Man at Work

by Elaine Fox

  Arthur was silent a long minute, then looked up at Tru. “So you dating her now? She called you, so I guess that means she wants you, huh?”

  Truman thought for a moment, then figured what the hell. Put the poor guy out of his misery. “That’s right. We’re dating now, Arthur. Sorry, but I guess I got the girl this time.”

  Arthur’s arms dropped to his side and he looked at the ground. “Would you do me a favor, then?”

  “Sure, if I can.”

  “Would you tell me if it don’t work out with you two? Maybe I’d have a shot then, ya know?”

  Truman pressed his lips together. “Sure thing, Art.”

  Arthur nodded. “Thank you.”

  Truman slipped the keys from his pocket and flipped them into his palm. “Well, gotta go now, Arthur.” He glanced at the tires. They seemed to still be inflated. “You better go home now, too. This is a pretty fancy place. They don’t like loiterers. They might call the cops on you.”

  Arthur looked irate anew. “I ain’t thrown any trash! This place was a mess way before I got here. Besides, who calls the cops on people for that?”

  “Loitering, Arthur, not littering,” Truman said, but Arthur’s expression was still confused. “Okay, I gotta go. I’ll see you around. Say hi to your mom for me.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Truman got into Marcy’s car, but watched Arthur walk down the aisle toward the exit before starting it up and pulling around to the front.

  Truman was an idiot to be doing this. He was bound to know people there and they were bound to say something incriminating. His best bet was to try to be invisible, which was, naturally, a challenge. Or to stay away from Marcy unless they were alone, just in case someone did ask where he’d been.

  He pulled up in front of the building and Marcy, looking as polished and graceful as a dark-haired Grace Kelly, swept out the revolving door to the car. The night was foggy and a mist swirled around her dress as she strode across the sidewalk.

  Looking at her, it was hard to remember that this elegant creature was perfectly capable of picking a lock and stealing a dog.

  Marcy didn’t give him a chance to come around and open the door for her. The moment he stopped the car she took the door handle, opened it up and slid into the passenger seat.

  “So,” she began without preamble, “you told Arthur you were backing off and giving him some working room, huh? Nice of you guys to work that all out for me.”

  He glanced over at her and her dark eyes held his. “You listened in.”

  “Sure I did. I wanted to make sure you weren’t getting stabbed or shot or robbed or anything. But when I heard you’d made some kind of deal with regard to me, I confess, I had to stay and hear it all.”

  Truman put the car into gear and pulled out toward the street. “Then you heard me say I didn’t remember telling Arthur anything of the sort.”

  “I also heard you tell him that we’re dating now, so forgive me if I don’t take as gospel everything you said down there.”

  “You’re prickly tonight,” he said, smiling.

  “I’m always prickly after I’ve been bartered like a leg of lamb.”

  Tru laughed and turned onto Massachusetts Avenue. The street lamps glowed in the fog as if misty globes had been placed around them. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t. But that’s how it felt. Do you know where you’re going?”

  He paused, lifting his foot automatically off the accelerator. “Uh, the Washington Hilton, right? Isn’t that what you told me?”

  He glanced over and saw her frown.

  “I didn’t think I had told you.”

  He kept going. “Listen, Marcy, I only told Arthur whatever it was I told him so he’d leave you alone. I don’t want you thinking I’ve got any…ideas, or anything.”

  He thought he heard her sigh. “I know.”

  He drove the car three-quarters of the way around Dupont Circle, appreciating its smooth acceleration and cornering, then headed up Connecticut Avenue. After months in his truck, he’d forgotten how good a nice car could feel.

  “So this means Planners wasn’t behind the tire slashing, either, doesn’t it?” Marcy said finally. “It’s all been Arthur.”

  Truman paused. If she figured out it was all Arthur then there’d be no need for her to have him, Truman, around. But if he tried to perpetuate the Planners-is-out-to-get-you idea he’d feel like the worst kind of scum there was.

  “Isn’t that what it means?” she asked. “Or am I missing something?”

  “I guess that’s what it means,” he said finally.

  She didn’t say anything. Was she relieved? Should he excuse himself for the evening?

  They rode in silence up Connecticut Avenue.

  Marcy eyed Truman as they walked through the lobby of the Washington Hilton. He looked as if he owned the place, from his gorgeous tux to the confident way he walked. She couldn’t help thinking he seemed like someone completely different than the guy who lived in the slum in Southeast.

  Looking at him, there was only one reason Marcy could come up with for his lack of achievement. He must not want to do the work.

  It was criminal, she thought, the way he was squandering himself.

  They made it to the ballroom and entered. The room was large and filled with people dressed in their best, which in this crowd was saying something. Women wore floor-length, mostly black dresses that showed an enormous amount of shoulder, back, and breast. So much for dressing conservatively, she thought. Jewels glittered from every ear, neck, and wrist like icicles on a snowy night. The men looked like immaculately bred clones in their black and white, the shapes of their bodies the only immediately discernible difference between them.

  “I’ll go check our coats,” Truman said.

  “Good idea.” Marcy took hers off and handed it to him. “I’ll meet you right over—”

  “Marcy!” April Smith approached her, dragging a man behind her who looked distinctly uncomfortable in his tuxedo. April was an associate at Downey, Finley & Salem with Marcy. “I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know a soul. I only worked with one guy on that case—Joe Simons—and he’s not even here.”

  Marcy felt rather than saw Truman moving away with their coats. “He’s not? That’s too bad, I would’ve liked to have seen him.”

  “Marcy, this is my husband, Bart.”

  Introductions were made, as were speculations about the food they were likely to eat and the people they were likely to know, then the conversation inevitably turned to work.

  Just as Marcy was wondering where Truman had gotten to, she spotted Jonathan Brooks—he of the custom-made loafers that had so impressed her family—in a knot of people not too far away. He seemed to be threading through the crowd in her general direction. Perfect time to go find Truman, she thought, excusing herself and moving in the opposite direction.

  As she looked for him she spotted a headhunter to whom she wanted to introduce Truman. As well spoken and nice looking as Truman was, maybe he could do something in sales without needing a whole lot of education.

  She found him re-entering the ballroom.

  “There you are. I just saw someone I’d like to introduce you to—”

  “Not yet. I’d like to find the bar,” Truman said, touching her elbow. “Would you like anything?”

  “God yes, I’d love a vodka collins.”

  He smiled and her stomach flipped over. “Coming right up.”

  “Wait—” she started, wanting to go with him, but someone called her name from her other side.

  It was Dennis Fairlaine, an associate from Rock ’n’ Roll with whom she’d worked on that joint case earlier in the year.

  “So glad you could make it. You look fantastic.”

  “Thanks, you too. My date’s just getting me a drink, but when he comes back I’d like to introduce you,” she said quickly. When they’d been working together, Dennis had made several clumsy passes at her t
hat she’d successfully ignored. She didn’t want to spend tonight pretending to be oblivious as well.

  While they made small talk, Marcy glanced around for Truman’s return, but he was a long time in coming. She finally excused herself from Dennis and went looking for him.

  She found him next to the bar, standing perilously close to a fake palm tree. He looked as if he was trying to hide behind it. Some of its fake leaves were sticking into his hair.

  “Truman.” She came toward him, ducking as a leaf threatened to poke her in the eye. “What are you doing? I thought you were bringing me a drink.”

  “Yes, I got you one.” He reached down into the pot of the plant and pulled out a sweating, full cocktail glass. “I couldn’t find you again, though, so I thought you’d know to look for me here. Let’s move over.”

  He edged away from the bar.

  “I was right there where you left me,” she said, stretching an arm out to indicate where she’d been, barely twenty yards away.

  He shook his head and smiled wryly. “I’ve always had a bad sense of direction.”

  She raised her brows and glanced toward the brightly lit entrance to the hallway. “Truman, we had just walked into the ballroom. Are you telling me you couldn’t find the door?”

  “Hey, why don’t we dance?”

  Marcy glanced from him to the empty dance floor. So far the band was playing soft torch songs while people chatted and drank.

  “People probably won’t be dancing until after dinner.” She looked back at him, then moved closer and put a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to be so nervous. People here aren’t going to bite you. Just make small talk. Be yourself. You’ll do great.”

  Truman inhaled deeply. “I’m not nervous. I just, well, I don’t really like big gatherings. But you, honey, you look like a million bucks. Shouldn’t you be out there schmoozing and networking and all that, sugar?”

  Marcy shook her head but a smile played on her lips. “You know, you may be able to look the part, but those honeys and sugars are going to give you away, big time.”

  He shrugged. “What can you do? You gotta be who you are, dontcha think?”

  She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. “And who are you, Truman?”

  He looked startled, then laughed uncomfortably. “Hell, I don’t know. Does anybody really know who they are?”

  “I do.” Then she smiled. “Come on, let me introduce you to some people.”

  Truman downed the rest of his drink. “Fine, but wait. Let me use the men’s room first.”

  He took off in the direction of the lobby.

  Marcy frowned as she watched him go. He was uncomfortable. Dreadfully uncomfortable. It was almost painful to watch. How could she even consider being with someone who was so blatantly wrong for her way of life?

  Not that this way of life had come easily to her, either. It had taken her a long time to feel comfortable in an environment like this, but she’d done it. She’d had to. This kind of thing was vital to upward mobility in her career. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t prefer hanging out at home with a video on most occasions, but still. At least she knew how to get herself out to do some mingling.

  Marcy got swept up in several conversations while Truman was gone, and before she knew it an hour had passed and dinner was being served. She wandered toward the lobby to look for him. Maybe he’d made some contacts on his own, she thought. Wouldn’t it be great to find him deep in conversation with the headhunter?

  She found him deep in slumber on a couch in the lobby, one hand over his face as his elbow rested on the arm.

  She sank down next to him on the cushions.

  He roused as she gently shook his arm.

  “Marcy.” He blinked rapidly several times. “Sorry, I…” He yawned. “I got up really early this morning. I’m sorry.”

  “They’re serving dinner.”

  He pushed up to sit straighter on the couch. “Really? So soon? Okay.”

  But she didn’t move. “You hate this, don’t you? You’d rather be anywhere but here.”

  Her eyes were steady on his and he held her gaze.

  “Let me ask you something. Do you like it here, Marcy?”

  She felt as if he’d read her earlier thoughts. As if he saw that she too had to force herself to do this sort of thing and was now in a perfect position to call her a hypocrite.

  “Yes,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes.”

  He smiled sadly. “Are you that convincing when you tell yourself you like it?”

  “Listen, this is what I do, Truman. This is part of my life,” she said, feeling unaccountably defensive. “I do this so I can make something of myself. Be a success. Just like you could be. There are people in there you should talk to. I just saw a headhunter who’s a really decent guy. If you’d just talk to him I bet he could find you something in sales or marketing, even. You could make some really good money—”

  “Save it,” Truman said, abruptly standing up. The expression on his face and the tone of his voice seemed the same as if she’d just proposed he sell heroin for a living. “Just save your breath, sweetheart.”

  She stood too. “Why? What’s the matter with you? All I said—”

  “I heard perfectly well what you said. The words and the subtext.”

  She glanced around to be sure no one was noticing their sudden altercation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There was no subtext.”

  He turned on her, his eyes fierce. “Wasn’t there? Then why won’t you answer my question? Honestly.”

  She felt confused, spun around and directionless. “What question?”

  “Do you like it here?”

  He was trying to call her a hypocrite. Anger welled up inside her. “That isn’t the point. The point is I do this sort of thing so that I can achieve something in my life. Maybe you’re not familiar with the concept, Truman, but most people work to improve their lot in life. Not just to buy the next can of stew.”

  His eyes blazed as if she’d just poured a can of gasoline on his fire.

  “Most people?” he asked. “Most people? What do you know about most people, Miss Paglinowski? Miss Dupont Circle Lexus Saks Fifth Avenue Paglinowski? I’ve got news for you, princess, most people are working for that next can of stew, and a lot of them aren’t getting it.”

  “Don’t you preach to me, Truman Fleming. I know a lot more about—”

  “You don’t know anything about how real people live. You—” He cut himself off, looking away from her and shaking his head. His color was high and his breathing was fast.

  Marcy looked at him, half outraged, half afraid. Where had this come from?

  “I should go,” he said finally. “You’re not in any danger. Not from Planners, anyway, and I…I just really need to go.”

  He started to walk down the wide carpeted hallway toward the front lobby. Marcy glanced behind her, imagined going back into that ballroom and trying to make small talk with a bunch of people she barely knew, and strode after Truman.

  “I don’t know who you think you are, judging me,” she said in a low voice when she caught up to him. Her eyes skittered around the hotel to make sure no one noticed her leaving so early with an irate date.

  “I was wrong about you,” he said, shaking his head and not losing a step.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I thought maybe there was more to you than the typical upper-crust champagne-and-caviar belle. But now I see I was wrong.”

  “You are wrong, there’s no doubt about that,” she said, thinking that if he could’ve been at Aunt Phyllis’s cookout he’d have a lot less to say on this subject. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

  He stopped in his tracks so suddenly Marcy had to backtrack a step to look him in the eye. “Listen, sugar…” he began, leaning close and keeping his voice low.

  They stood in the middle of the front lobby now. The revolving front door wa
s on a constant sweep, bringing people into and carrying them out of the opulent place.

  “I know you think I’m not good enough for you, but I’m good enough for me, so stop trying to fix me. Stop trying to put me in the way of job offers and headhunters. Stop trying to dress me up and turn me into the same kind of status-seeking, money-conscious, career-driven…person you’ve turned yourself into.”

  Marcy had trouble catching her breath, stunned by the intensity of his attack. She stood stock-still in front of him, looking beyond Truman but seeing nothing. That’s how he saw her? That’s who he thought she was? So stupid, so blind, so shallow?

  After a second Truman said with a sigh, “Marcy, look, I’m sorry. You don’t…I don’t mean to insult you. I suppose…I suppose you can’t help the way you see the world.”

  Her eyes refocused on him, a flame of fury reigniting in her chest. “I can’t help the way I see the world?” she repeated.

  He shrugged and looked at the door, longing to go through it, Marcy was sure.

  “I don’t know why I thought you were different. Different than you are, that is,” he amended, obviously having to work not to blatantly offend her with his feelings about her.

  But Marcy knew what he was saying. “Listen to me, Truman. I’ll make no apologies for who I am and what I’m doing. I’m working for security. I went a long time without it and I’m never going back to that again. Don’t you want security, Truman?”

  He gave a hollow laugh. “What is security? How much does security cost? Are you going to know when you have it, Marcy? Are you going to know when to stop?”

  “Oh, I’ll know it,” she said through clenched teeth. An image of her mother’s pale, pinched face as she opened the electric bill one winter when Marcy was a child sprang into her mind.

  Truman swept her with a hard look. “Then what about the expensive clothes, and the car, and the condo…that’s not enough security for you? Don’t you ever wish for something simpler? Some quiet way of life that doesn’t involve dressing the right way and driving the right car and having the right job? Don’t you want to live honestly?”