by Mac Flynn
CHAPTER 4
Benson led me downstairs and down the hall away from the front door. He stopped in front of a door on our right. "This is my office. Care to have a look now or later?"
"Later. If we wait too long you may melt in that coat and there'll be nothing but a pile of sunblock left," I teased him.
He smirked and led on through the back door and out onto a large porch. It covered the entire back of the house, and there was a roof over us that slanted down to a large field of green grass that stopped at the edge of the corn and wheat fields around the property. Clumps of trees provided shade, and each one had their own bench that wrapped around the trunk. A winding path of gravel led from one bench to the other.
"It's simple, but I don't need much else but shade," he explained to me.
"It's a heck of a lot better view than what I have," I replied.
He raised an eyebrow. "What's the view like from your windows?"
"A bunch of other dingy apartment buildings with a fine view of a street corner frequented by prostitutes."
Benson cringed. "Any hope through those windows?"
I shrugged. "I see a lot of pigeons demanding food, but the alley cats usually scare them away."
"Sounds lovely."
"It's home."
"Are you sure you won't reconsider moving in temporarily with me?" he persisted.
I shook my head. "I'd only have to go back to my apartment in a week, anyway."
"You're so sure of that outcome."
"I'm just being pessimistic. Leads to less disappointment that way," I countered.
He smiled, but there wasn't any warmth in it. "That just hides the disappointment. You can never really escape your hopes and dreams."
I didn't like this mood; it put a cloud over us that warned of rain from my eyes. I gently pushed my shoulder up against his and smiled. "So is your profession as a philosopher or a businessman?"
Benson chuckled. "A little of both, but since the philosophy won't support me I'm forced to be a businessman."
I stepped out onto the green grass and glanced back at the fine old house; it didn't look so creepy from the back. Maybe I could convince him to turn it around. "Judging by the house I'd say you were pretty good at it."
"When you have little else to do but sit inside all day you have to focus your mind on something other than the window," he replied.
I noticed he still stood on the porch like a boy afraid to step his toes into water. I stepped up to the porch and held out my hand. "Come on, you need your walkies."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is this how you treat all your employers?"
"If I can get away with it."
"And you believe you can with me?"
"What are you going to do, fire me?"
"Good point."
Benson took my hand and I pulled him out into the sun. "See? Not melting or bursting into flames," I pointed out.
"You're not the one wearing the heavy coat," he countered.
"Then let's take a short walk over to that shade tree, fill up your tank of coolness and get to the next one." I yanked him along by his hand, and he followed with a laugh and a good step. He wasn't an invalid, just cautious about his archenemy, the sun. We reached the first bench, but neither of us sat down. Benson stood at the edge of the shade and looked out on the sunlight; his eyes had a sad look to them. "How long have you been like this?"
"All my life. It's a genetic condition where the sun causes blisters and severe itching."
I couldn't imagine living with such a terrible ailment. "And the only things that protect you are clothes and that sunscreen?"
"And even the sunscreen is a prescription. Anything over the counter is too weak to work," he replied. "The reason for my weakness yesterday was I was recovering from overexposure. Constance was in a terrible mood and refused to assist in the application."
Sievers had to be lesbian; that was the only way she could have refused to perform that delicious duty. "Ouch. So if you stay out of sunlight you're fine?"
"Perfectly."
"No wonder you don't believe the day exists before noon. You must be a hell of a night owl," I remarked.
He nodded. "Yes, I like to take walks and roam the garden."
I glanced up at the sky; the sun was really bright today. "Don't you think you should go inside? I mean, you don't really need to show me around the place, and I'm sure you have some sort of secretary duties you want me to do."
"I treat my secretaries as companions, in a platonic fashion," he assured me. I squashed down the disappointment. "That is why I couldn't give you firm hours when you asked for them."
"You'd probably be better with a male companion. We women can be pretty bitchy," I pointed out.
"Yes, but they keep me in line," he countered. "Though I admit I have turned away several who displeased me beyond even my patience."
"Like Miss Sievers?" I guessed, and he nodded.
"Yes. She had been with me for five years, and had come to believe she was the employer rather than me." He sighed and shook his head. "I must admit I'm not sure what I'll do without her. She was my chauffeur and manager."
I smirked when a realization hit me. "So that explains how you came to the diner. You were lost because she wasn't driving you."
He sheepishly smiled. "Perfectly and utterly lost."
The earth was ending; a man admitted that he wasn't the map. "It takes quite a man to admit he was lost. You've got a lot of guts just going out on your own in your condition."
He shrugged. "I needed a refill of my sunscreen, and I dislike having an unfinished chore at the end of the day."
"And you sure did pick a day to do it!" I laughed, remembered that wild storm.
Benson smiled. "Perhaps it was fate that brought us together."
"No, I'm pretty sure it was one hell of a lightning storm," I countered. I glanced at my watch and sighed. "If we're going to finish our little walk before that phone call we're going to have to start moving."
I dragged him along and he explained to me all the types of trees that stood in the yard and the flowers that sometimes edged the path. It was all riveting stuff for a botanist, but I was just a simple diner waitress and was glad when we wound our way back to the house. He looked glad to get out of the sun, and take off his heavy coat and hat on the porch. We stood there for a few quiet moments and enjoyed the coolness of the shade. "I must have bored you a great deal to make you so quiet."
"You don't pay me to talk, do you?" I wondered.
"I don't believe we discussed money at all for this experiment. I can pay you the full salary if that's what you want," he offered.
"If you really want to." I couldn't turn down easy money.
He grinned. "Would a very nice salary guarantee your staying here?"
I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest. "That depends on whether I like it here or not. You could pay me all the money in the world, but if I'm not happy I won't stay."
"Then you're happy working at that diner?" he wondered in surprise.
"I'm comfortable with what I do and the boss won't dare fire me. He knows the place would blow up if I wasn't around to keep Sheila from accidentally turning on the kitchen stoves." I looked him up and down, and grinned. "Besides, you meet some pretty interesting people at those places."
He glanced down at himself. "At least unusual, but I see on your watch that it's almost time for my meeting. If you don't mind I'd like to be alone during the phone conversation."
My prayers were answered; I wouldn't be bored to tears listening in on a stodgy business meeting. "That's all right, I'll just look around the house. If you don't see me in an hour send in a rescue party."
"I promise to lead the party myself." Benson surprised me by lifting my hand to his lips and planting a soft, warm kiss on my skin. "Adieu for now, my Angel."
I stuttered out a nonsensical reply and he left me for his business. I didn't recover from th
e shock for a few minutes, and when I did I found my face was beet-red and the hand he'd kissed shook. I pressed it against my chest and fervently shook my head; I had to snap out of this schoolgirl attitude. He was just fond of me for being so nice to him, that's all. The poor fellow probably hadn't had a conversation with a stranger in years.
I opted to stay out of the creaky old house to keep from interrupting, or becoming a participant in, the phone meeting. Instead I wandered around the side of the house and came out at the circular driveway. At that moment I heard wheels on the gravel and saw a fancy black car pull up behind mine. A tall man of forty-five with gray-swept hair and a fancy suit stepped out. He frowned first at my car, and then at me when he noticed where I stood beside the front porch. "Hello there," he called out to me.
"Hi," I called back, and stepped out of the shadows of the house to greet him. I was Benson's secretary, after all; you couldn't spell secretary without security. Well, actually you could, but I felt a little possessive of my employer. He was a nice guy, after all. Yeah, that's it... "Can I help you?"
"I wanted to know if it was true that Constance Sievers quit this morning," he wondered. He was giving me a careful look-over that made me slightly hostile to him.
"I'm not sure what happened, but Mr. Benson is in a phone meeting and can't talk right now. If you'd like to leave a message with me I can give it to him," I assured him. I felt so grown-up talking to the guy like that; it almost made me squeal.
He firmly shook his head and shot down my self-importance. "If it's true that Miss Sievers is no longer in his employ then I must see who is."
"Well, I'm kind of in his employ right now," I replied.
The man blinked in bewilderment. "You?" He leaned his tall frame toward me and I leaned my short one back. "How old are you, Miss-?"
"Calhoun." And old enough to know he was invading my personal space.
"What is your age, Miss Calhoun?" he rephrased the question.
"Astral or physical?" I countered.
The poor man had another look of confusion on his face. "Astral?" he repeated.
"Yes. In a past life I was a three-legged dog."
"Cecil!" a voice cried from the porch, breaking off our weird conversation. Our heads snapped over to the front door and we saw Benson standing at the edge of the steps just out of the sunlight. He didn't look happy to see the man named Cecil. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Cecil straightened, and frowned at Benson. "I was informed by the secretarial service that Miss Sievers had quit her job."
"Not quit, fired," Benson corrected him. "And I won't need you to find me another. This woman here will suit me perfectly."
Poor befuddled Cecil whipped his head between us, and pointed an accusatory finger at me. "This girl? You wish to have this girl as your secretary?"
"Why not? If she's been talking to you for a few minutes she must have some spunk," Benson pointed out.
I puffed up at the praise; Cecil withered me again with his glare, and he shot one at Benson so murderous I don't know how the bullet deflected off him; it must have been his stoic manner. "We must have a discussion immediately," Cecil demanded.
Benson stepped aside and swept his arm toward the open door. Cecil stomped in, and Benson turned to me. "You can stay out here if you wish, or come inside and explore the house."
"Explore the house, I think Cecil just wilted all the flowers out here," I quipped.