Plum Girl (Romance) (6 page)

"Hey." It was Peach.

"Hey! What's up? How's your day going?" She was careful not to pull the phone off the desk while she walked around and sat down in her chair.

"Pretty good," Peach replied. "Iris is gone all day so it's just me and Cheryl. I had a few errands to run earlier, but now I'm just sort of killing time."

"Cheryl doesn't work?" Lonnie asked, listening to Peach pop two bubbles before she answered.

"Well, she's sort of into phone sales. She works out of her home. Out of her room, to be more precise."

"What does she sell?" Lonnie asked. "Wait, is she agoraphobic or something?" she added, while simultaneously reading the message on her computer screen.

NEW MAIL.

"I don't think so. She just has no confidence. Iris hasn't been around much this week, so I've ended up spending more time with her, and she's actually not as lame as I originally thought." Lonnie mmm-hmmed and clicked on her inbox to get her new mail.

"Actually," Peach continued, "she's really into cooking. That's what she sells—her recipes. But it's all mail order, so she doesn't have to deal with people much."

Lonnie's stomach sank in disappointment. Two emails from Terry and one from Macey Green. None from Dominick. The two from Terry had the subject heading "fwd" so Lonnie knew to disregard them immediately. What she didn't know was why he kept sending her forwards when she'd told him how annoying they were. Nine times out of ten they were stupid chain letters that promised you eternal misery if you didn't pass them on to twenty of your closest friends.

She clicked on Macey's message. It was brief and cordial, but she still felt a rush of hero worship:
Hi. Can you come see me about a research project if/when you get a free moment? Thanks so much, MG.

"So she's not agoraphobic, she just avoids people and the outside world?" Lonnie asked. Against her better judgment, she scanned the forwarded messages from Terry. One was a chain letter, and the other a list of jokes about rabbits. She was about to delete them when she got another mail message. It was from Terry, too, but it was a sweet message telling her that he couldn't wait to see her on Saturday. She appeased her guilt about Dominick by not deleting the forwards.

"I don't know," Peach said. "I think she's just shy. But don't worry, I'm gonna work on her."

"Uh-huh, you want to hear a joke? Wait, you're gonna what?"

"I'm going to work on her."

Lonnie let out a small sigh. "Peach, maybe you should just let things be."

"Why? Its not like Cheryl's happy this way, hiding in the house all the time. You know, I wouldn't be surprised if she's never even been on a date. I'm gonna find out."

"Wait a minute. You're not going
ask
her?"

"Please, Lonnie, I think I know how to be subtle," she scoffed mildly.

"Look, just don't try to be some kind of miracle worker with this woman. She's obviously been living this life for thirty-five years already, and..." Lonnie grappled for an overall point. "Just don't fix it if it's not broke, as they say."

"Oh, good. One of your ever-inspiring trite platitudes."

"Hey, I just don't want this to blow up in your face. I know you. You'll say you just want to help her with her shyness, and suddenly she's performing at a karaoke bar wearing a shirt that says 'Coed Naked Limbo.' "

Peach laughed. "Do you have
any
idea what you're talking about? Now, what's the joke?"

Lonnie said, "Wait, seriously, do you understand what I'm trying to say? This woman could have deep psychological problems you know nothing about. Don't unleash Norman Bates and then get fired; that's all I'm saying."

"Lon, let me worry about Cheryl Mew. Please. You're forgetting I was a psych major for almost six months. Now, what's the joke?"

Lonnie gave up, deciding it was easier just to run with her sister's latest enterprise. She read the first joke on her screen, "Okay, what kind of jewelry do rabbits like?"

"Oh, God.
What?"
Peach asked, her voice weary with dread for the impending punchline.

"Fourteen-carrot-gold jewelry," Lonnie read, confused. Then she got it. "Oh.
Carrot."

"Good-bye."

"Wait—"

"From Terry?"

"Yeah, but it was a forwa—"

"Uh-huh. No comment."

Lonnie giggled. "It's not like he wrote it!" she protested. "He doesn't use this in his act or anything,
jeez."

Peach laughed. "Okay, okay. Look, I gotta go anyway. But before I forget, Mom said she wants us to come over for dinner tomorrow night since she and Dad are going to be in New Hampshire this weekend."

Lonnie had forgotten that her parents were visiting some longtime friends for the weekend. "Oh, I forgot! All right, I'll go if you're going."

" 'Kay. Later."

"Bye." After Lonnie hung up, she got another alert: new mail. She clicked on the icon, and felt more than a little disappointed to see a message from Twit asking if any faxes had come for him. Since Lonnie's email address was preset in the system as [email protected] it didn't help Twit when it came to addressing her correctly. His message read:
Libby—any faxes? If there are, I've already asked you to bring them to me ASAP.
She rolled her eyes; her boss knew how to make an employee feel like excremental waste. Lonnie felt like typing back
Don't call me, I'll call you, Twit-head, halitosis-breath!
But it hardly seemed professional, so
Nothing yet; I'll let you know
ended up on the screen instead. She pressed send and leaned back in her chair to contemplate her next course of action with Dominick.

He hadn't e-mailed yet today. It was only 11:15, but they usually exchanged at least a line or two first thing in the morning. But then, what could she expect? The night before, he'd made a move on her and she'd recoiled like his hands were made of banana slugs. Admittedly, not her finest moment, but surely Dominick had to know how attracted she was to him. To her, it seemed painfully obvious that the man's mere presence sent her into a manic state. Even if he couldn't feel her heart beating like she'd just run five miles, or the abnormally humid condition of her body.

Well, at the very least, she wanted to keep Dominick as a friend. That much she was sure of.

Chapter 5

Lonnie walked quickly to Macey's office. She'd just sent Dominick an e-mail asking him if he wanted to go to happy hour at Whiskey's on Friday night. It was three days ahead of time, but she didn't want him to make other plans. Plus, she figured the sooner she did Rattlesnake damage control, the better.

Lonnie knocked on Macey's door. Although Macey was supported by a paralegal, she hadn't had her own administrative assistant since her last one abruptly left the firm a year ago. "Come in." Macey's voice had a sultry, throaty quality that Lonnie wondered if men in the office had noticed.

"Hi, Macey. You wanted to see me?" Lonnie crossed the plush, lavender-pink threshold into Macey's immaculate office. Macey sat behind an ornately carved teak-wood desk, her blue eyes glowing with the reflection of light off her thin silver laptop.

"Yes, hi. You can close the door. Please sit down." She motioned toward the royal blue, high-backed chair facing her desk. The first time Lonnie sat in it, she noticed that it was surprisingly soft, despite its rigid appearance. Sort of like Macey herself, maybe. Lonnie wasn't sure yet.

Macey closed her laptop, folded her hands on her desk, and smiled at her. "First of all, how have you been? I realize I haven't been in the office much in the past two weeks." Lonnie lit up, and knew it was borderline ridiculous. But Macey always projected a kind of invincibility that was awe inspiring. And being beautiful only added to her radiant presence. Lonnie replied humbly, "I've been okay. I'm just trying to solve the catering problem for the party next week."

Macey furrowed her dark blonde eyebrows and, with businesslike concern, she asked, "What catering problem?"

Lonnie waved her hand casually—not wanting to appear overly martyred—and said, "Oh, well it's not the end of the world or anything, but the Twit—uh, I mean, Beauregard—just told me yesterday that now he wants Chinese food for the party. I know I have to cancel the caterer we already booked, but yesterday I left messages at four different catering companies, and no one's gotten back to me yet. Sorry, I don't mean to complain—"

"I see. This has to do with Lyn Tang, I presume?" Lonnie thought she saw the beginning of an eye roll, but then Macey seemed to catch herself, and her face returned to inscrutable. "Let me give you a number," she said, and pushed some of her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. Normally Lonnie would loathe being pitied, but somehow it felt fine at the moment, as Macey rooted through her desk drawer looking for the number. Finally, she pulled out a gold business card.

"Here," Macey said, handing the card to Lonnie, who rose off the chair to take it. "Make sure you speak with Meijing personally." Lonnie looked down and saw that the card was for Bunker Properties. Before she could question it, Macey explained, "Meijing is a Realtor but she's also an unbelievable cook, and she will make the time to do this for you. Make sure to mention my name, and tell her I'll take care of any and all expenses promptly."

Lonnie nodded. "Okay. Thanks so much. Is she a friend of yours or...?"

"Yes, Meijing and I are friends, in a manner of speaking. I'd call her myself, but I think you should do this. You'll make a connection that way."

Lonnie nodded again, probably too eagerly, but what else was new? "But you shouldn't cover her expenses."

Macey smiled. "Oh, don't worry, Twit and Bell will be paying in the end, but in the short run, we can't have Meijing worrying about money." She rolled her desk chair over to the minifridge near the plate-glass window. She grabbed a Snapple for herself, and one for Lonnie, and rolled back to her desk. "Now, the next issue is: do you think you would have time for an extra project? And please, be candid about your time constraints and previous obligations."

"I'd love a project!" Lonnie offered, too quickly to appear candid about her constraints and obligations.

"Oh, terrific," Macey said, and sighed with relief, which was uncharacteristic of her usual fortress-like demeanor. Could it be that she was the only person at Twit & Bell who Macey Green considered a
friend?
Warm self-approval flooded Lonnie's chest, as she waited to hear about the latest project.

"Okay, now this would have to be done very discreetly, and kept between the two of us." She held up a small spiral notebook and lowered her voice. "In this notebook, I have outlined several hypothetical case scenarios." She flipped open to the first page. "You will see that I've listed a group of citations next to each scenario." Lonnie nodded. "Each citation correlates with a real, precedent-setting case that is documented in
The Black Book.
Are you familiar with
The Black Book?"
Lonnie nodded again, recalling the fat legal encyclopedia in question. "Wonderful," Macey said. "What I need is for you to look up each citation and write down the name of the case it references. Does that make sense?"

Lonnie processed her assignment. "Yes, I understand."

"I realize it's not glamorous, and believe me, I would do it myself if I didn't have too much on my plate as it is." She set down the notebook and refolded her hands. "Let me know your thoughts, Lonnie."

Well now that she mentioned it... Lonnie thought the assignment was a little strange. It wasn't that it would be difficult, but it just seemed odd. After all, if Macey had written down the citations in the first place, wouldn't she know what cases they referred to?

"It's not just that I'm too busy," Macey amended. "I trust you; you are obviously very intelligent." Lonnie felt her cheeks glow with a proud, rosy pink.
She
trusts
me. She thinks I'm intelligent.

"I'd love to help. If I can. I mean, I'll see what I can find."

"Great." She sighed again, sounding relieved and grateful.

Lonnie stood to go, with her Snapple in one hand and the spiral notebook in the other. Macey asked, "By the way, how much longer are you going to be with us?"

"Well, I was hoping to line up a teaching position for next fall," Lonnie replied. "But so far there's been no word. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere yet."

She'd meant the last part lightheartedly, and was surprised when Macey muttered, "I doubt I'll be here that long." Then she motioned to the notebook. "Let me know what you turn up."

"Yeah, sure, of course. By the way, when do you need it done?"

Macey thought for a second, and said, "How does the end of next week sound? And, Lonnie, remember what I said. We have to keep this confidential, so it would probably be a good idea not to have that notebook lying around." Macey's tone was back to cool and businesslike, but when her blue eyes locked with Lonnie's, they betrayed a certain urgency.

"Okay. I'll just go put this in my bag right now."

"Now don't leave on my account." It was Lunther Bell. And he was slowly pushing the door all the way open. Except Lonnie remembered shutting it. Did she leave it ajar by mistake?

The door finished opening and revealed Lunther's full-size form. "Pardon me, ladies," he continued in the same I'm-just-a-Southern-bumpkin style. Lunther often seemed to forget that he was from New Jersey. His eyes, Lonnie noticed, immediately zeroed in on the spiral notebook in her hand.

How much had he heard?

Lunther said, "I just wondered if I could have a word or two with you, Macey. About a legal matter, a'course." Translation: beat it, ignorant temp. Lonnie could take a hint. She politely excused herself and left Macey's office.

* * *

The good news Thursday morning was that she got a seat on the 8:15 T. The bad news was that it was the first seat by the door, which meant if anyone boarded who looked more "in need" than her, it would be Lonnie's civic duty to give up the seat.
Please don't let anyone handicapped or elderly get on. Please no crutches or canes or pregnant ladies.
She had a splitting headache—the only cure for which she figured was Starbucks—and Beauregard was scheduled to be back in the office today. She decided she could use a little fortification.