More Than a Soldier

by Irene Onorato

  The intercom buzzed. “Yes, Mr. Plunkett?”

  “I forgot to tell you your lunch break is eleven-thirty to twelve-thirty. There’s no need for you to announce when you leave. All of us know you’ll be gone, and we make it a point not to schedule appointments during that time. The phone will roll over to the least senior associate and go up the ladder until someone takes the call. Any questions?”

  “No sir. Everything’s going smoothly, thank you.”

  “Okay then.” He buzzed in again. “By the way, good job so far.”

  “Thank you, sir. Guess I’ll be going to lunch in a few minutes. Do I have to punch a clock?”

  “No, we work by the honor system. All we ask is that you come and go according to schedule, and don’t abuse your break times. Do that, and we’ll get along just fine. Enjoy your lunch. I highly recommend the Chinese place on the corner. Best eggrolls in town.”

  Cindy retrieved her purse from a desk drawer. To leave without telling anyone seemed odd, but she hadn’t made the rules. Mr. Plunkett had.

  She located the Chinese restaurant, ordered a couple of eggrolls and took them down the street to a small park where several benches surrounded a single tree. As she uncoiled the last fold of the bag on her lap, a heavenly fragrance floated upward. The first bite lent credence to Mr. Plunkett’s endorsement. Best eggroll ever.

  Cindy devoured the last morsel and wiped the grease off her lips and fingers. She pressed Hank’s number on her smartphone. His greeting sounded more like, “Yellow” than “hello.”

  She smiled inside and out. “I’m on my lunch break and figured I’d call and give you the lowdown on my day so far.”

  “And? How’s it going, working-class woman?”

  “So far, so good. I’ve got forty minutes to kill before I have to go back to the office, and I’ve no idea what to do with myself. Might bring my Kindle tomorrow and start reading a new novel.”

  “That would keep you busy. Hey, Cindy—”

  “You mean Sassy, don’t you?” she corrected with a little laugh.

  “Yeah. Sassy. About last night.” Judging by his slow, audible breath another apology was on the way.

  “Don’t give it another thought.” If only she could take her own advice. She couldn’t stop thinking about it long after he’d left, not to mention waking up with thoughts of Hank still swirling in her head. If he hadn’t been wearing the same cologne as Eric used to wear, things might have turned out differently.

  “So, we’re good?”

  “We’re more than good. We’re great.” She got up and tossed the take-out bag into a trashcan. “I think I’ll take a walk, look around, and see if there’s anything interesting nearby. Talk to you later.”

  Cindy settled behind her desk a few minutes earlier than scheduled. Clients trickled in during the afternoon. She greeted and showed them to the appropriate offices. A steady stream of calls came in, and at times, all available extensions on the desk phone glowed red.

  The hands on the fancy wall clock moved quickly. In a little more than an hour, her first day on the job would be over. Sitting at a desk all day with relatively few responsibilities would eventually drive her crazy. But for now, a job was a job. Until something better came along, this would pay the bills.

  “Cindy?” Mr. Plunkett summoned over the intercom.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “We’ll be having a staff meeting in the conference room the rest of the day, and we don’t want to be interrupted. No exceptions. Send all calls to voicemail if you would, please. We may run past five, so if I don’t see you before you leave, have a good evening.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Plunkett. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”

  An hour of lonely silence passed. The phone had stopped ringing, and if she stood perfectly still, she had no trouble hearing the tick-tick-tick of the clock. Cindy perused the magazines that lay fanned out on the waiting area coffee table. Hunting, fishing, NASCAR, and dirt biking. Hmm. She might have to talk to the boss about getting something of interest to female clients.

  The phone rang. She hurried back to the desk. “Plunkett Financial Services, Cindy speaking.”

  “Connect me to Mr. Plunkett.” Closer to an order than request, the caller’s demanding growl gave Cindy a chill.

  She put on a smile, hoping her tone would match her face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Plunkett is in a meeting. May I transfer your call to his voicemail?”

  “If I wanted to talk to his answering machine I would have asked for it in the first place.” The man filled the line with indistinct mumblings. “If you can’t give me Plunkett, then connect me to Krueger or Bernstein.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. The entire staff is in a meeting, but if you prefer not to leave a voicemail, I would be happy to take a message.” Cindy searched through the drawers for a message pad and came up empty-handed.

  “Are you deaf? I don’t want to leave a message; I want to talk to a person.”

  She sat poised to jot a note on the back of an old envelope she found in her purse. “May I have your name, sir?”

  “No, you may not. I don’t have time for idle chitchat with a talking head.” The caller swore under his breath, but loud enough for Cindy to hear. “Be a good little girl and get Plunkett on the line.”

  If the brutish cad intended to rile her, his tactics were working. She sent the call to Plunkett’s voicemail and dropped the handset onto its cradle. “There you go, little boy. How do you like me now?”

  The phone rang again. Cindy glanced at the clock. Two minutes until five o’clock. She steeled herself. “Plunkett Financial Services, Cin—”

  “Not very smart, are you?” Him again.

  Unexplainable fear tingled the back of her neck. She glimpsed the clock once again. One minute until five. Close enough. “Hello? Hello? I’m sorry, but we seem to have been disconnected.” She hung up, snatched her purse from the desktop and bolted out the door.

  * * * *

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. From what you’ve described, the guy sounds like a garden-variety jerk.”

  Hank’s assurances alleviated some, but not all, of Cindy’s apprehension. She flipped her hair back and switched the phone to the other ear. “I don’t consider myself a jumpy person who’s easily scared, but for some reason this guy gave me the creeps. It’s hard to describe the feeling of foreboding that came over me when he called the second time. I practically ran to my car.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m at a convenience store close to home. I ran out of cereal this morning. Of course, I came in for one thing, and ended up with five items stuffed in my little carry basket.”

  “Isn’t that the way it always goes?” Hank chuckled.

  “I suppose, but. Ooh, would you look at that. Malted milk balls. Make that six items. I’m heading to the checkout now.” She heaved the basket onto the counter. “So what are you doing tonight?”

  “I’m going over to my parents’ for dinner. I’ll probably stay afterward and watch a movie with them.”

  “That’s nice. I wish I could do that kind of stuff with my mom and dad.”

  “So, why don’t you?”

  “They retired to Florida a few years ago. I never told you that? Hold on, I’ve got to pay my bill.” She covered the mouthpiece and handed the cashier a twenty. He set the change in her hand, thanked her, and started on the next customer’s order.

  “You still there, Hank?” She pushed the door open with her shoulder and went outside.

  “I’m here. Are you in the car yet—doors locked?”

  Cindy set her bags on the passenger seat, pulled the door closed and locked up. “I am now. Hank?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for being a good sounding board. I always feel better after talking to you.”

  “And I’m always glad to hear your voice.” Was he trying to put a sultry edge to what he’d said, or had she imagined it? Either way, Hank’
s words enveloped her like a hug.

  They traded good-nights and Cindy dropped the phone into her purse. She sighed. “Guess I’ll have to yank my own hair tonight.”

  Chapter 22

  “Cindy?” The intercom crackled to life as Cindy draped her jacket over the back of the office chair.

  “Good morning, Mr. Plunkett. I’m here, bright and early.” Ten minutes before starting time, at that.

  “Would you come to my office, please?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll be right there.” Yesterday’s feeling of foreboding returned with a vengeance. The last time an employer asked her to come to his office, she’d ended up on the unemployment dole.

  Mr. Plunkett’s door stood wide open. A kaleidoscope of colors streamed through two stained glass transom windows on each side of his desk. The beautiful array of tinted light frolicking on the far wall might have brought gasps of awe if not for Cindy’s deep-seated premonition of bad news.

  His face an unreadable slate, he waved her in and motioned for her to sit across the desk from him. “You did a good job yesterday. You’re pleasant, upbeat, efficient, and if you’ll forgive a man more than twice your age for saying so, a very nice looking young lady.”

  “Thank you.” The preamble of praise enforced the dread within. Surely a reprimand would follow.

  Plunkett folded his hands on the desktop. The tips of his tightly laced fingers turned crimson as if he were choking a thought, or mentally preparing for something distasteful.

  Cindy sat erect on the edge of her chair. “Does this meeting have something to do with the phone call that came in late yesterday afternoon just before quitting time?”

  “Yes, it does.” Mr. Plunkett’s chair rolled back as he made an abrupt push away from the desk. He stood and gazed out the window for several moments, his suit jacket pushed back and hands dipped into his pants pockets. “I hate having to do this.”

  Cindy’s fingers turned cold and stiff. She rubbed her hands for warmth. “You gave me specific instructions not to disturb the meeting under any circumstances, and I followed your orders. The caller was downright belligerent—even cursed at me when I wouldn’t get you on the line. I don’t like admitting it, but he scared me.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” Plunkett moved to the front of his desk and hitched one thigh on the corner. “He had no right to get nasty with you. Even when he’s on his best behavior he can be difficult to handle. Unfortunately, he’s one of our most influential clients.”

  “Give me his number, and I’ll call and apologize.” Not that she’d done anything wrong, but she’d lick the bottom of the creep’s shoe if that would save her job.

  “I wish it were that simple. You don’t know him like I do. He’s given me an ultimatum and I can’t afford to cross him.”

  “So, you, you’re firing me?”

  “I’m afraid I have no other choice.”

  * * * *

  Cindy tossed her purse on the kitchen counter, went straight to the couch, and belly flopped onto it. Air hissed from the pleather cushions. Or was that the sound of her self-esteem deflating? Yesterday Hank had called her a working-class woman. What could he call her today? An unemployed couch potato?

  She flipped over, folded her hands on her chest, and threw a leg onto the back cushion. What would she do now? Would her unemployment claim be null and void because she’d gotten a job, even if it lasted only one day? She’d have to call them later. Right now, she needed a good cry and a friend. She needed Hank.

  * * * *

  “Get to the point, Sassy. What happened when Plunkett called you into his office?” Hank clamped his jaws. The fact that Cindy said she was calling from home at nine forty-five in the morning was cause enough for concern.

  “He fired me.”

  “Fired you? On what grounds?”

  “Hank, you’re raising your voice again.” Softly spoken, her message served as a gentle reminder.

  “Sorry, with this deaf ear of mine I sometimes—”

  “It’s all right. I know, you can’t tell how loud you get.”

  “So, why’d he fire you?”

  “Because of a complaint from that rude caller I told you about. Evidently, he’s a client with a lot of money invested with the firm. Sounded like he threatened to pull up his stake and go elsewhere unless Plunkett gave me the boot.” Cindy sighed. “I guess you could say Mr. Plunkett was following the golden rule. That is, the man with the gold rules.”

  “I can’t imagine a single client wielding so much power over a business. Ridiculous if you ask me.” More than that, what kind of spineless man would allow a customer to treat an employee, especially a female, with such disrespect? “If you want some company, or need a shoulder to cry on, I can be over there in no time flat.”

  “That might be risky.” She emitted a mirthless laugh. “I’m in a face-punching, shin-kicking kind of mood. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I survived getting blown up. What more can you do to me?” Hank smiled. “Consider me your personal piñata. I’ll be heading your way in a few minutes.”

  “See you in an hour or so?”

  “Yup.” Or less, if he gunned it. “Want me to bring you some breakfast?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve eaten. I’m almost out of coffee, though. Would you mind stopping at Dunkin’ Donuts and picking up a couple of bags for me? The one near the Exxon station on Castleton Avenue is right on your way.”

  “No problem at all. See you in a bit.”

  * * * *

  The living room brightened as Cindy opened the blinds. Outside, Mrs. Baker’s brake lights flashed on and off as her car backed into its designated spot. Once parked, she got out, flipped open the trunk, and revealed a dark-colored box sitting inside.

  Cindy stepped out the door. “What’ve you got there, Mrs. B?”

  “My microwave conked out on me last night, so I bought a new one.” She bent into the trunk and started to pick it up.

  “Wait, Mrs. B, you’ll hurt yourself. Let me help with that.” Cindy set her phone on the porch rail and loped down the stairs. “I’ll get the box; you lead the way and unlock your door.” She lifted the crate. “Oof, this sucker’s heavy.”

  Cindy struggled with the unwieldy package and set it on the coffee table in Mrs. Baker’s living room. “We better take it out of the—”

  “Cindy, I just realized you’re here instead of at work. What happened?”

  Cindy straightened and came face to face with Mrs. Baker. Getting laid off was bad enough but didn’t carry the sting of shame like an outright dismissal. She could barely look her neighbor in the eye. “I got fired.”

  “What! But, why?”

  She repeated the story she’d told Hank.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. I had a bad feeling about that job. Didn’t I tell you something was amiss?”

  “Yes, you did. But don’t worry, I’ll find another job in no time. You’ll see.” Cindy smiled for the first time since being fired. The pep talk meant to cheer Mrs. B lifted her own spirits. Knowing Hank was on the way bolstered her mood even more. “What do you say we get this microwave out of the box and onto the counter?”

  “Let’s do it.” Mrs. Baker flexed her muscles. “Afterward, we’ll heave-ho the old one into the dumpster and make believe it’s Mr. Plunkett.”

  Cindy broke into a hearty laugh, and Mrs. Baker cackled with her.

  * * * *

  “Cricket, stay.” Hank ruffled Cricket’s fur and left her in the shady Jeep with the windows fully open. The brisk autumnal breeze would keep her plenty cool while he went into the café for a couple of minutes.

  Inside Dunkin’ Donuts, Hank pulled four bags of coffee off the shelf and added a large cup of joe and a French cruller to his order. Cindy might have already eaten, but he hadn’t. A snack would hold him over until lunchtime. He paid the bill and took a seat at an empty table.

  The cruller disappeared in a few chomps, and the first s
ip of coffee burned the tip of his tongue. Tendrils of steam snaked into the air as he pulled the lid off the cup. A newspaper sat unattended at the next table. He took it and started reading the headline story.

  The chair across from Hank screeched on the tiles, and Dexter’s look-alike dropped into it. Arrogance oozed from him like musk from a snake. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yeah, I know who you are.” Hank sat back, avoiding the alcohol-laden breath that hit him in the face, and tossed the newspaper back where he found it. “What are you doing here, Eric?”

  “I was passing by, saw that ugly Jeep of yours, and figured I’d come in and get a good look at the man who’s trying to muscle in on my fiancée.”

  “Cindy’s not your fiancée. Or have you forgotten the part where she told you to get lost?” Hank sat with his hands wrapped around the disposable cup. “Speaking of fiancées, maybe you ought to consider putting a ring on Belinda’s finger instead of Cindy’s.”

  “Now why would I want to do that?” Eric snickered. “Belinda provided a few cheap thrills, nothing more.”

  “What about the baby? Are you going to walk away from that responsibility or own up to it like a man?”

  “For your information,” Eric lurched his hips forward, scooting his chair closer to the table, “I gave Belinda seven hundred dollars to take care of that little problem.”

  “Oh?”

  Fire flashed in Eric’s eyes.

  Uh-oh. Mentioning Belinda’s pregnancy was a bad idea, especially if Eric thought she’d had an abortion. He’d better change the subject.

  Hank turned to stare through the plate glass window at Eric’s midnight blue pickup glistening in a sunny spot by the curb. “Nice truck.” It looked even better in broad daylight than it did under the streetlights after dark. Pity its owner was such pond scum.

  Eric followed his gaze with a quick glance. “You like it, huh?”

  “Yeah, I like your truck. It’s you I don’t like.”

  “I’m warning you.” Eric stood, curled his lip and leaned in. “Stay away from Cindy, or I’ll—”

  “Or you’ll what?”

  “I swear I’ll kill you.” The words spewed through Eric’s tightly clamped teeth.