The Touch of a Woman (4 page)

She seated herself in a pedestal armchair that was more style than comfort. All of the furniture around her was modern, including the L-shaped desk of black graphite and glass. At the far end was an iMac; at the near end, a laptop. And an iPad. No wonder there weren’t enough computers to go around.

“That’s great. I’ll see you Thursday in LA.” The woman spun around as she signed off. Long straight hair of champagne blond, understated makeup, and wearing a black wrap dress that had to be a size zero. She couldn’t have been a day older than thirty-five. Marcie Wagstaff, executive editor. Her boss. Everyone’s boss.

“Ms. Wagstaff, I’m so happy to finally meet you. Gil has told me wonderful things about your work.”

“Call me Marcie,” she said, flashing perfect teeth in what appeared to be a genuine smile. “Gil says good things about you too. It’s obvious he really likes you.”

“The feeling’s mutual. I’ve actually been with
Vista
quite a long time…in San Francisco, that is. I like to think I know the magazine really well, so I’m eager to help in any way I can.”

Marcie nodded along, still smiling. “Arts and special features. That’s the thrust of San Francisco. And LA has the entertainment industry covered, but we’re the capital. Here we have a special focus on state politics. Do you follow the statehouse?”

Ellis was embarrassed to be caught flatfooted. “I…I can’t say I do. But I will.”

“Here, take this.” She scribbled a note on a pad and tore off the top sheet. “That takes you to California-dot-gov, the state website. Get to know the departments, the legislative committees, the high-ranking legislators and the cabinet. Their names will come up a lot in our stories. Photos too. Nothing riles me more than getting a call from an assemblyman who’s mad because we spelled his name wrong.”

Yes, she would go at once and memorize the organization tree…on her nonexistent computer.

“And you should go to the archive and read Rex Brenneman.” She snatched the sheet back and made another note. “He’s our political columnist. There isn’t one thing that goes on in the capitol that he doesn’t know about.”

Rex Brenneman, check. The archive on her nonexistent web account. Fortunately, she already was somewhat familiar with his work, since it was syndicated in the
San Francisco Chronicle
.

“We welcome your contributions. I really like that you’re older than most of the people working here. We need that perspective from time to time, especially when we’re reaching out to our mature readers.”

Mature
. So that’s what the Gen-Xers were being called now that the Millennials were rising into positions of power. Ellis didn’t know whether to feel revered or humiliated.

“We value all of our readers, Ellis, and our employees too. Assistant editors aren’t required to attend the editorial meetings, but if you have any story ideas, feel free to pass them up through Angie. And let me know if there’s anything you need.”

“There is one thing.” It was worth a shot to ask. “It would help if I had a computer on my desk. I understand there’s a shortage, but maybe I could get it on the budget list?”

“Pfft.” Marcie waved her hand dismissively and spun around to pull the plug on her iMac. “Take this one. I never use it anyway.”

Ellis returned to her cubicle balancing the computer, keyboard and mouse. Along the way, she noted the outdated hardware on the desks of her new colleagues. Mismatched peripherals and low-resolution monitors.

She was setting up her prize when Alvarez returned.

“I got you the phone from the break room. Your extension is—” Her jaw dropped. “Is that Marcie’s iMac?”

“It was. She gave it to me.”

“That’s not fair.”

It didn’t seem fair to Ellis either, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Nor would she offer to trade with someone else. “I can’t do my job without a computer. And since Marcie gave me a couple of links to study, she must have thought I needed one too. It’s possible she’ll order another and want this one back.”

Alvarez’s lips pursed in an angry pout. “Nothing personal, but I don’t get why they hired you without even giving me a say. I have two copy editors who already paid their dues. Both of them deserved to be promoted instead of bringing in somebody new. Obviously you know somebody pretty important if you didn’t even have to interview. And now you go in there and walk out with the best computer in the whole office. You’re already making more than anyone else on the line when you haven’t proved yourself at all.”

That explained the resentful vibe she’d felt since the moment she arrived. A showdown with Angie Alvarez, who apparently was her supervisor, didn’t strike her as a good idea. But she wasn’t going to shrink from the accusation that she was unfit for her job. Especially since their conversation had caused everyone around her to go quiet.

“You have every right to be upset if they left you out of the loop, Ms. Alvarez. But rest assured, I
have
proven myself. I was copy editing for
Vista
in San Francisco before you were born, and I have at least three hundred bylines of my own. That kind of experience usually warrants a higher salary than the one I’m making now, but you don’t hear me complaining.” She lowered her voice to keep the others from overhearing the rest. “And I’m sorry you felt disrespected about my hiring, but I had nothing to do with how anyone treated you. I’m very glad to be here, and my number one concern is making the magazine the best it can be. I hope you won’t work against me.”

Alvarez stared at her in silence for a long, tense moment before dropping a document on her desk. “There’s your first assignment. And everybody calls me Angie.”

* * *

Summer settled into a steady pace on the recumbent exercise bike, the only machine in the fitness center that gave her a decent cardio workout without causing her toe to hurt. Not as good overall as the elliptical but better than she’d expected.

She worked rigid hours—eight to five—and always hurried home to get the jump on others who tried to squeeze in a workout before dinner. She had the fitness center to herself until the woman she’d met the night before came in and claimed a treadmill at the far end of the room. Not even a nod, which Summer tried not to take personally, since the woman hadn’t actually looked in her direction.

Nice body from the back. Firm calves and butt, pulled even tighter in spandex leggings. After about five minutes, she removed her warm-up jacket to show off broad shoulders that rippled with every step. Like Summer, she was dedicated to her workout. No headphones, no TV, no cell phone.

Unlike Gene Steele, a hefty man in his sixties who appeared right on schedule at six o’clock sharp. As usual, he grabbed the TV remote, took the treadmill next to their new neighbor and turned on Fox News.

Within seconds, the woman stopped walking and scanned the room, seeing Summer for the first time. The only other cardio machine was the elliptical next to her bike, and it was clear she was weighing which was the lesser of two evils—Fox News or her hoodlum neighbor. She chose the latter.

Summer decided in that instant she liked this woman and wanted to be her friend.

“Obnoxious, isn’t it?” she said with a wry smile.

“Such utter nonsense. Amazing how quickly your view of someone is set when you see them hanging on Bill O’Reilly’s every word.”

Or how quickly it was set by seeing a police car in someone’s driveway. Either of those was a good clue in most cases. This lady just happened to be wrong about the police car.

“That’s Gene. I’ve learned to stay on this end if I want to work out at six. But he only goes for twenty minutes, so you can get back to the treadmill when he’s done.”

“Good to know.” She began pumping her arms and legs in alternate rhythm, quickly reaching the same pace she’d managed on the treadmill. “I’m Ellis. Ellis Keene. Just moved over from San Francisco.”

“Great city, isn’t it? I was born there. In fact, that’s how I got my name. Summer…since I was born during the Summer of Love.”

Her admission brought a hint of a smile.

“I don’t mean to keep beating a dead horse, but I really am sorry about last night. I was as shocked as everyone else when I got home. That was my ex in the cop car. We split up last year because of her drinking, and what does she do? She gets drunk and comes over here to make an ass of herself. How’s that for irony?”

Ellis showed no reaction, which Summer took to mean she wasn’t helping her cause.

“These days I have to ask myself what I ever saw in her.”

Still no response. Maybe she was put off by the mention of a girlfriend, but that was hard to believe of someone from San Francisco. Especially one who knew Fox News was nonsense.

“Did you get everything moved in?”

“It’s all there, but don’t ask me where.”

“From the looks of it, you had lots of help. I couldn’t tell at first who was moving in, you or one of the kids.” Were they her kids, or people she’d hired?

No reply. In fact, Ellis picked up her pace on the elliptical and appeared to be tuning out the conversation. She couldn’t have made her disinterest much plainer.

Perhaps it had nothing to do with the police, Summer thought. It might very well be that Ellis Keene was the sort of person who kept to herself. Or maybe she was slow to open up to new people. Whatever the reason, she didn’t bolt back to the treadmill when Gene left, and Summer took that as a good sign.

Her legs were burning from the resistance on the bike, and she slowed her pace to start her cool-down. She’d already stayed ten minutes beyond her usual workout, but hadn’t wanted to leave while there was still a chance her new neighbor would talk to her.

Ellis began to ease up as well. Though her face was red from exertion, she didn’t seem to be struggling for a breath. Definitely not a stranger to the fitness room. “Is there a place where I can recycle my cardboard boxes?” she asked.

Another reason to like her. She hated Fox News and she recycled.

They walked out of the fitness center together as Summer relayed the directions to the nearest recycling center. “But you have to break them down.”

“I’d have to do that anyway. Otherwise they wouldn’t fit in my—” Ellis’s face fell as she stopped short.

Summer followed her gaze to a black Lexus SUV, its rear tire fully flattened. “Oh, that sucks. Time to call Triple A.”

“Except I don’t have Triple A.”

Here was her chance to make a better impression. “I do. Let me call them.”

“Can you even do that? I thought it had to be
your
car.”

“It can be anybody as long as I’m here when they arrive. I get three service calls a year, and I’ve only used one. And it’s December.”

Ellis shook her head warily. “I don’t know…what if something happens and you end up needing it for yourself?”

“Then you can pay me back. Wait here. I’ll go call them and get my card.”

She hobbled to her apartment as quickly as she could. Her good deed wasn’t only to make up for Rita’s disturbance. A new neighbor in need of a hand…she was glad for the chance to come to the rescue. Once they got past their rocky start, they might even be friends.

* * *

Ellis licked guacamole from her fingers in what Summer had called the best kept secret in Sacramento, a hole-in-the-wall taqueria less than half a mile from River Woods. She’d offered to treat as a way of saying thanks for the AAA, and couldn’t believe her luck—two giant burritos for just eight bucks.

The tiny cafe had only four small tables, as most of its business appeared to be carryout. And nearly all of it was Latino. Summer assured her that was its stamp of approval.

Summer had finished her burrito and was tipped back precariously in her chair, explaining her job with the California Department of Health and Human Services.
“I keep track of programs that serve the homeless. The state gives out grants to shelters and soup kitchens. I’m there to keep everybody honest, make sure they aren’t spending your tax dollars on bonuses and perks for the higher-ups. Basically your run-of-the-mill paper pusher. Twenty-six years with the state. That pretty much makes me a lifetime bureaucrat.”

“Are you from Sacramento originally? Oh, stupid question. Summer of Love. That was what? Sixty-seven? Haight-Ashbury. That’s quite a claim to fame.”

“That’s nothing. I’ll have you know I was also at Woodstock. My mom has a picture of me sitting on Dad’s shoulders with Jimi Hendrix on stage in the background.”

The more they talked, the more she grudgingly came to realize she’d grossly misjudged Summer. There was nothing in her manner to imply she was prone to run-ins with the police. She was mild-mannered with a steady job, and had quickly come to her aid without asking for anything in return. Plus she was good company.

“My folks are old-time hippies,” Summer went on. “Matter of fact, we lived in a commune in Mendocino until I was six. Then my grandfather died and left us a farm in Hollister. Just a small one. They grew organic herbs. Supplied all the best restaurants in the Bay Area. Not so much anymore though. Too much competition from the corporate farms. They’re into artsy stuff now.”

Chatty…and she had a natural look about her. Not the shaggy, tie-dyed hippie fashion of the Sixties. Just a casual style that suggested she didn’t fuss much over how she appeared to others. Nor did she need to. Her blondish hair was graying naturally and she had a smooth complexion for someone her age. And the glasses were cute.

“Okay, you’re looking at me funny,” Summer said, “like I just told you I was from Mars.”

Ellis laughed. No way would she confess to her musings. “No, I was just thinking how odd that I’ve lived in Northern California all my life and never met anyone who grew up in a commune. You’d think they’d be everywhere. How did your folks feel about you going to work for the Establishment?”

“I guess they were glad I went into social work instead of something like marketing, or God forbid, finance. To them, the Establishment meant the elite, the powerful. Still does. What I do is about helping people. Sharing the wealth. That tracks with their values.”

Finance
. She’d never hear that word again without thinking about Bruce, and she didn’t want a casual conversation with a virtual stranger to devolve into a discussion of him. Her move to Sacramento was an opportunity to leave behind the horror of the shooting. She didn’t know Summer well enough to talk about it, and besides, she couldn’t stand to look at one more person who didn’t know what to say.