy cappuccino landed on the floor next to her feet. Her wooden heels weren't as fortunate as her coat, but she could deal with that later. She gave the man her best "you idiot" scowl, and left.
As she walked the one block to her office, she started to feel great about how she'd just avoided a disastrous incident. It was a mini-adrenaline rush; she was practically whistling by the time she got to the twenty-third floor. Heading toward her desk briskly, she glanced at the clock on the wall: 8:43. She was early, too? Fabulous.
Just as she was thinking her day wasn't off to a bad start, her soy-stained wooden heel caught on the now-annoyingly plush lavender-pink carpet, and Lonnie stumbled. Instinctively, she reached forward to grab her desk for support, and half of her coffee spilled onto the newly cleaned desktop.
"Fuck!" she exclaimed louder than she would've intended if she'd thought about it before it flew out of her mouth. Luckily, she was early and the office was quiet. The one thing she had noticed since she'd started working at Twit & Bell was that while lawyers did stay very late, they often didn't come into work till after nine thirty or ten in the morning. Lonnie tossed her precious, nearly martyred coat onto her leather chair, and went to the kitchen to get some paper towels.
The kitchen was pathetic. Delia usually took care of everything—stocking the drawers with napkins, coffee filters, tea bags, and Sweet 'N Low, not to mention making the coffee every day. For the past week or so, though, Delia seemed to have abandoned the task. Now, Lonnie noticed, there were no paper towels in the rack, or napkins in the drawers.
She headed down the hall to the supply room, where all the paper goods were kept, and as she approached, she heard faint voices. One of them was definitely Lunther's, whose office was next door. Lonnie ignored what she was sure was pointless blather—i.e., Lunther's specialty—and let herself into the walk-in supply closet. Once inside, her balance wobbled slightly as she tried to reach the fourth shelf for the rolls of paper towels. The other voice in Lunther's office got louder, and suddenly became clear. It was Macey Green's.
"Don't you dare threaten me," Macey said. What? Lonnie instantly panicked, because she shouldn't be overhearing this conversation, but there was nowhere for her to go without bringing more attention to herself. Obviously, Lunther and Macey hadn't noticed that someone was in the supply room right next door. She tiptoed her soy heels over to the door and started closing it, because the last thing she wanted was for Macey to walk out of Lunther's office and see her standing right there.
Just as she was nudging the door closed, she heard Macey's voice more clearly, as if she were suddenly closer. She had to be at Lunther's doorway, on her way out. Lonnie froze. Impulsively, she decided to stay hidden behind the half-open door and wait till Macey left.
"I've made it very clear—" Lunther began.
"So have I, and at this point, you should be the one who feels threatened."
"Look, Macey—" he growled in an angry voice that Lonnie had never heard him use.
Macey cut him off, in a more impassioned voice than Lonnie had ever heard her use, "Don't fuck with me, Lunther. Or your diapered balls will end up in a sling!"
Diapered balls? It was times like this t
hat Lonnie wished she were more sexually experienced so she would be familiar with all the terms.
Then Macey's voice changed back to cool and even. "Figuratively speaking, of course, since I wouldn't touch them with a ten-foot pole covered in latex."
"You bitch," Lunther snarled.
"Just you remember: you've been warned." And with that, Macey walked down the hall, in the opposite direction from the supply room, thank God.
Lonnie released a barely audible sigh of relief, and crept back to the shelf for paper towels. She could only reach high enough to grab one roll, but that was fine as far as she was concerned; she just wanted to slip back down the hall unnoticed. Just as she was stepping out and silently shutting the door, an abrupt noise shattered the silence. It sounded like an off-key horn blast. Another one sounded. Then another—oh, no. Her jaw dropped in horror. It couldn't be! But, it was. Lunther was passing gas—and with abandon.
She contorted her upper body to steal a peek into Lunther's office. From where she stood, she could see a beefy hand grabbing a can of Lysol off the desk. Spritz, spritz. Horn blast. Spritz. She shut her eyes and shook her head in disbelief.
Chapter 6
"Hey, are you taking lunch today?" Matt Fetchug stopped at Lonnie's desk wearing his characteristic cocky grin. He was actually very cute, with medium brown hair and a nice build... not that she was really looking. He had the kind of generic-handsome look that many women liked. Lonnie glanced up from her computer screen and smiled at him.
"I don't think so," she answered. "I have to finish doing this PowerPoint presentation for Twit. I've got four more slides to go, I think." Earlier that day, she'd made arrangements with Meijing, who'd agreed to cater the holiday party. It had been fabulously easy; she'd simply described the function, gave an estimated number of guests, and Meijing promised to take care of the rest. Lonnie had thanked her profusely and groveled unabashedly, even though it hadn't seemed necessary.
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