The twinkling, lopsided smile moved towards him through the crowd. She moved nimbly, almost dancing across the concrete platform. He was standing stock still, watching her, and only when she was less than five metres away did he realise that she was coming up to him. She was about five and a half feet tall, but seemed taller. Her legs were long and slender. As she approached, he could see her ankles as the dark green dress fluttered in the wind. Somehow, he suddenly felt a little afraid. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He didn't know why. But the closer she got to him the more he felt himself tense up. Then, as he tried to fathom the reason for his nervousness, she was standing right beside him.
“Hi,” She said.
Her voice was light and soft, musical and lilting. Her head tilted slightly to the side on her delicate neck as she spoke and the pirate smile - was that the right phrase to describe her smile? - had returned. She seemed shy and confident all at once.
“Hi there,” he said, “How can I help you?”
“I'm Megyn,” she seemed to ignore his question, “I was watching you getting off the bus.”
He expected her to say more, but it didn't come. It seemed that as all that Megyn had to say for herself. Her expression was one of calm satisfaction. She stood less than a foot and a half from Sloane, smiling quietly. He could smell the delicate jasmine fragrance of her perfume.
Her dress looked more like a summer dress than something that was suited to this weather. Megyn Alexander did not have a coat, even though it was bitterly cold. Jack Sloane stared at her for a long time, absorbing her as she gently swayed back and forth in front of him as though listening to some music that he could not hear. Her emerald eyes seemed to match the dress, though they were slightly darker. They sparkled with hidden secrets and a dark mystery. Her mouth had a cute lopsided smile and her lips were slightly parted. Each breath was a slow, deliberate mist that formed fogged around her face. Her lips looked moist and soft, inviting and carefree. The smile kept Sloane wondering, kept him staring. She seemed to find everything mildly amusing. Yet, there was a hint of sadness to her expression. And her countenance, somehow, had a hint of the ancient.
He was still stunned and nervous, but he had the sudden impulse to laugh. it seemed so ridiculous that such a beautiful woman would come up to him and introduce herself so enigmatically.
“You're Megyn,” Sloane nodded, “I'm Jack Sloane. I saw you coming towards me. I... ah...”
“I made an impression on you?” she smiled with a sly cheekiness, “I did, didn't I?.”
“Yes,” Sloane breathed, “I.... uh... I guess you could say that,” he laughed hollowly and then coughed into the loose fist he'd made of his right hand, “I... what can I do for you?”
She smiled strangely and he looked deeply into her eyes. He felt something stirring within himself and he felt he needed to cough again. His throat was dry. He licked his lips unconsciously and they were dry too.
He had the strangest feeling that the woman in the green dress might reach out towards him at any moment. Her cool green eyes seemed to sparkle and he felt that she might, at any moment, reach out with her hand to touch his face. She didn't, but he still felt that - somehow - she wanted to.
Her eyes were unblinking, he realised. They surveyed his face with a penetrating thoroughness that he found almost encroaching.
“Nothing,” Megyn smiled, revealing perfect white teeth, “I just wanted to stand here beside you for a moment. I like things that are familiar.”
“I’m familiar to you?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
He felt something strange. Something warm and something a little frightening. He looked into Megyn’s large, unblinking emerald eyes. He opened his mouth and tried to think of something to say. It took him a few seconds. By the time he spoke, Megyn was turning to leave.
“I don’t understand.” He said.
“It’s alright,” she smiled back at him over her shoulder, “For the most part, I don’t either.”
He laughed loudly, hoping that she had made a joke. He hoped that she would turn around. But she kept walking. Then, in a breath, she had disappeared into the throng. He stared at the crowd for a few seconds, looking for the dark green dress and the slender long arms. But Megyn Alexander was completely out of sight as if she had never been there. He stared at the crowd for long seconds and his tired eyes slid out of focus. He closed them and squeezed his temples, releasing a long drawn out sigh.
Pamela buzzed and made him jump. He picked her out of his pocket and frowned at her screen.
“Damn it, that always makes me jump!” he growled. Her simple features looked like she was sorry. Then he smiled and let a small laugh escape his lips. Pamela's face became a cartwheeling string of multi-coloured lines before settling into a calmly smiling demeanour.
“Sorry,” Pamela said, “But the interview starts in about ten minutes. You'll need to get a taxi or you'll be late.”
“I'll need to be late,” Sloane sighed, “Can't afford a taxi. But thanks, Pam.”
The half mile walk to the Jolly hotel was uneventful. The morning was turning colder as the day progressed. Within two minutes Sloane had left behind most of the sea of faces that moved in and around the bus station. The scene was icily serene. After another two minutes he'd practically left the bustle of the city altogether and marched briskly towards the hotel with only a handful of people heading in the same direction as he and even less coming the other way. He remembered the street as being busier and much more lively. But he had been younger the last time he had been here.
It was almost eleven o'clock by the time he arrived at the hotel. He was late, but the interviewer was somehow not ready to see him. He waited in the hotel lobby for fifteen long minutes. He thought about Paul and the orchard. It hadn't meant that much to Paul. Except for the one tree. He wondered how much it had grown and then he had to take a magazine to read as the sadness overwhelmed him like a heavy blanket of cold misery. All the while the receptionist eyed him suspiciously as she adjusted her makeup and changed the colour of her hair. Eventually it was time for the interview to begin. The receptionist gave him a thin smile and told him tom proceed through the double doors. He did so and was met by a tall and thin man with a bony handshake. The meeting room was less than a few metres from the double doors. They walked in silence towards the door, which still had the shadow of the old room number 12A. But the room inside was nothing like Sloane remembered.
There was a cheap woof effect desk with two drawers and a black leather effect chair. The interviewer sat behind this. He hadn't introduced himself yet or even said a word to Jack Sloane. Sloane found one of three swivelling operator chairs and dragged it across so that he could sit opposite the younger man, facing him.
Jack Sloane looked into the interviewer’s eyes. He smiled and nodded.
“Thanks for coming in at such short notice. I'm David Chalmers. I'm a human resources manager for Spaceway Enterprises. Can you tell me what you know about Spaceway Enterprises?”
Sloane nodded casually.
“Well, I didn't know too much until last week,” he admitted, “But I've done a little research - or homework, if you like - and I know now that Spaceway Enterprises flies medium and large cruise and freight ships out of the Seattle, Glasgow, Albuquerque and Montreal starports.”
The young man nodded and his expression showed that he was a little impressed.
“Don't forget New Delhi,” Chalmers grinned. “We're running semi-automated freighters from New Delhi, as of August. Now, it says on your resume that you worked with FourGen for… eighteen months. What kind of work?”
FourGen was one of the six programming languages mentioned on Sloane’s resume. It was one of the two that he’d added there to make his resume look better. He had never written any programs using the FourGen language before.
“It was a long time ago,” Sloane said almost incriminatingly. He could feel his face getting brighter. The younger man seemed to stare penetratingly. Sloan
e ran a hand through his thick flame coloured hair, “It was a PerzComm billing system,” He breathed, eventually.
“Sigmatel?” David Chalmers stacked some papers together on his desk, “Votel?”
Chalmers breathed loudly. A long low sigh. He was tired, Sloane thought. His eyes flicked down to Sloane’s hands and stayed on them for a second. Sloane’s fingers were knitted together, his knuckles white.
“Farrcomm,” Sloane answered. He had worked with the Farrcomm mobile computing service provider before - but not as a developer.
“Yes,” Chalmers examined his notes, “Did you enjoy it?”
Chalmers didn’t make eye contact with Sloane and Sloane watched the top of dark haired head as Chalmers continued to regard his notes. There was a long pause as Sloane considered the question. He didn’t know how to answer it.
“I guess so,” He said, “It was interesting…”
Chalmers laughed lightly and smirked on one side of his face as he looked up and deep into Sloane’s eyes. Chalmers’ own dark brown eyes were cool and thoughtful whilst Sloane’s blue green eyes were narrow and suspicious.
“Interesting, huh? Sounds bloody boring to me.”
Sloane blinked. Chalmers’ tanned face was unmoving. His smile was still present. A thin lopsided line above his slightly pointed chin. Then there was a tiny yet unmistakable nod and an almost imperceptible twinkle of the eyes. Somehow, Sloane knew in that moment that he could relax.
Chalmers sat back in his chair. He looked up to the low ceiling and the unnecessary lazily revolving wooden fan there. He watched the fan as he spoke lowly to Jack Sloane. His voice was much more casual than before. Sloane wondered if he’d already blown the interview. But Chalmers seemed to have suddenly warmed to him.
“Did you read up on the product we’re selling? You probably had a quick look,” He shrugged, “Doesn’t matter how much you know about it. Christ, you can’t read page upon page of shit for every interview you’re going to. Anyway, we’re onto an absolute winner whether you understand this kind of thing or not. But we’ve got eight different departments using six different version control systems and no formal control for any of it,” He twisted another side of his face, “And we’ve got a release manager who needs… supervision.”
“Supervision?”
“Basically, he’s an incompetent asshole,” Chalmers laughed, “But he spends more time in the office than anyone else, which has its advantages. He probably screws as many things up as he fixes,” Chalmers mused, “My dream?” he said suddenly, almost as if Sloane had asked him a question, “My dream is to get every department using the same control system with one person controlling everything.”
“What about…”
“The release manager?” Chalmers smiled and shook his head slightly, “We’ll work out what to do about him. But I want to get everybody working together. We’re making lots of mistakes and my dream is to stop them. We’ve got an amazing product here and our customers know it. My dream is to get everything working like clockwork. Now…” he jabbed a finger towards Sloane’s chest, “Sell me my dream.”
Chalmers had elevated the mood in the small office, but even his impassioned rant wasn’t enough to enthuse Jack Sloane. It took Sloane a few seconds to adjust his façade to one of excitement and even when he’d mustered the enthusiasm it just wasn’t enough. Besides, he was still thinking about the failures in his life that had helped to bring him here today. This wasn’t an opportunity for him. This was part of the downward slide that his life was taking.
He didn't see Megyn Alexander until she was standing right next to him. Later, when he considered the second meeting, he'd wonder whether or not he smelled the delicate essence of her jasmine perfume before he turned his head to see her standing next to him. Whatever it was that alerted him to her presence, it did not matter. When he turned his head she was standing next to him all smiles and sparkles. Happy go lucky, or a very good facsimile of the same. He smiled brightly.
“How did the interview go?” she asked, casually.
He looked into her delicious sad green eyes as her blonde hair cascaded around and in front of her face in the early afternoon breeze.
“You again,” he said, “I've been thinking about you.”
“That's nice,” she said innocently, “I think about you a lot too. Did you get the job?”
He laughed out loud. It was an involuntary action.
“How did you…” he kept laughing and shook his head slowly, bowing it low, “Lady, you're the strangest thing that's happened to me in a long time. How did you know I was going for a job interview?”
“You told me about it once,” she looked as if she was struggling to remember, “Not this time round, for some reason. I'm not sure why. Sometimes things are different and I know why. Sometimes I don’t know why things are different, but they are anyway. I’m rambling, I know. I’m sorry. I hope the interview went well. You'll be leaving for Seattle soon, I expect?”
He digested her words for a while. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head and grinning with confusion.
“No,” he raised his head and studied her face carefully, probing for answers that he could not see in her countenance, “No, it didn't go well. The interview. No job, I'm afraid. And I don't know where Seattle comes into it. The position was for a development analyst located in the north east of Scotland - not in America.”
“Really?” her eyebrows rose in genuine surprise, “I can't believe I've never known that.”
“Well, that's what the interview was all about - a position in the north of Scotland. I'd never travel to America to work.
She reminded him of the actress - or rather the character that the actress had been portraying. That had been his big mistake - falling in love with the character without stopping to think that the actress underneath the wig and the 1940's makeup might be a different person altogether - which of course she had to be. The dejected and neglected housewife that she had portrayed had not matched her own vivacious, lively personality. He'd left his wife of ten years for a first date with a person who did not exist.
Megyn Alexander reminded him of the character, but he didn't know why. She had her act together. She wasn't a downtrodden wretch. Yet, the sadness was the same. Or something like sadness. Too much time had passed. He was staring, she was staring back at him. She wasn’t like the actress at all, he realised. The character or the person.
“I... ah... would you like to go for a drink?” he asked.
“Don't you have somewhere to be?” she asked smartly, almost cheekily. Then her face dropped slightly and she added, “No, I guess you don't. I'm not sure if it would be a good idea. I'll have to check.”
She had a brown leather handbag slung over her right shoulder. It rested on her hip precariously; its black strap looked as thin as a thread. She produced a small notebook that looked like the oldest thing Sloane had ever seen. She leafed through it as he raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“I..,” she frowned and her smile disappeared, “I don't think we should,” she said, finally, “I don't know what happens if you don't get the job, but I think if we stay together it will complicate things.”
He laughed softly.
“The little book contains your horoscope?” he grinned.
She held it close to her chest for a moment, closing it tight and making an impishly annoyed face. He could see two words on the front cover. “Things I..,” Her hand covered the rest. she saw him looking at the book and moved it back into the handbag almost faster than he could see.
“Naughty,” she said, cocking her head to one side, “Naughty boy.”
“Maybe once upon a time,” Jack Sloane commented, “But not so much now. Come on, what's the harm in a drink? I won't tell anyone if you don't.”
She'd stepped back a pace. Her expression had the slightly afraid look to it that he'd seen just before she'd departed after their first meeting. He wasn't sure what she was afraid of - but it didn't seem to be him
.
“Don't go,” he said.
She looked back at him and, once more, her expression looked so much like the pained expression that had somehow attracted him to the actress. There was a conflict going on within her, he realised. He didn't realise that his protective nature was drawn to that conflict - that pain - in the hope of making things better for Ms Hayes.
“I have to go,” Megyn said, “Please don't follow me or chase after me. Go back to Glasgow. I'm not sure what happens if you don't end up on board Spirit. I'm sure you'll be fine.”
“Spirit?” Sloane stepped forward and Megyn Alexander took two steps away from him, “The ship? How do you know about that? You do mean the ship, don't you?”
He noticed tears in her eyes, or moisture at least. Like when the actress had spoken about the man she'd once loved, the man who had grown to treat her with such disdain and resentment. Megyn shook her head once, then twice. She wiped her tear away with her right hand. She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something that would explain away all the strange thoughts Sloane was having. Then she was looking past Jack Sloane over his left shoulder. He turned to see three rough looking characters ambling towards him. They were steel workers from the
Megyn’s face was strangely annoyed. She flung out her right arm towards the three approaching men and spoke to them roughly.
“There you are! If you'd been here forty minutes ago..,” she sighed loudly, “Can't you drunken, good for nothing losers be good for anything?”
Sloane could not believe what he was hearing.
“Drunk we may be, perhaps,” said one of the men, “But you have no right to speak to us with such disrespect.”
She walked straight up to the black coated, black haired, unshaven man. Without any kind of hesitation, she slapped him hard across his face.
“Rubbish,” she said, “You’re nothing but rubbish.”
The metalworker moved with a speed that surprised Jack Sloane. His hand flicked out from his hip, striking Megyn across her right cheek. She yelped involuntarily. Thick, dirty fingers reached for her throat. But Jack Sloane had stepped forward. Sloane shoved hard against the donkey jacketed, powerful shoulder. Elphick staggered to the left, but his right arm lashed out. It almost caught Jack Sloane in the cheek, but he moved his head back in time.
Beyond the Starport Adventure (Bullet Book 1) Page 11