Rain

by Paul Sunn

  “Rayne Cressdon, sir,” I said, struggling to keep my voice from cracking as it bent around the glacial lump in my throat that threatened to melt into tears. “I’m one of the paralegals.”

  “Oh. Oh, sure.” He looked me over from hairline to ankle, color rising in his face. “I’m sorry, I should’ve known.”

  I shrugged to ease his discomfort and smiled softly. “There are a lot of paralegals here.”

  “Still.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I appreciate you being so forward, but that sort of thing – promotions, paralegal duties, you know – that’s not really my call to make. It’s ultimately Mr. Bryans you need to talk to.”

  My shoulders dropped, and a frustrated breath escaped my mouth without asking. After all the planning, the preparing, the steeling and buttressing of my nerves for this conversation, the last thing I was expecting to hear was that I was spending my efforts on the wrong person. Yes, no or a noncommittal ‘we’ll get back to you, Ms. Cressdon’ were always in the realm of possibilities. But going to Mr. Alexander Bryans, the founder of Paulson, Bryans & Sunn, wasn’t nearly as easy as talking to Jack, my immediate boss, who I’d apparently made such an impression on that he didn’t even know I worked for him. The reality hit my chest like a sledgehammer. Still, I couldn’t say any of this to Jack. If things like promotions weren’t within his purview, then they weren’t. No point in making him feel bad about something he had no control over.

  “All right. Thank you, sir.” I grinned back to prove that I meant it and spun on my heels.

  “Miss, uh, Cressdon?”

  Halting my inglorious retreat, I glanced back at him.

  Jack’s full lips stretched to reveal two rows of perfectly fine teeth. The color hadn’t yet drained from his face. “Sorry I’m such a flake about names. I’ll never forget you again.”

  I didn’t quite know how to take that, so I went to my go to fumbling for words ala word diarrhea, “It’s fine. Like I said, there are a lot of paralegals here.” Go fumble go.

  “Sure. But I still feel bad. How can I make it up to you?” He said in earnest.

  “It’s not—”

  “I know, let me take you out for a drink sometime.” He glanced down at his watch. “How about now? It is lunch time, isn’t it?”

  It was my turn to flush. “Thank you, sir, but…no thanks.”

  “Oh.” His entire face fell a little, then bouncing back like a super ball dropped off the William Penn statute, it brightened back up. “Dinner? Movie?”

  “No, it’s not…” I hesitated, held up my left hand to show the ring. “It’s just, I’m engaged.”

  “Oh.” Jack looked me over once more, still smiling that rueful little smile that almost made me want to say yes. “Well. Lucky guy.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I left the office, hurrying a little more than I might’ve otherwise, eager to escape.

  Somehow, this entire day had gone so far off the rails I couldn’t even see the tracks, let alone hear the oncoming train I was certainly standing in front of. It had to be because I missed my bus, I decided. That had set the tone for the entire day. I should’ve known it and called in sick when I first realized I was running late. I didn’t believe in omens, but it was awfully hard not to when something ominous happened.

  I hustled down the hall and up the stairs to the fourth floor that housed the offices of the other two partners and main conference suites. The conversation with Jack probably should’ve deflated all the hope and energy I had for making this thing happen, but somehow it didn’t.

  Maybe it was just that telling him about Philip, even given the situation, reminded me that if I didn’t come home without at least asking for this promotion, I wouldn’t be able to face Philip at all, or ever again. My mind ran marathons around the worst possible scenarios of would happen if I didn’t have at least some news to report. Deep down I knew I’d never be worthy of someone like Philip Glasser. I didn’t need to make it more obvious by being stuck forever as a paralegal relegated to fetching coffee and not even important enough to be remembered by the man I worked most directly for. Of course, it had been nice to at least be seen as a woman. I tried not to let the budding smile show over my grim determination.

  The fourth floor was a very different place than the lower floors where I basically lived since starting at the firm. Where the lower floors were almost always bustling with activity – people moving around, talking to each other, moving case files from desk to desk and office to office. The hallways of the fourth floor were quiet, tomb quiet. Almost reverently hushed like the inside of a library lorded over by a very fussy librarian in uncomfortable pantyhose. What few people I passed while heading toward Mr. Bryans’ office suite at the end of the hall all moved with purpose and direction. No one meandering from place to place looking for someone to shoot the breeze or stopping to chat with those that they passed. The breeze was officially DOA up here. I received a few crisp nods from the other paralegals moving silent as ninjas through the halls, but otherwise I was totally ignored.

  The door to Mr. Bryans’ suite was opened, and a secretary behind a tidy desk looked up as I approached. “Hi, I’m Rayne Cressdon,” I said to her, fumbling with my badge. “I’m one of the paralegals here and I’m looking for Mr. Bryans?” I didn’t mean for the words to come out as a question, but my voice turned up at the end by its own volition. Way to take charge Rayne.

  “He’s out to lunch,” the secretary, whose nameplate identified her as Alice, answered over her furious typing.

  “Okay. When will he be back?”

  “Wednesday.” Alice paused just long enough to take a sip from her guava avocado banana smoothie and blink up at me like maybe I had a head injury because I hadn’t turned and walked away yet.

  If I had to wait that long, I wouldn’t do it. It had to be today or never. “Do you know where he went to lunch?”

  “Sofia’s, I believe, Miss Cressdon.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said excitedly, and I started to turn around.

  “If it’s really important, I can get him a message.”

  I gave her my best ‘I’m not a crazy person stalking your boss smile. “Thanks. It’s really important, but it’s not something that can be done with a message. I do need to talk to him today, face-to-face.”

  Alice may have said something more, but I was already down the hall and couldn’t hear a thing above my racing heart anyway. Looks like lunch today called for fine dining. Sophia’s, table for one.

  5

  Chapter 5

  Sofia’s was one of Philip’s favorite places. A nice little bistro just two blocks from my office. We’d been there a couple of times on date night – they made an excellent grilled salmon and a tiramisu that was near orgasmic.

  I hurried down the street toward the restaurant, dodging the raindrops as like an Eagle at the 10-yard line and doing a heck of a lot better than I might’ve expected. Given that they were falling with some speed. Hah! I was hardly getting wet. I pulled on the heavy, glass door and ducked through into the dry and warm atmosphere of the famous restaurant.

  The smell of food made my mouth drool and my stomach growl, reminding me that I haven’t had lunch yet. Maybe, I’d order something to go before I left, I told myself. The place was thick with heavy dark wood. Tasteful crystal chandeliers hung from heavy crossbeams while Center City’s professionals slid perfectly polished silverware across expensive bone white China. Lunch expense accounts hemorrhaged in here like it was a city hospital after a riot.

  “Just one?” the middle aged, tall, slim hostess asked with a practiced saccharine smile. Then, she scanned me, head to toe and her face crinkled, telling me in not so subtle terms that she didn’t think I belonged there.

  “Actually… I’m looking for someone,” I answered politely. “A Mr. Randolph Bryans? I’m from his law firm.”

  “Oh, certainly. Mr. Bryans came in just a few minutes ago with his party.” She stepped away from the hostess stand, wit
hout faltering her air of great distress at having been bothered by yet another lunch time commoner and gestured me to follow her deeper into the restaurant. Her right four-inch-high heel pierced through a paper napkin that lay unclaimed on the thick, carpeted floor. She kept walking oblivious to her new attachment. I probably should, and part of me really wanted to bring it to her attention, but I didn’t. The universe or whatever higher power overseeing us had a sense of humor.

  A chest-high pony wall near the back of the large room separated a few more opulent tables from the rest of the restaurant. The very put out hostess snaked us around the floor to ceiling pillar and I immediately spotted Mr. Bryans. He was an older man with salt-and-pepper hair always slicked back and as stiff as his black, pressed Brooks Brothers suit and a tasteful dark tie. If I hadn’t seen him wear a dark maroon tie to last year’s office Christmas party, I would have thought he was plagued with some obscure illness that made him allergic to color. The hostess gestured with a skeletal arm – this place was nice enough that the staff never pointed – toward the table and retreated to her perch at the front of the room without a word and her new attachment intact.

  Clearing the partition, I took a single step toward Mr. Bryans’ table and froze. He wasn’t alone. Another man sat at the table across from him. He was younger than Mr. Bryans but not by much. Some male-pattern baldness peaked through his jet-black hair, while large knuckles juxtaposed very expensive and obviously hand tailored gray silk suit. Recognition scratched at my frontal lobe, but it was only when he spoke that my subconscious realized who he was and nailed my feet to the floor.

  “Now, that’s quite a proposition,” he said. His thin, oily voice sending icy tendrils of fear skittering up my paralyzed spine.

  Devlin Blake.

  What in the heck-a-doodle was Mr. Bryans doing having lunch with Devlin Blake. The very Devlin Blake that we were working with the DA to develop a case against.

  A third figure sauntered out from the hallway to the left that led to the bathrooms wiping his hands and sat down at the table with Bryans and Blake while I stood there frozen like a ficus tree. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”

  The room swirled, the lights taking on a spinning, stellar pattern. The room heated, sauna style. Then from left field I was blasted by an arctic wind. The third man with the flop of blonde hair smiled at both seated men, before joining them.

  The third man was Philip.

  6

  Chapter 6

  My tight throat released something akin to a “Meep” because all three men glanced up at me. My eyes were only glued on Philip. Why? He opened his mouth as though about to say something, but my feet turned and ran before I could give them direction. Once beyond the confines of the pony wall blocking off the more private tables from the rest of the restaurant, I slowed to a more acceptable purposeful walk. I tried to leave without attracting any more attention but felt eyes on me. Eyes everywhere.

  Someone to my left yelped in surprise. Another longtime patron gasped in shock.

  “What the hell?”

  “Watch out!”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Bitch!”

  “It’s her fault!”

  It didn’t work. Everywhere I looked people were staring at me. I didn’t even feel I was knocking into tables during my escape, but I must’ve been, because every table I passed screeched about me spilling their water. Through my haze of tears, I could make out the patrons of the restaurant getting to their feet and reaching for their napkins.

  The hostess glared at me with overshadowed eyes as I hurried toward the door.

  I saw her mouth moving but I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying. The nasty scowl in her face told me, it wasn’t something nice. I decided I was glad I never told her about the napkin stuck on her shoe and I rushed out of the restaurant.

  I managed a full block before the heels on my shoes let me know that if this was running, they were having no more of it. I slowed to a stumbling walk. Cool tears spilled down my face. And I wasn’t sure why. Was it just me crumbling from weeks of mounting stress over asking my boss for the promotion? Was it because I’d failed Philip? Was it because I suddenly felt betrayed? My whole day in the street before me was completely off kilter, and I wasn’t sure how to set it right.

  Under no circumstances should Randolph Bryans be talking to Devlin Blake, let alone be within 100 feet of him, not while his own law firm was investigating him. Then there was Philip – my Philip – he shouldn’t be involved with either man. He was a banker, not a lawyer. He wasn’t even much of a socialite, except for the minimum that was expected from the son of a senator. So, what were the three of them doing there having lunch together?

  It was more messed up than a strung-out platypus. I quickly wiped off the tears before I entered the office building.

  “That was a quick lunch,” Roddy said when I went back inside the office building.

  “I lost my appetite,” I said.

  He grinned “Poor kid. I can’t imagine. Barring death, nothing can cut my appetite,” he chuckled, tapping on his round belly.

  I tried to smile, but something went wrong in the execution, nerves misfired, and I ended up scowling at him instead.

  Roddy’s grin faded, replaced by genuine concern in his eyes. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Sorry. It’s not you. I need to get back to work.”

  I hurried away from the security desk and toward the first-floor bathroom. There was no way I’d be able to stop the freak out session boiling up under the surface, let alone concentrate for the rest of the afternoon if I didn’t get a grip on myself first. I stared into the mirror and a rattled girl with wild crazy hair stared back. C’mon, Rayne. Get it together. There’s no need to be freaking out. Breathe…

  It didn’t help.

  I reached for the faucet. A little cold water would at least bring down the boiling heat in my cheeks. Before my fingers even touched the knob, the pipes beneath the sink gurgled a sickly growl. Something in the faucet snapped under the pressure. Water sprayed out from the seam where the knob connected to the pipe, hitting me with fire hydrant force in the face and jerking me backwards. Stepping out of the stream, the next faucet thought it would be funny to continue the joke of the first and joined in the fun, shooting me in the face. Self-preservation fostered my retreat but moving down the line past the four other sinks in the bathroom, each faucet failed spectacularly in the exact same way. The bathroom barrage resembled Logan Circle. Water sprayed onto the floor, collecting in inch deep puddles on the tile. I reached for the faucet knob one more time. Maybe turning it on would ease some of the pressure of the broken bits of plumbing. Not only did nothing come out of the spout when I twisted the knob but the spray from the next faucet intensified and managed to twist in midair like a demented figure skater and triple salchowed me in the face.

  “Shoot!” I hissed in a gurgle, fumbling my way to the bathroom door. “Roddy?” I screamed, slamming the door wide open and stumbling in the hall.

  Roddy looked up at me from his row of monitors. His eyes wide with surprise at the girl who looked like she just had a midafternoon dip in the toilet. I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest like I was twelve. My blouse was dark, and nothing was visible, but old habits and all.

  “I think I broke something in the bathroom. Could you call maintenance?” I tried for calm and collected but my voice sounded strained and screechy.

  “Sure thing,” he said. Not missing a beat, he picked up the phone on his desk and dialed while shaking his head.

  I hurried away from the elevators toward the safety of the stairs before Roddy could ask me what happened in the bathroom.

  7

  Chapter 7

  Somehow, despite how absurdly long it had been since Marianne left for her lunch break, she wasn’t back yet. I glanced at the silent clock hanging above the window on the far side of the room. It stated in its casual clock-like manner that only half an hour had passed
since she’d asked me to lunch. That seemed like horse poo. I counted it back in my mind. There’d been the conversation with “Jack”, then the jaunt to the upper level to find Mr. Bryans, followed by my trip over to Sofia’s where I spied Mr. Bryans eating lunch with Philip and the scoundrel Devlin Blake, on whose case Marianne and I had spent the better part of the morning sweating over. After running back to the office there was the pipe fiasco downstairs. It didn’t seem possible for all of that to fit inside half-an-hour, but the clock never lied before.

  I sat down and stared into the towering stack of papers I’d left on my desk. My thoughts circled back to seeing Philip and Randolph Bryans having what looked like an amiable lunch with the man who was accused of money laundering, racketeering and the little matter of killing three people! Not to mention the case was taking up the lion’s share of both my and Marianne’s desk. It didn’t make sense. What in the heck were they doing?

  Maybe I shouldn’t have run. I should have said something. Why was I so afraid? I could have let Philip explain, which I was sure he was about to do before I rushed off.

  Nothing had gone right today. Next time I miss my bus I’m calling in sick. None of this would’ve happened if I’d just gone back home and spent this miserable, rainy day in bed nursing a hot chocolate and binge-watching Netflix.

  Marianne came back from lunch fifteen minutes after I’d plopped back down at my desk. Surprisingly, my hair was dry by then. She set a doggie bag in front of me, startling me out of my daze. “I brought you a couple of breadsticks.”

  “Oh.” I took the bag and looked inside. Three still-warm parmesan breadsticks. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything during my lunchtime adventure. “Thanks M, you’re a Saint.”