Chapter Four

About twenty-one, she was very attractive with hug doe-like brown eyes and a wealth of shoulder length black curly hair.  She had a subdued sultriness, but she was oblivious to the affect that she had on the male population of Potts.  She seemed out of her element here, and I wondered if she had been convent educated because of her apparent lack of sophistication.

She was somewhat baffled about office machines in general, although it was begrudgingly agreed by all the other office support staff that her computer skills were excellent.  She worked for the Director of Research and Quality Control, Marlin Yarlborough, on the third floor.  Their copy machine was frequently out of order, and I wondered if Marlena's "machine allergy" had anything to do with it.  But there were plenty of guys near the first floor copier anxious to assist.

"Need some help with that cup, Mick?" I purred.

He turned slightly to regard me, while not shifting his gaze from Marlena.

"I like to let it run awhile, it helps to ward off impurities."

"In bottled water?  Did Marlena help you figure that out?  I'm surprised you aren't helping her with her little chore.  It's impressive that she's figured out how to open the machine."

Mick gave me a wicked grin.  "I showed her how, just before I came down here.  Anyway, the view's better from this angle.  Say, I was looking for you a while ago.  Didn't you see me waving at you?"

"Waving?" I said, putting a confused look on my face.  "Why no, what did you want?"

"I could use a little advice," he began.

"Certainly.  Buy low, sell high."  I turned and started back to my office.

But he was following me.  Marlena had finally mastered closing the paper drawer.

"Seriously, Jayne.  I'd like you to run your eyes over my stocking recommendation report, for polish."

I sighed.  "You mean for typos, Mick.  Why don't you just admit it?  Why don't you just run the spell checker?  What about Milly?"

I nodded my headed in the direction of his clerical assistant, a frail older lady, now nearly nodding over her work.  We all swore Milly had been the choice of Mick's former wife - number three - named Jenny.  Jenny had been his secretary herself, before a whirlwind romance and subsequent marriage.  At least Milly had managed to survive both the marriage and the divorce from Jenny, earlier that year.

"Spell checkers have no sense of style," Mick proclaimed.  "And as for Milly, she's the one who typed it.  You know she never really reads anything she types. Come on, be a sport."

I took the report from his outstretched hand.

"O.K., I'll do it this time, but you owe me, Mick."

"Wanna take it out in trade?"  The leer was back.

I ignored the remark, turned on my heel, and headed back to my office.  Proof reading!  How I hated it!  It reminded me of my not-so-long-ago clerical days.  The only reason I still gave in and did it once in a while was that finding the errors of others, especially when they were somewhat obscure gave me some twisted sense of satisfaction.  Besides, occasionally it did give me access to information that I'd never have know otherwise.  I hated to refuse on that basis, alone.  You never knew when you might read something that might come in handy, later.

I didn't take Mick's other offer seriously, of course.   He wasn't my type at all, with the kind of romance book anti-hero looks he had.   He was the dark-haired, dark eyed step-brother type who lurked in the background and managed to divert the dingy heroine's attention away from the golden-haired golden boy, at least for a little while - until she came to her senses and married the rich guy.   I didn't take any real offense, either, although I wondered with all the emphasis on sex harassment today, whether someone like Mick was skirting the edge of impropriety.   However, most women were flattered when Mick showed interest in them. He certainly had made any number of conquests both in and out of the office.

Since his split with Jenny, he'd managed to squeeze in two minor romances that I knew of, and who knows how many during his company travels.   Mick was the manager of overseas markets and spent a lot a time traveling to and from foreign countries to push our products.  I figured he probably fit in well with the playboy jet-set types.

Thank God I was immune to his kind of charms   Silently I wished for a good old-fashioned male hero figure to appear.  As if in answer to my unspoken plea, Dena signaled me for a call.  To my delight, it was the good Lieutenant Rooney inviting me for lunch.  In my weakened state, I readily agreed to meet him for a quick repast.  Since it was not quite twelve, I took my wallet and car keys out of my purse to slip them into my blazer pocket to make an un-noticed getaway.  No matter how far women's lib has come, people still check for a woman's purse under her desk to determine if she's in or not.

Quietly, I slipped out into the hallway.  It was nearly deserted, but I could see Mick, once again at the drinking fountain, talking earnestly to Marlena, who still held her stack of photocopies.  I grinned to myself.   That guy never gave up.  Then, without a word to anyone, I left the building.

Rooney and I had agreed to meet at Tally Ho's, a recently Yuppized little uptown spot, which in its previous life had been a family-owned Italian restaurant.  Now done in shades of dusty rose and forest green, it featured a terribly healthy new menu with such delights as grilled turkey burgers, catering to those on their way up, and those who thought they were already there.  I didn't find it offensive, and the  food was quite good, although I refused to go so far as to have any kind of sprouts added to my sandwich. I am of the firm opinion that sprouts taste like a crunchy version of how a basement smells, and I find that sensation adds nothing to my enjoyment of the food.

Lieutenant Rooney, who has asked me to call him Hal, sat rather forlornly worrying a sizzle stick around and around in his diet coke.  His clear blue eyes sparkled as he saw me, and his dark hair, touched with silver highlights, sported endearing twin collicks.  My stomach reacted with a little hollow feeling as I saw him, and I took a quick breath to gain control.  It's just hunger pangs, I told myself sternly. I sat, and he caught the waitress for another diet coke - with lime for me.

"I'm seriously thinking of having you arrested, Jayne," he said in a solemn tone.

"My past parking tickets catching up with me?"

He cocked his head at me and smiled that crooked little smile.  "Nope, you're interfering with the duties of an officer of the law.  I find myself thinking of you - when I'm supposed to be working.  But I suppose that's only natural, since I do meet up with a :'Jane Doe' every now and then in my line of work."

"You can arrest me if you like," I replied.  "But I can't help that my name is Jayne Deaux."

"French, I suppose?" he asked.  "That night we met, when your brother-in-law introduced you to me, I really thought he was kidding."

"I think it may originally have been "Devereaux," I explained.   "But when some immigrant ancestor passed through the portals, the clerk must have been tired, or took a shortcut.  Anyway, somewhere along the line, someone just cut it down to 'Deaux."  I've taken a lot of grief for it, believe me."

"Your mother had quite a sense of humor, naming you Jayne," Hal laughed.

"It was my Dad," I replied.  "And actually, I didn't get the best part of the joke, my younger sister did.  I'm sure that's one reason she married so young, to change her last name to Taylor.  We call her "Lo," so you probably didn't realize that her real name is Lotta.  Dad is quite a punster, but I'm afraid Mom tends to humor him."

The waitress came to take our orders, and we mutually agreed on the grilled salmon and salad.

"That's enough about me," I told him.  "Let's hear your deep, dark secrets."

"Maybe I don't have any."

"Everybody has secrets," I said.  "But really, I've wondered what a big city boy like you is doing in a place like this."

"Middletown's hardly the end of the world," Hal replied.  "Although you can see it from here," he teased.  Then he sobered as he went on.   "It isn't that far to Chicago, but it is, thank God, a million miles away in some ways."

"That sounds like the voice of experience."

"It is.  Chicago's where I first became a cop.  But now it's just a place I like to visit once in a while.  I could never live there again.  I like my life a lot more uncomplicated these days." 

The conversation turned to lighter things, as the waitress brought our lunch, and then it was time for my return to work.   But Hal took my hand as I stood up and reached for the check.

"Uh-uh.  That's mine.  I'm still a gentlemen at heart."

I let him pick up the check.  What the heck, woman's lib need never know, and it felt kind of nice.  It wasn't until the middle of the afternoon, that I realized we hadn't made another date.  Oh, well, with phone mail and answering machines, we were never really out of touch.

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