[Steven Lyle Jordan]

9: Evening

My cellphone went off once, at 2pm. Instead of Gail, it was Pete.

"Hey, bro! What's going on? What're you doing in L.A.?"

"Long story," I said, "I'll tell you when I get back. How did things go with you and Riley?"

"Well, I'll be eating s**t for awhile, but I think we'll live," Pete replied.

"Good, glad to hear it," I said. "Listen, I'm waiting for Gail to call me, so—"

"No prob, bro. I'll talk to you later. Let me know when you're coming home."

"You know it. 'Bye, Pete."

I hung up and put the phone down on the bed, where I was sitting up and facing the TV. "Some kind of long interview," I muttered to myself... though I knew that important or particularly valuable prospective employees were often schmoozed for hours, given tours of the office and local sights, met multiple execs and workers, etc, etc... I mean, no one does that for an IT guy, but for a senior account executive, I guessed it was par for the course. For all I knew, I could be waiting until well after dinner.

I tried very hard not to think beyond that. I had, of course, noted Gail's attire, designed to make any guy go weak at the knees in her proximity. She usually dressed like that when I saw her go to work... and she'd told me once that her firm did not know she had a social life. So why did she always dress up like she was the social life? Who was she trying to impress, looking like that? Could there be something going on in her firm... maybe someone in her firm... that she was dressing up for? And most importantly: Did it stop with the dressing up?

No, maybe more importantly: Was it my business?

I tried to stop these thoughts from intruding on my waiting. Unfortunately, since I had chosen a motel with a fairly minimal basic cable setup, there was little on during the day, and in my searching around for something to watch, kept coming back to various soaps, the intent of each being apparently to reinforce the viewer's distrust in his fellow man, and especially in the opposite sex. Then the soaps went off, followed by talk shows which cemented man's cruelty to his neighbor even more. Then the news, and more examples of man's inhumanity to man. It was so not helping my mood.

When the phone finally rang, it caught me dozing, at eight o'clock. I fumbled for the cellphone, and checked the screen; it was Gail on the line. "Where are you?"

"In my motel, on the south side of... uh—"

"Never mind. You must have come in my car, so why don't you meet me West Fifth and South Broadway? I'll be on the north corner."

"I'll be there," I said, and hung up. Grabbing the sportcoat I'd left behind in my earlier foray, I left the room, climbed into Gail's car, and dialed up the address on my cellphone's GPS app. It took me about forty minutes to get there, partially because of two wrong turns I made that put me on one-way streets going the wrong way. I finally reached South Broadway, and after driving a few blocks, I saw Gail standing on the corner to my right, just before Fifth street. She saw me coming, and when I pulled up to the curb, she ambled over. She stopped short of opening the car door, though... I found myself staring at her midsection through the passenger's side window. Perplexed, I hit the window control on that side, and before I could ask what she was doing, Gail leaned down, planted her elbows on the top of the door, and looked in at me like she was a classy streetwalker in designer threads looking over a cheap John.

And actually said, "What can I do for you, sailor?"

"Huh. I know I can't afford you."

"Are you sure?"

I gave her a snide look. "Can we go somewhere to talk?"

"I have a better idea," Gail replied, using a finger to point at a parking spot across the intersection. "Park it over there. I'll be waiting here."

I looked across the intersection, and back at her. "Fine." I waited until she'd straightened up, then I put the car in gear and drove off. I parked the car, fed one of those block-meters, then came back and crossed the street to meet Gail.

Gail did not look particularly happy to see me. On the other hand, she didn't look as though she planned to split my skull open with the nearest manhole, which was an improvement from her mood this morning. "I want to show you something," she said. Follow me."

She started walking; and I followed. We didn't speak as we walked, which made it convenient that we didn't go far. Just about half the block, in fact, before Gail turned and entered one of the buildings. We crossed the lobby, took an elevator to the fourth floor, and stepped out. Gail took a moment to orient herself, then started down the hallway. When we reached a door, she opened her purse and fished out a set of keys on a gold ring. She used one to open the door, and step inside. The lights came on automatically as we entered.

She walked through the office, which consisted of an open central space, with doors of frosted glass leading to each individual office. Most of the place was devoid of furniture, just a remaining chair here and there, and on the wall behind a receptionist's counter, a name that had been painted or mounted on it, had been primed or plastered over. On the upper left, where the paint/plaster was thin, I could make out what looked like the word "Blue" and an "M," but nothing else. At the far end of the office was a glass-walled conference room, that itself had a glass wall looking out over Los Angeles. L.A. being fairly flat in this area, I could see a wide expanse of lighted roadways and buildings continuing off into the distance.

"This," Gail said, "was formerly a detective agency. It was owned by a fashion model as a tax shelter, but she fell on hard times: Her accountant embezzled just about every dime she had, leaving her with nothing but the agency. She tried to keep it afloat, but she was constantly fighting with her staff, especially the lead investigator, and the place closed down after three years under her control. Our firm is leasing the space now. We plan to set up a local branch here."

I looked around. "Nice digs."

Gail nodded non-committally. "We've been head-hunting for people to staff this location, all around the country. Mel Cooley was discovered putting covert feelers out for a new position, and his qualifications were perfect for us. He'll probably be one of our senior staff members... assuming he takes the job, of course."

Gail turned to me. "I wanted to make sure you knew I was doing my job, meeting him here, and spending the day with him."

"What did you guys do all day?" I tried to frame it innocently, but I wasn't sure if I'd pulled it off.

"Pretty much everything but sex," she replied. She looked at me, and smiled wryly. "Which, for the record, is saying something."

"Gail—"

"No," she stopped me. "No, we're here now... you should know this."