July 21st - Wed.
Derek is on a rampage about something. He got a fax Monday morning. Whatever it was made him spill his coffee all over his shirt, which was not a good way to start the day. However, he seemed more amused by the fax than upset. He snatched it out of the machine, read it, spilled the coffee, turned beet-red, then chuckled. At least he didn't seem to burn himself. I know he didn't realize I was there in the control room. I'd give my eye teeth to know what made our unflappable precept blush.
The real turn came a bit later - just before lunch, which became a nightmare. I know it was a memo from London House, but I didn't see what it was. From that moment on, Derek's been hell on wheels.
Philip caught the first salvo when he received a fax from a priest friend in Dublin. Derek snatched the fax from the machine, read it, then snapped at poor Philip that the fax was off limits and that for his sermons Fr. O'Riley should learn the difference between proper and improper English usage. This when he kept muttering in Dutch and his own accent had gotten so thick that you were left going, "What did he just say?" I snuck a look at the sermon later, it was somewhat "earthy," but very funny if you knew what the Irish slang meant. I'm still trying to figure out if Derek did or didn't.
Then yesterday our precept was absolutely paranoid that someone was going to accidentally open a package he was expecting. You'd have thought it was a bomb - maybe it was, of a sort. I had instrructions not to open anything addressed to the Luna Foundation with an originating address anywhere in Southern California. Crimony! He beat me to the door twice and when it finally came, he grabbed it out of Dominick's hands without so much as a by your leave and locked himself in his office.
Talk about a holy terror! It's duck and cover time. The staff has vanished. The cat has squeezed into a mouse hole and now can't get back out. After catching that first blast, Philip suddenly remembered that he'd promised to sub for Fr. Estrada up in Petaluma. Julia is locked in her room finishing a paper on the Carbon 14 dating of wood fragments found at Troy VIIa, which I didn't even know she was writing. So here I am - stuck with tons of work to do in the library & control room - a sitting duck.
It seems that my typing skills are lacking. I dared use White Out rather than printing out a new copy - all because of one damned extra period - on page 1 of 25, naturally. Dr. Rayne said that everything that left this house, whether from Luna or the Legacy, left representing him, and he was not going to have it be slipshod. S**t! Over one friggin' dot! And talk about the electrical charges I get off of him now! More like nuclear blasts! I think I'll join the cat in her mouse hole.
Poor Nick... he's not witnessed this before - and he seems to be bearing the brunt, tho' you'd never know by his expression. I wonder if the Boyles and the Raynes are related.
First it was that Nick should start earning his keep. Yesterday, he told Nick that since he was so fond of the library, he could put a few books and files away - like a couple hundred - that was a good place to start. Then this morning our precept decided the cars needed tending. Nick's been out in the garage ever since. I actually think he's enjoying himself - until Derek goes hunting him.
On second thought, I take that back - enjoying himself, and yet I sense almost a reverse polarity off him as what I sense from Derek. I'll leave it to Julia - she seems to be taking our SEAL on as a special project. Right now I get nothing but muddy waters and deep troubles from both our non-shriven males. Thank God for the sanity of the priesthood. Did I say sanity?
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