Ten Million Reasons

by Heather Gray

  “My name is Richard, and I’m calling about the survey you recently took.”

  “Which one?” she asked.

  “Which one?” he echoed.

  “Yes. Which survey?” Is this guy dense or something?

  “You’ve taken more than one survey?”

  “I walk through the mall a lot. I end up taking surveys.” Chagrin snaked its way through her middle and up her throat. Trying to swallow it back down, she defensively added, “I can’t be the only person who gets stuck taking surveys all the time. I’ve never gotten a call about one before. Which survey is this for?”

  “You took a survey asking how you would spend ten million dollars if you had a day to do so.” Was that judgment she heard in his voice?

  Fantastic. Some people tell stories about the crazy cat lady. He’s going to be telling stories about the crazy survey lady!

  “Oh, that one,” she said airily. “I remember it. What can I do for you?” Genevieve still wasn’t sure this guy Richard was on the up-and-up, but since he knew which survey she’d taken, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Without revealing any personal or pertinent information, that is. She hadn’t forgotten everything from the Technological Self Defense course she’d taken a few years back. Sure, she’d only taken it so she could write a series of articles about it, but still, she’d learned a few things.

  “As I was saying,” the arrogance had seeped out of his voice, “my name is Richard, and I’m calling about the survey you took.” She tried to picture the face that would go with the rich velvety tones now coming across the phone line and making her ear tingle. Unfortunately, the only picture that came to mind was the short, skinny, balding, yellow-toothed man who usually conducted the surveys.

  Great. Even my fantasies mock me.

  When he said nothing more, Genevieve pulled herself back into the present and said, “Hi Richard. Nice to meet you. Well, sort of. I don’t think we’ve actually met.” Way to make a winning impression! Throw in a stutter and some slurred speech, and you should have it made! "Did you need something specific or is this a general follow-up?”

  Richard cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m… new at this. At surveys.”

  That's definitely in my favor! Maybe he hasn't talked to enough people yet to realize I sound like a lunatic.

  Genevieve could understand being new on the job. Who couldn’t? With all her experience taking surveys at the mall, she’d often wondered if she should write an article or two about the survey-taking world. Richard might be a great source, someone who knew said world from the inside but was new enough to it that she’d still be able to consider him a fresh pair of eyes. “Say, Richard,” she began, “how long have you worked in surveys?”

  “Surveys?”

  Then again, maybe he’s not the best choice. It’s hard to interview someone who parrots back everything you say.

  “Yes, surveys. You said you are new on the job. Exactly how new are you?”

  “Oh,” Richard said. He hemmed and hawed before finally answering, “I have been working on this survey exercise for about three weeks now.”

  “I’ve been thinking about writing an exposé on the world of surveyors. Would you be interested in an interview?”

  “An interview?”

  I had to go and say it out loud, didn’t I? What was I thinking? I can’t interview someone who doesn’t know how to use sentences!

  “Well, yes, an interview. Um…but if you’re too busy, I understand. It was only a passing thought. Never mind.” That was some fast thinking! Glad I got out of it. Now, to end the call.

  “I would be happy to meet you for an interview. Name the time and place.”

  “Wh-what?” Genevieve croaked. Why do these things always happen to me?

  “I have a fairly flexible schedule. Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.” Richard was back to sounding scrumptious. He was using complete sentences, too.

  Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

  “Um, let me look at my calendar.” Genevieve shoved a stack of magazines aside in search of the large calendar she kept on her desktop. Looking it over quickly, she said, “I have an opening this coming Tuesday afternoon. Otherwise, it’ll have to be the following week.”

  “Tuesday afternoon will work fine. Where would you like to meet?”

  “Meet?” Great. Now I’m the parrot.

  “I assume you don’t want to meet at your house. You don’t know me. Safety in the modern world and all that. My office is downtown, and no one ever likes to come downtown during the day if they can avoid it. So, tell me where you’d like to meet, and I’ll be there. Will two o’clock work for you?”

  “Two will be fine,” Genevieve managed to get out.

  “And where should I meet you?”

  Annoyed at Richard for suddenly sounding so suave and, in turn, making her sound unsophisticated, Genevieve answered briskly, “At the mall. Food court. By the Chinese concession. You can buy me a late lunch. Two o’clock Tuesday afternoon.”

  “Okay. Tuesday, two in the afternoon, mall food court by the Chinese place. But since you’re interviewing me, don’t you think you should be buying me lunch? I happen to know you got a mall gift card.”

  “How…? What? Who do…?” Genevieve sputtered her displeasure before Richard’s chuckle came through the line.

  “I meant it as a joke. Honest. I’d be happy to buy you lunch.”

  “Well then.” Argh! Is that the best I can do? Her left eye began to twitch. “You already have my phone number, but perhaps I should get yours in case anything comes up.”

  After Genevieve had Richard’s number, she hung up the phone and fumed silently before deciding that a jog would be a good idea to work out her frustration. When she took off toward the park two miles away, she was running full-tilt. About halfway to the park, she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and exclaimed, “He never even told me why he was calling!” Letting out a loud laugh, she turned back toward home and began jogging again, this time at a more relaxed pace.

  He’s either smooth or socially awkward. Guess I’ll have to meet him to figure out which. Even if I don’t get an article about surveys out of this, I should at least get some useful material.

  Titles for articles began running through her head. “Worst Pick-Up Lines Ever,” “First Dates that Kill Relationships,” and “Do I Have Spinach in My Teeth?” were just a few.

  Chapter Three

  Tuesday morning dawned bright and beautiful in sunny Winkston, Virginia. Genevieve went for an early morning jog then put in a couple hours outlining the article she wanted to write about the world of survey taking. She hoped that by interviewing Richard she’d be able to get an inside scoop. While she didn’t relish the idea of wrongdoing, she secretly hoped there was some deep, dark secret about survey scams that would make her article more marketable. Commentaries about how everyone was doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing never did sell very well.

  As she stood in her home office looking at her desk calendar, her phone chimed. Her calendar was alerting her to something. Funny... I don’t remember entering Richard on my phone calendar. She took her phone out of her pocket and glanced at it. Wrinkling her nose, she said to the empty room, “I can’t believe I did that!” Today was Max’s cross-country tryout, and she’d told him she’d do her best to be there.

  Genevieve went over her potential choices. Call him. Text him. Stand him up. Loving modern technology and the way it allowed her to communicate with people without having to actually speak to them, she hurriedly typed a text to Richard. Something came up. Can’t make it. So sorry.

  The immediate reply came, We can reschedule. I’m free today. A different time perhaps?

  Who uses words like perhaps while texting?

  Genevieve replied, School track tryouts. Promised I’d be there. Completely forgot.

  No sooner had she hit send, than a reply came back. “I’ll meet you there. Tell me when
and where.”

  Genevieve mulled over her options. Richard seemed a little too eager. It was, however, a large school, and there would be a lot of people there. Safety in public places counted for something. He might meet Max though, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to expose her nephew to the stranger. She was sure Maureen would have a fit if she did. “Aha!” she yelled to the room. Quickly texting Richard back, she told him, Winkston High. Track field. 1pm. Tryouts weren’t until two. If she didn’t like Richard, she’d get him out of there before Max ever showed.

  Then, remembering her words to her nephew, she sent him a quick text. Will be there today. May have some1 w/. Break a leg! Max would know she was joking, but she still added a smiley face. Teenagers can never get too many smiley faces.

  ****

  Genevieve got to the school early and checked in at the office.

  “I’ll be out at the track,” she said to Liz, the elfin, blonde secretary. “I’m expecting a guest, too. He should be along shortly.”

  Liz waved her on before turning back to her computer screen.

  School security being what it was, Richard would have to check in at the office and leave his ID with them to obtain a visitor’s pass. The security guard would also walk him out to the track to meet her. As an adjunct with the school’s journalism club, she had a little more leeway than most whenever she was on campus.

  While in the process of getting settled on the track bleachers, she checked her phone for messages. There was a missed call from Reptile Monthly.

  Great. They must be getting desperate if they’re calling. I’ll bet it’s the article about turtle urine. Genevieve couldn’t remember how she got so entangled with animal articles. Being an animal journalist wasn’t anything she’d ever set out to accomplish. She’d had this brilliant notion that freelance journalism would allow her to write whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, while magazines clamored for her articles.

  Yeah right! That hadn’t quite turned out to be the case. When a magazine had contacted her with a specific article they’d wanted written, she’d jumped at the chance. Even if it was something she had no interest in, it was a sure thing, a real payday. With her mortgage payment coming due and no food left in her pantry, the idea of being a starving literary artist had long since lost its appeal. Before she knew it, there were a dozen animal-related magazines contacting her about articles they wanted to contract out. Articles, of course, they couldn’t get anybody else to write.

  While such articles paid her bills and kept her in clothes and cash, she eventually found it tedious and mind-numbing. Because she much preferred coming up with her own ideas, she had begun to cull down the magazines she would accept assignments from. Getting pickier had definitely put a pinch in her pocketbook, but it was also allowing her more time to work on the sorts of articles she enjoyed. Like writing about survey taking. Genevieve laughed out loud at the thought.

  Okay, so survey taking doesn’t actually sound interesting. Admitting the tingles sent down her spine by the sound of Richard’s voice were what prompted her to consider an article about surveys, Genevieve hoped she got something worthwhile out of the day. A second date would be nice. I haven’t had one of those in ages. A small giggle escaped. Swell. I’m here for an interview, and I’m thinking about it like a date just because I like the sound of the man’s voice. If that doesn’t scream Desperate! I don’t know what does.

  “It’s not like I’m the pickiest person in the world,” she said with a sigh.

  “That’s good to know,” said the strong male voice behind her.

  I have got to stop talking out loud when I think no one’s around!

  Genevieve whirled to see a man standing there. She found herself at a disadvantage as he towered over her seated position. How he’d gotten this far up in the bleachers without her noticing him was a mystery. Lost inside my own head again.

  “Uh, hi there. And you are…?” Genevieve stood so she wouldn’t feel at such a handicap. This was probably Richard, but she didn’t want to assume. The situation already felt awkward enough as it was.

  “Richard,” he said with a teasing grin. “You are Miss Mason, I presume?”

  Yep. His voice is even more delectable in person than it was over the phone.

  Holding out her hand for the customary shake, she answered, “Yes, I’m Genevieve Mason. Nice to meet you in person, Richard.” After he took her proffered hand, she added, “Please, have a seat.”

  Once they were both sitting, Genevieve got right down to business. She needed to ferret out enough information to determine whether or not to get this man out of there within a half hour or let him stick around for Max’s tryouts. Notepad in hand, questions written down, and pen at the ready, she began, “So how long have you been involved in survey taking?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “What prompted you to get into this line of business?”

  “Necessity.”

  “Everybody’s got bills to pay, huh?” Build a sense of camaraderie and the interviewee will feel comfortable with you. Relaxed people reveal more.

  “It’s not exactly like that.”

  Genevieve raised her left eyebrow in question, a trick she’d learned years ago when caring for nieces and nephews. No one could fib to her when they saw the eyebrow go up. “Then how exactly is it?”

  Richard stretched his legs out in front of him. He was wearing a grey suit but had taken the jacket off and set it nearby. She was loath to tell him that what appeared to be quite an expensive suit jacket was probably lying on top of muddy footprints. As she waited for his answer, she took in the thick, dark blond hair, the tan that said he didn’t spend all his time indoors, and the broad-shouldered physique that spoke of someone who exercised regularly. From there, she let her eyes wander to his posh tie, crisp blue shirt, expensive-looking watch, and – Oh my goodness! Are those silk socks? Everything about the man screams wealth. How did I not notice this when I first saw him? He’s no ordinary surveyor.

  “How exactly is it?” she asked again, her voice sharper this time.

  Looking relaxed, Richard answered smoothly, “I own the company that commissioned the survey. The survey center provided the workers who stood out in the mall inviting people to participate, as well as the space to use, but my personal assistant was the one actually conducting the survey.”

  “Model-Talker belongs to you?” I did not just say that out loud, did I?

  “Model-Talker?”

  Well, that answers that. “Uh, she looked like a model and did all the talking. I sometimes make up monikers for people when I don’t know their real names. She’s Model-Talker.” Shrugging lightly, she said, “Not my most original, I admit.”

  Richard laughed. Where he had before appeared handsome, he now crossed the threshold into dangerously addictive. No one should have the right to be so good looking. Genevieve felt out of her depth with this man. Self-consciously, she reached up to pat her corkscrew red hair back into place, a futile effort in the sudden breeze.

  “You should have seen my previous personal assistant. He’s a retired marine, a cross between a mastiff and a grizzly bear.”

  “A marine for a personal assistant?” Genevieve was becoming increasingly curious about who this man was, and what he wanted with her. The notebook in her lap with its list of questions was the furthest thing from her mind.

  “I learned early on that when you have wealth, all kinds of people come knocking. I never wanted to be defined by my wealth, so I’ve carefully restricted those I let into my inner circle. Since people have to get past my personal assistant to get to me, having a personal assistant that terrifies people seemed like a good idea.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He and his wife retired to Arizona a couple years back. We stay in touch. He’s a good man.” Fondness was evident in Richard’s voice.

  “How did you go from a scary-looking ex-marine to a model? Seems she’d attract more people than she’d scare away.”

/>   “Once a Marine, Always a Marine. Never tell someone they’re an ex-marine. It’s kind of an insult.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know.”

  “As it happens, Miss Watts was recommended by my former assistant.” He leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “She’s a marine, too. And trust me, when she puts her mean face on, she’s terrifying. Even I’m scared of her sometimes.” Richard winked then shifted back from her. Genevieve thought she was going to melt into a puddle of goo right there on the metal bleachers.

  Is it really possible for eyes to be that shade of blue?

  Trying to pull her thoughts together, she felt the notebook in her tightly clenched hands. Since he wasn’t technically a surveyor, most of her questions were now irrelevant. Keeping her notebook tilted away from Richard’s view, she pretended to look over her notes while forcing herself to breathe evenly and waiting for the sound of her heart to quiet down enough so that she could hear herself think. Finally gathering herself, she asked, “What prompted you to commission this particular survey?”

  “It’s a long story. How about I give you the short version now, and you promise to meet me for dinner sometime later in the week? I’ll give you the long version then.”

  “Why don’t you give me the short version now, and then I’ll think about whether or not I’m interested in the long version?” I am a savvy, single woman in a modern world. I will not be manipulated! Now give me a good answer, mister, because I want to see you again.

  “Fair enough,” Richard answered, his eyes dancing. “I have found myself in a position by which I need to acquaint myself with…”

  “Stop right there,” Genevieve said, holding her hand up to emphasize her command. “Dump the lawyer mumbo-jumbo and speak to me in plain English or there will definitely never be a follow-up meeting. When someone hides behind confusing language, I assume they’re trying to conceal something.” She could generally untangle the words to find out the truth behind them, but it was still a personal pet peeve of hers. Truth, she’d found, did not require such big words.