The Case of the Perfect Match
           
NOW 

	Della Street put the finishing touches on her hair.  She had fifteen minutes to get down the elevator and to the restaurant to meet Sarah Andrews.  Grabbing her black patent bag she headed out to the living area of the suite.  Perry had papers strung out across the large table.  Della resisted the urge to straighten them.  “Well, I’m off for dinner.  Are you sure you don’t want me to bring something back?”
	“Just the information we talked about earlier,” Perry said dryly as he read through the document. 
	“Never fear Chief, I’ll get the goods,” Della promised.  
	It had been so long since she’d called him ‘chief’ that Mason looked up with an air of boardroom formality, “See that you do Miss Street.”
	Della crinkled her nose at him and started for the door.  Melanie Benson came out of her room to say good night, “Wow, you look nice Della.”
	“Thank you Melanie.  Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”  
	Perry and Melanie glanced at each other.  He harrumphed, “Have you ordered room service yet?”
	“Not yet,” she answered smartly.  
	“Do,” he ordered and handed her the menu. 
	She took it, flopped in the large wing chair, “Didn’t you think Della looked pretty?”
	“What?” Perry asked as if he didn’t understand the question.
	“Della, she had on a new dress.  You didn’t say anything about it.  In fact, you’re kinda gruff with her all the time.  I wouldn’t want to work for you,” Melanie said definitely. 
	Perry was perturbed at the girl’s frankness, “Have you ever thought that I wouldn’t hire you to work for me?”
	“Good, cause it’d never work.”
	“Then we can agree on something.”
	“Yeah,” Melanie submitted.  She read down the menu list.  She’d had just about everything on it already.  “You can tell she likes you though, a lot.”
	“Who?” Mason asked trying to figure out why Melanie continued to pester him.  
	“Della.  She’s always fussing over you, making sure you take your medicine, has all your stuff ready, that kind of thing.”
	“That’s called being my secretary,” Perry explained.  
	“Funny, it looks kinda like the way my mom treated dad before their divorce,” Melanie said.  “But after a while they just argued all the time.”
	Perry decided not to say anything on that.  He knew it was hard on the girl to be stuck in the hotel away from both her parents, but he didn’t intend to play father to her either.  He tried a joke instead, “Maybe she should have been his secretary instead.” 
	It didn’t amuse Melanie.  She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, whatever.  What do you want to eat?”  
	“I’ll wait till later,” he answered.  
	The redhead shrugged.  “I guess I’ll just go back to my room.”
	“You do that,” Perry insisted.  
	
	It was hours before Della returned.  Perry had moved to the sofa, turned the television on and fallen asleep while reading.  She smiled at the sight.  He’d never change.  Melanie’s room was strangely silent.  Della wondered if she had been banished or voluntarily gone to bed before midnight for a change.  They did have a busy day in court the next day so she went to wake Perry up so he could get a proper night’s sleep.  Shaking him lightly she whispered, “Perry.”
	“Hmm,” he moaned and rubbed his eyes.  He peered up at Della in the low light, “Hello beautiful.”
	The old but familiar greeting made her smile, “Haven’t heard that in a long time.”  
	“As they say on the streets… my bad,” he answered and straightened in the sofa.  He patted the seat next to him, “Sit with a blind old man for a while?”
	Della started to say no but something in the way he held her hand and looked at her made her sit, “We have to be in court tomorrow.”
	“Tomorrow can wait a little while longer,” he answered quizzically. 
	“Want me to give you a rundown on what Sarah said?”
	“That can wait too.  Melanie got me thinking,” he began. 
	“Oh, about what?” Della asked.  
	“The most beautiful woman I know and how I don’t seem to notice her nearly as much as I should.”  
	“Ah,” she said and patted his arm to let him know she hadn’t minded.  
	“When was the last time I told you how perfect you are?” Perry asked softly.
	Della chuckled, “I can’t remember.  The first time was almost 43 years ago.”  
	“Forty-three years,” Perry sighed.  “It seems like yesterday when I walked into my office such as it was and this beautiful, mysterious woman was behind my desk typing a brief I had completely muddled.  She’d not only straightened my files but she’d dusted, watered the dead fern in the corner, and uncovered the bust of Blackstone I had stuck in the corner and was using for a coat rack.”
	Della laughed, “I had to do something while I waited for you.  Mr. Croft said to get your signature if I had to stay all day to do it.  Well, I did.”
	“And forty-three years later you’re still picking up after me, keeping track of me, and making the best out of a bad situation,” he shook his head, “No wife would put up with what I’ve dished out.”
Della leaned closer, “And that’s why you’ve always needed a secretary.”
“Still…” he said and leaned toward her.  His lips met hers halfway. “I wish Melanie were far, far away,” he growled quietly.  
“But she isn’t, and she is our responsibility until you get her father off the hook,” Della pointed out.  
Perry sighed, “That hook might be a lot harder to get him off of than we think.  Did you find out anything useful from Sarah?”
“I thought that could wait till morning?” Della chuckled.  His mind was never far from a case, even in a dimly lit room with her beside him.  
“Suddenly, I’m wide awake.  Like you said, the faster I get her father off the hook the faster we can be really alone,” Mason declared and got up to go back to the pile of papers on the table.  
Della shook her head tiredly.  “I’ll go change and make some coffee.  I’m sure it’ll be a long night.”
As she headed into her room Perry stopped her, “Della, you look beautiful and Melanie didn’t have to tell me that to make me notice.”  
She tilted her head at him the way she did when she knew she had the upper hand, “I know.  I’ll not be long.”
While Della redressed and made coffee Perry took a few minutes to reflect on the amazing woman who shared his life.  She’d seen him in every possible light good and bad and he in turn had seen all the sides of Della Street from the impish girl to the voluptuous woman and each aspect was like the facets of a sparkling gem to him.  She’d been a slip of a thing when he first saw her.  “Forty-three years ago,” he whispered as if he couldn’t believe it could possibly be that long ago.  

THEN (SPRING  1947)

“GIRL!” Jonas Croft’s voice shattered through the noise that half a dozen typists make while hard at work.  Within half a minute a willowy, fresh faced young lady appeared, “Yes Mr. Croft?”
	“Uh… you’re?”
“Della Street,” she answered for the twenty-third time.  He could never remember her name but then again she was just one out of a dozen office girls that had to keep on their toes at all times.  
	He stamped a document and made sure the pages were in the correct order, “I need this signed.  Go to this address and make sure you have Mason’s signature on the bottom line.”
	“How long should I wait sir?” she asked in a clear but tentative voice.
	“All day if it takes.  Camp out on his door.  He’s a hard bird to get hold of, always chasing down some client or other,” the middle-aged executive said as an aside.  “Chop, chop girl, and don’t dawdle when he’s got it signed.”
	Della Street took the papers, slipped them into an empty envelope, and left with a curt nod.  
	She was glad to get out of the office.  Two years in the WACs had her used to a lot of action and constant commotion.  The three months she’d spent at Townes and Croft Accounting Associates had dulled her senses to the point that she could barely get dressed in the morning.  It was a bright day in Los Angeles, a slight breeze tousled the brown sun-kissed waves, and it was nearly lunch.  Deciding that if she was going to have to wait for Mason she’d better take provisions, Della stopped at a corner drugstore and ordered a couple sandwiches to go.  “Don’t forget the pickle,” she reminded sweetly and the jerk behind the counter smiled at her as he filled her order.  
	Mason’s office was only a few blocks away so she didn’t bother with the bus or taxi.  She had legs; that’s what they were there for.  Coming to the 512 La Mesa she hurried up three flights to room 18.  The name painted on the door read: P. Mason, Attorney at Law.  She stepped in. The room was a multi-purpose office, waiting room, consultation room, law library, and… bedroom?  Clothes were scattered about, a blanket draped over a well-worn leather sofa, the light that poured in through the windows revealed a lot of dust particles floating about.  A half-eaten sandwich, some time since the last bite, was hard and dry, coffee stains in a cream mug would never come out no matter how much scrubbing was involved, and a partially typed document was in the typewriter.  The ashtray was full of butts.  Della waited.  
	An hour later she couldn’t stand it any longer.  Finishing one of the two sandwiches and the pickle, she set her bag to the side and started from the beginning.  The clothes were tossed into a pile on the floor to be sorted by Mason.  A big bronze bust of a man in a wig stared at her.  She considered putting the jacket back over his face, but hung it neatly on one of the hangers on the back of the bathroom door.  A dust cloth made quick work of the bunnies on the shelves, a broom in the closet helped gather the ones under the furniture.  She got the window open to let in fresh air after some effort.  The weight was apparently broken because it didn’t want to stay up so she used one of the heavy law books to keep it propped.  A wilted fern practically sighed in relief after a drink of water and finally the desk was the last thing to be taken care of.  She arranged the paper work by a logical method, and peered at the document in the typewriter.  Someone was trying to transcribe a passage from an open volume but had terribly screwed it up.  She ripped the page out, set it aside and put in a new page.  Her typing speed was over 80 words a minute and accurate.  The paragraph was typed within a few minutes.  She was just finishing when the door opened and a man entered.  “Hello,” he said mystified.  He was young, dark haired, full figured, and had the most piercing blue eyes she’d ever seen.  
	“Uh, if you’re here to see Mr. Mason he’s not here,” she said authoritatively.  
	“Oh, well, I’ll just wait,” he said and looked around.  Choosing a spot on the now respectable sofa, he sat and thumbed through a magazine.  Della felt a little self-conscious but she’d go on with the pretense, “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Mason?”
	He shook his head, “No, is that a problem?”
	She shook her head, “No, just making sure so I can have things prepared when he gets here.”
	Cool as a cucumber she sat at the desk like she belonged there.  The man went back to thumbing through the magazine and after another fifteen minutes closed it.  “Well, I guess I won’t wait after all,” he said and started to get up. 
	Della smiled, “All right, may I leave a message for Mr. Mason?”
	“Why, yes.  Tell him that Perry dropped by,” he said with a slight smile that showed the hint of dimples.  
	Della wrote it down on a pad of paper, “Mr. Mason, Perry called…” 
	Something clicked in her head and she looked at the letterhead: Perry Mason.  She swallowed hard and took a chance that she was gonna get it, “Are you by any chance Mr. Mason?” 
	His smile widened, “I am.”
	She nearly upset the desk jumping up so fast, “I am sorry, but I’m Della Street from Townes and Croft and had to get your signature no matter what and I’ve been waiting and waiting and I just had…”
	“To tidy up.  Almost thought this was a different office,” he laughed softly.  “It needed it.  I, uh, spend a lot of time here and it gets pretty hairy after a while.”  
	“Do you sleep here too?” Della asked noting the pile of clothes and blanket.
	“Sometimes, most of the time.  I have an apartment but it’s two miles away and that’s too far away when I’m busy on a case.” 
	“A case?  You sound like a detective,” she said feeling a little more at ease.  
	“Well, I guess I’m a detective wannabe.  I like to take on criminal court cases and a good friend and I tend to do all the legwork ourselves.  He’s the real detective, has a license and all.  I just bum around cause I get a kick out of it.  Plus I hate to be cooped up in this office very long, but now that you’ve made it live-able it’s not so bad.”
	Della’s face was still scarlet and she cleared her throat.  She glanced down at the envelope, “Oh, you need to sign this so I can take it back.”
	Perry took the document she offered, read through it quickly and picked up the fountain pen.  Della handed him the blotter and stared at him so intently he asked, “What?”
	“Uh, nothing,” she excused and averted her eyes.  
	“No, you’re curious about something.  What is it?” 
	“Just that… uh,” she warred with herself before saying it but then couldn’t hold it any longer, “You have the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a man, and such pretty eyes.”  
	This time Mason turned colors.  He’d had compliments on his eyes before but the way she said it took him by surprise.  They stood there awkwardly for a moment and then he looked at the time, “Nearly six o’clock.  Your office will be closed for the night.”
	“No, it’s open till seven.  But I normally leave at five,” she said.  
	“Then do me a favor,” Mason requested. 
	“What?” 
	“Let me drop you off long enough to turn in this and then let me take you to dinner,” Perry proposed.  “It’s the least I can do for a hell of a cleaning job.”
	Della started to protest but he amended, “And no is not an option.”
	She laughed, “Well, I do have a sandwich.”
	“Save it for tomorrow or toss it.  Tonight you’re going to dine like you’ve never dined before,” he promised.  
	
	Perry chose a restaurant that wasn’t too far away from his office.  He was apparently well known because everyone commented on Della’s presence on his arm.  She felt a little self-conscious.  “Are you famous?”
	“Not yet, but I do try to be infamous,” he said.  The waiter approached.  Mason said decisively, “We’ll have a bottle of your best wine, the best cuts of steak with the works, and shrimp cocktails.”
	Della was startled, “Shrimp cocktails…”
	“What?”
	“I’ve never had them before.  What if I don’t like them?” she asked softly, feeling a little like the fish out of water.  
	“Then don’t eat it.  But I think you’ll like it,” Perry said.  He’d asked for a quiet corner booth where he could talk to her without being bothered by everyone.  “So, you’re Della Street, you work at an accounting firm, and you clean a mean office, what else is there?” 
	Della shrugged, “Not much else.”
	“Where you from?”
	“Little town out east.  I was stationed out here with the WACs during the war and when I was discharged I stayed.”
	“Always did like the WACs,” Perry complimented.  “So is that where you learned secretarial work?”
	“No, I went to night school for that.  I thought it would be the best way to make a good living.”  
	“Then what did you do in the WAC?” he asked as the cocktails arrived. 
	“Oh, I drove an ambulance,” she answered almost apologetically.  
	“You’re kidding,” he laughed and then added, “I didn’t mean… you just don’t seem old enough to do something that dangerous.”  
	She puffed up, “I’m 25.”  
	Perry pointed at her cocktail, “Try it.”
	Aware that he was watching her for the reaction she took a small bite.  It was delicious and she nodded happily before digging in.  They ate the cocktails in silence and while they waited for the main course, Perry poured another glass of wine.  Della was no tea totaller but she wasn’t used to so much high living.  She took a sip and set the glass aside.  She had a feeling she was going to need a clear head with this fellow but at the same time she didn’t feel threatened at all.  “Do I get to cross examine you or is this a one-sided case?”
	Perry smiled, crossed his arms, and leaned against the table so he could look at her in the low light better.  Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.  “Go ahead.”
	“Other than the grand life of a lawyer detective what do you do?” 
	“Oh I like to fish, read…” a slow number started up from the combo on a corner stage.  “Dance?”
	Della considered, decided, “All right…”
	“Thatta girl,” he grinned and took her hand to lead her to the floor.  She felt tiny in his arms, but sturdy like a young tree that could bend with the wind but wouldn’t break and would grow to become a mighty oak.  He didn’t press her close although he didn’t think she’d mind.  Something about her struck Perry as a girl with a lot of spunk, someone who could roll with the flow, and someone he could work with.  “Della, how much do you make a week?”
	It was an odd question but she answered truthfully, “Thirty dollars a week.”
	“I’ll pay you twenty-five a week and a promise of more excitement than a whole platoon of ambulances,” he propositioned.  
	“Deal,” she agreed and then realized what he said, “Wait, I just lost five dollars a week.”
	“But you’ve gained adventure, excitement, and an office that desperately needs a girl like you,” he countered.  
	“Yeah, but five dollars.  I go through a lot of stockings,” she explained. 
	“Twenty-five a week and all the stockings you can ruin,” he agreed.  
	“All right Mr. Mason, so as your secretary what are my duties?” 
	“You’ll follow me wherever I go, including court, I’ll give you tasks to complete like looking up information, confidential information on clients, and be my dancing partner when I go to dinner parties,” he added.  
	Della Street nodded, “I think I can do that.  You’re a pretty good dancer.”
	“Well, at the slow ones, I don’t jitterbug,” he chuckled.  The music stopped and he escorted her back to the table.  They had just gotten settled when the steaks arrived and a tall, dark blonde, athletic man hurried up, “Perry I’ve got a line on… hello.”
	“Paul Drake, meet Della Street.  Paul, our circle is now complete.  Della is my new private, confidential secretary.  Paul Drake is my intrepid friend with the license,” he explained.  She smiled, “Hello Paul.”
	“Come on let’s go,” Paul said hurriedly.
	“Paul, I have invited the lovely young lady to dinner, I don’t want to make a bad impression by just running off.”
	“Perry, the guy’s packing to skip.  If we can get there now we might be able to stop him.”
	Perry looked at Della, shrugged, “You stay and eat the steak.  Here’s cab fair and the office opens at 9 in the morning.”
	Della watched as they started to go.  Leaving the money for the steak she grabbed her purse and ran after them as fast as she could in the heels, “Wait.”
	Perry and Paul were already in the car but she stopped them, “You said I go where you go.  You’re not leaving me here.”
	Perry elbowed Paul, “I think I’ve got me a winner Paul.  Climb in Della and hold onto your hat.”
	“I don’t wear hats,” she commented as she piled into the middle of the coupe with the two men.  Paul Drake maneuvered the dark streets easily and soon they were in front of a seedy motel.  Drake parked and nodded at one of the outer doors, “Number 16, two doors.  How do you want to handle this?”
	Perry lit his cigarette, took a long drag, and squinted, “You go around back.  I’ll head in front but if he gets wise you be there to block him off.”
	They started to get out and Della said, “What about me?”
	Perry looked back earnestly, “Stay here, I mean it, you could get hurt.”
	She nodded and did as he said.  She sat there and watched as Drake headed around the back of the building and Perry waited to knock on the front.  Whoever they were trying to see knew who they were and didn’t want to see them.  Perry was built like a defensive tackle but lacked the agility to move in two places at once so when the guy got out of his grip and started to run for the car he had waiting, Della shifted over to the driver’s side and revved the engine.  Blaring the horn as she made a fast U-turn, she hollered at Perry, “Come on!”  	
	Paul Drake barely made it in the rumble seat of the coupe and was trying to right himself as the car swerved through the tight street and into the main stream of night traffic.  Della showed no sign of indecision as she sped up, slowed down, beat the stop lights by split seconds, and whipped the car through turns that made both Perry and Paul’s bodies feel the pull of gravity into the car frame.  Paul’s eyes showed fear as he felt two wheels come off the pavement as Della took a curve too fast.  The car they were chasing was still in sight and she pushed the pedal to the floor.  She was about to overtake it when it suddenly braked causing Della to swerve to keep from hitting him in the rear.  By the time she whipped around the quarry had disappeared backwards down an alley.  She pulled to the corner and parked, she looked forlorn, “Sorry I let him slip Chief.”
	Perry Mason and Paul Drake stared at her like she had lobsters crawling out of her ears.  Paul finally managed to ask, “Lady…where the hell did you learn to drive?”
	“Ambulance during the war,” she shrugged like it was something to be embarrassed of.  
	Perry laughed, “What were you saying about making a mistake hiring her?”
	Paul shook his head, “She’s perfect.”  
	
NOW

	“Perry?” Della Street said as she walked back in.  She’d put on a pair of satin pajamas and robe and washed the make up off as well as taken off all her jewelry. 
	“What?”
	“Wherever you were it was far, far away,” she noted with a teasing note in her voice as she let her hands rest on his broad shoulders. 
	“And long, long ago,” he added.  “Oh I was just thinking about a former ambulance driver and how she scared Paul Drake so bad his hair turned grey overnight.”  
	Della laughed heartily at the old joke.  Paul did claim that Della’s driving made his hair turn grey but he also blamed Perry and his lack of proper nutrition while working on the cases.  Della sighed.  She had a pang in her heart at the mention of their old comrade.  She missed him so, even after twenty years.  Perry took her hand, “I know.  I miss him too.”  
	Wistful, Della sniffed, “I didn’t really know what I was doing back then. You know that don’t you?”
	“I didn’t know much more than you did, neither did Paul.  We all sort of grew up together didn’t we?”  
	“Too bad we couldn’t grow old together as well,” she finished, a tear starting to slide down her cheek.  
	Perry pushed the chair back and stood, pulled Della close to him, “Who’s old?  I’m not old and neither are you.”  
	“I suddenly feel very old,” Della admitted.  Perry tipped her chin to look up at him, “But you’re still the most vibrant, beautiful, most young at heart woman I’ve ever known, and you keep me just as young as you.  Don’t ever forget it.”
	He kissed her tenderly, the way that always left her smiling when they parted.  “Now, let’s get this case over with so we can get back to living.”  
	“Whatever you say Chief.”