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A blare of music from the TV woke Hale abruptly. He peered groggily at the screen. He must have fallen asleep again and missed the end. After watching the credits scroll up the screen beside out takes from the movie, he stopped the tape, then hit rewind. It had been a funny movie. He'd smiled several times, and laughed out loud once, although one time that had been at the female lead's hair style. That probably hadn't been intended to be that funny.
When he found a familiar scene, he looked around the chair. The half-empty packet of chips had either been placed or luckily landed upright. He wouldn't have to vacuum up crumbs. He hated crumbs in the carpet. They got tracked everywhere, and when he wasn't wearing his shoes they crackled unpleasantly against the skin on the bottom of his feet. It was bad enough that his work required him to tolerate barbaric living standards. He had no intention of putting up with it when on leave in the States. The beer bottle was empty. He considered getting another, but concluded he would only fall asleep again if he did. It was too early in the evening for that. He had to stay awake at least long enough to lock the spa up at 11 p.m.
Just as he was picking up the thread of the story again, he heard a bloodcurdling scream. His first impulse was to run towards it. Hale had years of training to guarantee that he never acted on a first impulse unless it was also unambiguously the right impulse.
Either there was a serious problem out there, or there wasn't. Two weeks ago, some idiot had raised an unholy ruckus about a minor parking violation in the carport. If she was at it again, he'd want a jacket. Talking her down had taken almost twenty minutes, and it wasn't warm out there. If, instead, a more serious problem awaited him, he'd want the leather as a degree of protection. Shouldering into it, he shoved his 9 mm into the pocket of the jacket, then checked his pockets for card key and unit key. The packet of information his employers had given him included a long list of what he could and couldn't do while on the job. They didn't want him carrying a gun around, and he could understand their feelings on the matter. At the end of the day, owners are liable for what happens on their property. But he was still going to bring the gun with him. If it came down to needing the gun versus needing the job, he'd need the gun a lot more than he needed the job. Before stepping outside, he stopped long enough to pick up the flashlight he'd bought earlier in the evening.
Closing the door behind him, he surveyed the parking lot from the second floor landing. He couldn't see anyone in the parking lot, at least not where the lights were strong. He listened, scratching at his face. He absently thought again that he really needed to stop sleeping in that chair. He could still hear someone over at the E building, cussing in the alcove that contained the doors to #E-104 and #E-105. Still a woman's voice, and only one voice. That scream must have been a product of frustration, not of terror, and he knew exactly who must have produced it.
Rolling his eyes, he took the steps two at a time and jogged towards E building, carefully checking for cars pulling in or backing out. Tenants often forgot to turn on their headlights when they left The Retreat after dark. The lights in the lot were strong enough they didn't need them.
As he had expected, Susie was at #E-105's door, trying to force a key into the lock. She didn't hear him approach. She was talking to herself. Too loud for a mutter, from several yards away, he heard her say, "Motherfucking manager. I blew him for months and can he keep the locks maintained? No. Piece of shit."
"Hey!" called Hale. "Don't force that. If you break the key off in the lock, I'll have to replace the lock again."
Susie literally jumped in surprise, and dropped her keys. "What the fuck! Why are you sneaking up on me?"
"I heard a scream. I thought I'd investigate. I'd hate to be the manager who let someone be raped and murdered in the parking lot because he thought someone else would do something about it." Hale saw Susie's face grimace momentarily in confusion.
She gave up trying to get what he was saying, and stuck to her point. "Nothing's happening here. You can see that. Go away, unless you're going to fix this lock."
"Ah, but something is going on here. B&E. To be fair, you have not successfully broken or entered. On the other hand, you are vandalizing that lock." He flipped the flashlight on and aimed it at the lock. "I can see scratches on it from here. It's been on the door for less than two hours. Not conclusive proof that you scratched it, but still."
"You changed the lock?" Susie asked, bewildered.
Hale watched her face as she slowly answered her own question. Her brows moved from a frown of confusion, rising as her mouth opened into an oh of realization. Her shock was rapidly replaced by a mix of anger and fear. Because he paid close attention to her reactions, he was not surprised as she started to lunge towards him. Not knowing whether she was trying to attack him, or run past him, he stepped to one side, and flicked the light up into her face. He couldn't smell any alcohol on her breath, and it was too dark to tell if she were under the influence of anything else.
She stopped, flinging her arm up and bending her head down as she tried to shade her eyes from the glaring brightness. "Turn that fucking thing off," she demanded.
Hale flicked the light down, but not off. "Did you come back for something in particular? I noticed you didn't take much with you when you left."
"Man, I just need a place to stay for the night. Why'd'ya have to change the locks the day I left? I was gonna crash here tonight and move my stuff out tomorrow or whenever."
Hale wondered what the hell was she thinking, coming back here tonight. How did she think he'd found her? And why did she think he wouldn't notice that she was still living in the unit after she'd turned in her keys?
Mentally moving those questions to the side, he responded. "You are welcome to move back in, since you aren't strictly speaking late on the rent. But you'll have to sign at least a month-long lease, and pay a cleaning deposit and first month's rent in advance, the way you should have when you first moved in." Remembering the arrangement Susie had with the previous manager, Hale wondered briefly and irrelevantly if she had paid that first month's "rent" in advance.
"It's not like you're going to rent it tomorrow," Susie was arguing. "Just give me a few days to work something out."
"I've got no lease with you. Why should I believe you're going to clean it, or empty it before you go? The sooner I have a secondhand furniture shop come bid on the furniture and cart it away, the sooner I can have the cleaners in, and get it rented out. You've got nothing to offer me that I want, other than a signature and cash."
Susie didn't answer for a long moment. Hale could imagine what she was thinking. She could write a check, planning to bounce it and stall him that way. That was partly why he'd said cash. He knew the drill for new tenants. They had to pass a credit check and their deposit had to clear before they could move in. Susie's situation was odd, but unless she came up with some folding green stuff, he had no intention of unlocking that door for any reason other than to have her haul the contents out and put them in a moving van. Silently, he hoped she would decline his offer. He certainly didn't need someone turning tricks in his complex and all that that implied.
The wheels Hale imagined in Susie's head finally turned something up. "What fucking furniture shop?"
Hale had been waiting for that question. "I called a second hand shop today when I inspected the apartment and found the things you left behind." He hadn't gotten around to making that phone call, but he felt the thought substituted for the deed. "I asked them to come pick up the furniture at their earliest convenience, but that won't be until Monday at the earliest. I can leave a message canceling it, unless you want to sell the furniture. If you do, I'll deduct what you owe for cleaning the unit from the money the sale brings."
"You can't sell that furniture. That's my furniture. I rented that furniture completely legally in Oregon, and had a mother of a time moving it up here in a U-Haul. Do you know how heavy a sleeper-sofa is? You didn't warn me I had to move out. I haven't had time to line up people to help me move my shit."
Hale shot back, "I never said you had to move. I said you had to pay rent."
"I was paying rent," protested Susie. "You changed the deal."
"If you want to argue that you have a valid verbal contract with a representative of this apartment complex, I will call the police or a lawyer, your choice and your cost, for an opinion on whether that contract is legal. As I recall, contracts involving the exchange of illegal goods or services are not binding."
"Hunh?" asked Susie.
"If you try to make your deal with the previous manager stick, the cops'll have you up for solicitation. Do you want that?" asked Hale derisively.
She refused to rise to his bait, instead changing tactics. "It's still my furniture," she insisted.
"Ah, but it isn't, is it? It belongs to a rental company, and I doubt they approve of people moving their belongings out of the city, much less out of the state. Since you told me it's rental furniture, I think I won't be able to let you in to move out your belongings until after I've determined who they belong to. I don't have a lease with your name on it, so I don't have any reason to believe anything in that unit is yours."
"You can't lock me out. I've got rights, you know. I live here. You can't just lock me out and take my furniture."
Hale knew that Washington State had specific renter's rights, but he was counting on the fact that Susie had turned in her keys earlier in the day to protect him. "You don't live here. You moved out today and returned your keys, or have you already forgotten?"
Susie opened her mouth to object, then shut it abruptly. She brushed past Hale without another word. He watched her get in her car and drive away.
He waited a few minutes to be sure she wasn't going to circle the block and drive back in. When he was confident she was gone for a while, if not the rest of the night, he dug in his pocket for his keys. Flipping through the ring, he found the key for #E-105 and unlocked the door. He stepped inside and turned the lights on. Glancing around, he listened carefully. Either the place was empty or anyone here was being very, very quiet. He locked the door behind him and flicked his flashlight off.
This time he walked through all the rooms in the unit and convinced himself it was empty. He checked each window and the back door onto the patio, making sure all were closed securely and locked. The larger of the two bedrooms had a huge bed wedged into it. The closet doors were open, displaying more lingerie than a Frederick's catalog. Strewn over the small bed and spilling onto the floor of the other bedroom were more normal clothing: jeans, sweatshirts, socks and cotton underwear. Susie must have dumped everything in a pile on the bed when packing a bag to take with her.
Hale paused when he saw the computer in the corner of that bedroom. It was inexpensive and at least a couple years old, but it piqued his curiosity. The indicator lights on the monitor and box showed that while the monitor was powered off, the computer itself was still on. He let his curiosity get the better of him and powered up the monitor.
Hale already knew Susie had planned to return that night. What he saw on the screen confirmed that. She'd left herself logged in not only to the computer but to her e-mail program. That window displayed the last e-mail she'd read before leaving. Idly, he read it.
"Hey, Siouxsie -- No problem at all. I added the text you requested. Just let me know when you want it removed. Be careful with that manager, though. I know Kevin was an idiot, but don't assume this guy is. ttyl, Jackson."
Attached to Jackson's enigmatic message was the message from Susie that he was responding to. He made a mental note of both e-mail addresses.
"Jackson, Can you do me a big favor? I told you my apartment got a new manager, and he just showed up all righteous and you-gotta-pay. I thought he was lobbying for a better deal, but it turns out he's just a tightass. I've got to move out and won't be able to meet anyone but I should have a new place in about a week. Could you add the attached text to the main page of my site?"
Hale looked for that attachment, but couldn't find it. Susie's signature on her e-mail included a URL. He felt no burning need to investigate it. It would lead to a site with lots of suggestive jpegs and possibly some mildly shocking animated gifs. There would be just enough information to start the tortuous process of establishing enough understanding and trust for Susie and her john to meet, greet and get it on. Every new technology was eventually called upon to help market the oldest profession. Apparently Susie met her clients on the World Wide Web. He flicked the monitor back off.
Returning to the living area, he knelt by the sleeper sofa and inspected the edges near the floor. Unsatisfied by what he found, he pulled it out from the wall. On the back he could see holes where a plate, probably metal, had been removed. He'd have to get it upside down to find identifying marks from the store Susie had rented it from. If she'd bothered to remove a metal plate from the back, she'd probably come up with a way to eliminate any other identifying marks.
It wouldn't be easy to return the furniture to its rightful owners. Besides, Hale thought cynically, they either marked up the rates to allow for this kind of thing or bought insurance against this. In Hale's universe, furniture rental businesses were perhaps one or two notches above check-cashing companies -- in either case, somewhere below hookers.
As he turned the lights off and locked up, he considered his options. He still didn't know what tenant law would say about Susie and, more importantly, her belongings. He'd threatened to sell her stuff, but he thought the law wouldn't look kindly on a landlord selling rental furniture illegally moved out of state, formerly in the possession of a squatter.
He regretted telling her he wouldn't let her move her stuff out until he was sure who it belonged to. Maybe he'd send her and Jackson an e-mail telling them he didn't give a shit who owned it, just come by with a U-Haul and get it the hell out of there. It would save him a lot of trouble. Susie was already in a dangerous and unpleasant business. Who was he to add to her troubles?
Walking slowly back to his apartment, he glanced over at Joanna's assigned parking spot. It was still empty. Pity she'd been busy tonight. He sure would have liked to hang out in the hot tub with her and swap stories. He tried to imagine what she would say about Susie. Something sensible and unexpected, but he couldn't think what it would be.
As he crossed the lot to the office, he saw Joanna's car turn into the complex. She was driving and some guy was in the passenger seat. Hale raised one hand in an abbreviated wave but the light was wrong for him to see any response. He kept walking, until he reached a shadowed area near the office. He stopped where he could watch them and listen if they spoke loudly.
As he waited for them to get out of Joanna's car, he thought uneasily that he had been spending a lot of time watching Joanna lately. Was this how people became stalkers? At times like this he wasn't sure he was fit for civilized society. But he didn't move and he listened carefully.
They got out of her car. The man slammed the door unnecessarily hard. Joanna, as always, remained cool and collected. Hale liked that about her. She was steady. The man's voice rose. He caught part of it, something about wanting a ride home. Didn't her date have a car? Hale knew plenty of cities, in the States, and in other parts of the world, where it wasn't at all strange not to own a car. In some cities, prosperous, educated people often never learned how to drive. But this wasn't one of those. Non-drivers on the West Coast were second-class citizens at best. Was that why they'd taken Joanna's car?
Hale didn't catch what Joanna said in response. Nothing this loser said made her lose her cool. The next bit he heard from Carson was a snatch, "...I didn't pay for dinner?" Hale was stunned. How could someone with no car, and no money get to go out with Joanna? She deserved much better than that. Joanna's next remark was too quiet to carry, but he couldn't miss "bitch" in what Carson shouted in response.
Hale might have stayed in that corner in the face of openly insulting speech. However, he saw Joanna angle her purse around and slide her right hand into it. She might be reaching for a cell phone, but mace, pepper spray, a taser or a gun were far more likely.
He flashed back on a story Elaine liked to tell. She had been shopping at a bookstore in downtown Portland, a city a few hours drive south of here. She had been standing in line at a register, when her nose and eyes started to sting, and she coughed uncontrollably. Everyone around her was affected as well, eyes reddened and tearing. They had filed rapidly out the doors, then milled about gossiping, wondering what had happened. A quarter of an hour later, they all went back in. Rumor had it that a woman had felt pressured by a man who followed her around the store, asking questions, pestering her for her name and where she lived. Frightened, she had pull out a can of pepper spray and sprayed him directly in the face. But pepper spray in an enclosed space with centralized ventilation doesn't stop at the intended victim.
Elaine drew the moral that most self-defense tools were more dangerous to bystanders than they were helpful. She was a big fan of martial arts training, but hated guns and sprays and tasers. Hale privately viewed the story as a good example of the importance of rallying local assistance before resorting unilaterally to an armed response, but that could just be the bias of years of training.
If he could have been sure Joanna was going to pull out pepper spray or a cell phone, he'd have left her alone to deal with that jackass on her own. But he did not want to fill out all the paperwork a gunshot wound would inevitably generate. Joanna wasn't the type to pull a weapon she wasn't prepared to use, nor would she miss what she aimed at, not at that distance.
Hale moved silently but rapidly out of the shadows, across the parking lot. As he approached, he thought he saw Joanna's eyes flick to him, then immediately back to the man. That was a hard instinct to train, he thought absently. Then he was directly behind the man. With his left hand, he grabbed the man's right shoulder and spun him around. He could feel the softness of the man's muscles under his tightly clenched hand. Not a man he'd need to worry about putting up a fight. With his right hand, Hale flicked his flashlight on, and swung it up to shine directly into the man's eyes at very close range. As Hale had hoped when he bought the light, the man immediately flinched, all his anger converted in a moment to shrinking fear. Definitely not a man Hale needed to worry about putting up a fight.
"Hey, buddy," drawled Hale, "The lady sent you on your way. Why are you still here?"
"Ow! What the fuck, get that out of my face. What is your problem?"
"I asked you a question."
"What? Geez, could you get that out of my face? I can't see a thing."
"Why are you still here? She asked you to leave," Hale repeated patiently.
"My car broke down, and the bus doesn't run this late on a Saturday. How'm'I supposed to get home?"
"He's got ten bucks. I told him to call a cab from the pay phone," Joanna added.
If Carson hadn't been such a jerk, Hale might have sympathized. Joanna had been just a bit harsh. But this victim was richly deserving.
"But I don't have any change for the phone," Carson whined. Hale could smell alcohol on Carson's breath.
At a loss for words, Hale glanced over at Joanna. He kept the light trained on Carson who was still trying to protect himself from the glare with his arm. Joanna shrugged, and reached into her purse. Hale flinched, then relaxed when he saw she was pulling out a cell phone. "Tell you what," Joanna said, "I'll call a cab for you."
After an exchange with a dispatcher, Joanna ended the call. She said, "There's one dropping a fare off at the EconoLodge about a half mile from here. He should be by in a couple minutes."
Even the whining had gone out of Carson by now. His shoulders were hunched forward and he looked very pathetic. Hale flicked the light off and started hustling Carson over to the office to wait for the cab to arrive. Joanna tagged along silently. Hale thought about telling her to go on home, that he could take care of this, but it was her date, and he'd horned in on whatever her solution might have been to it. He felt guilty already, and wasn't about to make her feel any less independent than he already had.
They waited awkwardly for about five minutes before the cab arrived. Carson got in without saying anything to either of them. As the cab drove off, Hale glanced speculatively over at Joanna. "What were you about to do before I walked over?"
"I was sending him on his way home, like I said." Joanna had no intention of telling Hale she'd had her fingers wrapped around the gun in her purse, aiming it at Carson in case he'd tried to jump her. She looked at her watch.
"What time is it?" asked Hale. No point in pressing her for details she didn't want to supply, he figured. It wasn't really any of his business, anyway, and he could certainly sympathize with a desire to be discreet about carrying firearms. He wondered if she had a permit. He hoped she did. Untrained civilians illegally carrying weapons around were trouble waiting to happen.
"10:15," said Joanna. "Seems later, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. It's been a long day. You, too?" Hale asked, wondering if she'd share any details from her date.
"Oh, yeah. I think I'm going to go up and grab a suit and then soak in the hot tub for a while. I'd love to have company." Joanna's voice went up, as if inviting him.
"I'd love to be company," Hale responded. "I'll see you in a few minutes?"
Joanna nodded, then ran over to her unit. She stripped quickly. But as she was about to slide into her faithful black tank suit, so comfortable for a swim and, while attractive, unlikely to give anyone any unwelcome ideas, the thought crossed her mind that a lot of those ideas in Hale's head would be decidedly welcome. Digging back further in her dresser drawer, she extracted the black bikini she rarely had a chance to wear. It was a few years old, but the top fit her perfectly. She always thought her breasts looked happily perky when she wore this suit. She put it on before she could talk herself out of it and ran back to the spa.
Hale was already in the hot tub when she got to the spa. Joanna was happy to see they had the place to themselves. She moaned softly as she slid into the swirling, warm water. She saw Hale grinning at her, but did not care. It was such a relief to be here. She was so glad that date was finally over.
"Better?" asked Hale, understanding her mood intuitively. He thought he had better say something or she'd think he had lost the capacity for speech. He'd seen her in a swimsuit already, but this suit bore the same resemblance to the other that a Bentley bore to a Beetle. The high neck of the other suit had revealed her neck, but little below it. Now he could see the heat from the spa cause her to flush all the way down to the upper curves of her breasts. And between those lovely, round, feminine breasts, small beads of water collected and slowly slid down. . . Hale stopped that thought. She'd had a rough evening. He should make an effort to listen to her if she wanted to talk.
Joanna just nodded.
He let her soak in peace for a few minutes, watching her happily out of the corner of his eye. Eventually, he asked, "Was the whole date that bad?"
His tone was sympathetic. Joanna desperately needed to tell someone. Lately, that someone would have been Kelly. Before she'd given up on dating in favor of spending her time and energy on something she could be successful at (that is, her career), it would have been Lisa, at least when she could get Lisa to let her talk it out without too many interruptions.
"It wasn't all that bad," she hedged. Hale waited patiently through a long pause while she thought about what had happened. "Kelly helped me do my hair and makeup and I learned a few things."
"You look great," said Hale encouragingly. He had a feeling that had come out a little too enthusiastically.
"Thanks," laughed Joanna. She sighed, then continued. "He was an hour late. Kelly and Jared were at my place when he finally showed up and he was rude to both of them. He never apologized for being late, although he eventually explained that his car had broken down and he'd taken the bus, but misread the schedules."
"He didn't call you?"
"No. He didn't call me, not to tell me, not to ask for a ride. He didn't catch a cab." Joanna shook her head to clear it. "I drove. He picked the restaurant, Trendy's."
"I saw that, when I went to Anthony's next door with Brad and Elaine. Any good?"
"Not really. They overcook the seafood. I wish we'd gone to Anthony's. I like their food. He hadn't made reservations. And this is going to sound really dumb, but when he held the door for me to go in, he touched my back." Joanna shuddered. "That's so. . .slimy."
Hale considered that for a moment, trying to remember if he'd ever done that. He couldn't recall. He doubted it. He knew how he'd feel if a near stranger touched his back. "Doesn't sound dumb to me," he said. "It'd bug me if someone I didn't know did that." He shrugged, then added, "It might even bug me if it was someone I did know." But then, that was part of his job description.
Grateful, Joanna smiled weakly at him. "He drank way too much. And he had a lousy ten bucks on him, and a credit card the restaurant did not accept."
Outraged, Hale asked, "He what? I thought he picked the restaurant?"
"I know. I was just happy to get out of there."
"I can imagine. Who did you say set you up with this loser?"
"A cousin of mine. I should have known better. Jacki has terrible judgment, and usually has an ulterior motive. But she kept saying I had to get back in the game, I had to go out on a date of some kind, or I'd spend the rest of my life alone." Joanna's face was bleak. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing, if I can avoid everyone remotely like Carson Smith."
"You're not going to be alone," said Hale authoritatively. Unlike me, he thought briefly to himself. He kept trying to remember the last date he'd been on, but it escaped him. Which was just as well. He'd stopped dating after that last one, not for lack of opportunity, but to avoid risking that kind of hell again. "You're young. You've got lots of friends, and you're about to start a new job. You'll meet people."
"I don't, though," contradicted Joanna. Hale cocked his head, but otherwise said nothing, waiting for her to continue. "In school, I never had any trouble meeting people. Two, three, four classes a day. I went to a public university, so the lectures were large, and the quiz sections were small. It was perfect for meeting a ton of people, and also having regular chances to hook up with them. Dating in college was great. My first boyfriend was a couple years older. He moved when he graduated. We still trade Christmas cards. He's married and has a couple kids. My second boyfriend was my age, but when he got a job out of state, and I didn't want to leave the area, so we broke up. I figured I'd keep meeting people at work." Joanna paused. She knew she was babbling, but she couldn't stop. She had been thinking about this a lot lately, trying to understand why she couldn't seem to make new friend any more, much less meet men would want to be close to. Hale was the first person to just shut up and listen for long enough for her to get any of it out. Did she have no friends who listened to her? She listened to everyone. Why didn't they return the favor? Maybe she was making the wrong friends, or maybe she was interacting with them the wrong way. She hated when people interrupted, so she didn't do it herself, but if that was how people got to have their say, maybe she'd have to learn to do that. The thought made her feel cold inside, the way she had when she was very young, too shy to talk to anyone at all. She'd gotten over that, hadn't she? Why did she feel that way again now?
"And?" encouraged Hale, when Joanna lost herself in thought.
Joanna shook herself, trying to remember what she had said last before her mind went racing back. "Well, I did meet people, at first, but turnover at Taille is minimal, and I haven't switched jobs. It's like being in the same class, and only one class, for five years. No one new comes along. And you have to be careful, because if you try to connect, and something goes wrong, you still have to work with them forever and ever. And most of the people you meet are either supervising you, or you are supervising them, or you never actually see each other. It's either sexual harassment, or inappropriate behavior."
Hale thought about that for a while. His coworkers were overwhelmingly male. The women he met in the course of his work, well, you couldn't date them. Although some of his coworkers did. A few even told stories of losing out to junior Foreign Service officers who were chasing after the same strippers and sex workers in Bangkok -- and who were in town with regular paychecks. He'd heard rumors that some of those junior Foreign Service types married the women they had originally hired for an hour or a night. He couldn't imagine doing that. Not having known any of them, he frequently suspected the truth of those rumors. Just as likely other Foreign Service wives were just spreading those stories around to hurt perfectly respectable women in country who married Americans. He abandoned that line of thought to ask, "What do your friends do?"
"Some of them are still dating the people they knew from college. But if I didn't want to date them then, why would I want to date them now? And most of my friends have switched jobs at least once or even twice since graduation."
"You're kidding," said Hale, startled. He knew that civilian employment had become increasingly insecure, but she hadn't been out of school that long. Had she? "Three jobs in what, five years?"
"About that. I always thought you had to stay in one place for five years, or at least three, or your resume would look suspicious. My friends say no. Lisa says the only way to get a real raise is to switch companies, or at least threaten to, as often as you can." Joanna looked discouraged. "And all the articles I read agree with her, saying it's the new paradigm for employment or some other jargon to that effect."
"Sounds exhausting. You have to do your work and always be hunting for another job at the same time?"
"Yeah. But you know, I know people who've met people interviewing for jobs they didn't get, either. Killing two birds with one stone, I guess."
"This does not sound professional."
Joanna shrugged. "It's easier than bars. I don't smoke, so I've never liked the bar scene, but at least I drink. I know a lot of guys who don't smoke or drink. They don't know what to do with themselves in a bar, and it's so nerve wracking anyway. What am I supposed to do, take out a personals ad? Can you even imagine?" She'd been over this again and again and again in her head. She knew she had less trouble than some people she knew, but her difficulties meeting people still seemed insuperable.
Hale could imagine. He remembered the ad John had posted one year, and a few of the responses he'd gotten. He wouldn't inflict that on his worst enemy. Certainly not on someone as desirable as Joanna. What would an ad for Joanna sound like? On request, one popped into his head:
SWF, HWP, late 20s, likes swimming and soaking in hot tubs, intelligent, works in the high-tech industry, a good listener, quietly sexy. Looking for a little excitement
Hale hadn't answered her question. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear his answer. He'd gotten a faraway look on his face. What was he thinking about? "I'm going to go swim a lap or two. I'm getting too hot," said Joanna as she pulled herself out onto the ledge. Hale trailed along behind her. After an incomplete lap, he treaded water, and watched her swim out some of her frustration. In his mind, he imagined asking Joanna out on a date.
How could he start? By asking "Would you like to go out to dinner with me? Maybe Anthony's? The seafood would be better than that restaurant you went to tonight." Too awkward. Hard on the heels of that came another, more worrisome fear: if a landlord asked a tenant out on a date, could that be sexual harassment? Joanna stopped mid-lap beside him and treaded water.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey, yourself."
"Um, this is going to sound a little weird, and it is of course absolutely okay to say no, but would you go out on a date with me?"
Hale stopped thinking entirely. "Absolutely." Who cared about some hypothetical harassment law anyway? Besides, it couldn't be a problem if she initiated, right?
Joanna looked surprised, then grinned. She cocked her head to one side. Lately, things had worked out best when she nailed down an opportunity as soon as it reared its attractive head. "Now?" she asked boldly.
"Is anything open?" he asked. "I thought this town closed up around ten o'clock, other than the bars."
"It does. I was thinking a drink over at my place." There. It was out. It was brazen, but it was what she wanted. She had wanted to cancel her date with Carson earlier to spend time with Hale. She should have then, but there was no reason she couldn't start living her life the way she wanted to right now. That strategy had worked so well on Friday. Maybe it would work with her social life, too.
Hale tried to figure out what she was inviting him over for, but he couldn't tell. And right now, he didn't really care. "Sounds great. But you are shivering. A few more minutes in the hot tub first?"
As they returned to the hot tub, Hale supposed that Joanna had asked him out in a fit of desperation, believing she had no good way to meet new people, and appalled at the first date she'd been out on in years. He was surprised that this did not in any way bother him, or hurt his pride. He found himself thinking, instead, that he had to demonstrate to her as quickly and conclusively as possible that he was a great guy to date, or he'd lose her as soon as she switched jobs. Without any effort, his thoughts skipped back to the night before, when he had fallen asleep thinking that maybe civilian life was a possibility for him. When he had first thought that, he had thought only of Joanna, lovely, kind, considerate, quiet, Joanna. But in a flash, he realized that Joanna lived in a larger world. A world with regular day jobs and a fixed address. If he was going to fit into that world, he'd have to make a lot of changes.
That was a lot more than he wanted to think about right now.
For now, he focused on making her life as pleasant as possible. After they soaked companionably for a moment, he hooked his foot around one of her ankles and pulled her foot up. "May I?" he asked, tentatively massaging her instep.
"Oooh. Of course you may." Joanna closed her eyes and leaned against the edge of the tub. For a while, she reveled in the warmth and turbulence of the water, and the sensual pleasure incited by Hale rubbing her feet. She moaned softly when he started with gentle circles around her ankle, loosening the tension caused by a really bad date and her sexiest pair of shoes. She sighed when he rubbed the tips of her toes, squeezing gently on each of the joints. It would have tickled, but she was too relaxed to be ticklish. Then he worked his way down her foot, pressing his thumb and fingers toward each other, moving slowly from the base of her toes to her ankle.
This was easier than he had expected, Hale thought to himself. Had no one ever rubbed her feet before? He might be the unexpected beneficiary of both novelty and bliss. He hoped he connected her current pleasure to him. She looked so happy and relaxed, he wasn't sure she knew he was still here.
She did know he was still here. Through a euphoric haze, she thought she should be interacting with him, instead of floating away in a private world of complete happiness. Unfortunately, the first question she thought to ask was, "What was the last date you went on?"
He stopped moving his hands, but still supported her leg and foot. After a moment, she opened her eyes. He looked like he was in physical pain. "I'm sorry! You don't have to answer. I didn't mean to send you to such a bad place."
He looked at her and smiled grimly. "You know, I never told anyone. I swore off dating for, well, a long time after that. But I've never told anyone. I probably should."
Hale paused for such a long time that Joanna wondered if he had meant he would tell her about that date, or if he might just have meant he should tell someone soon. Like maybe a therapist. Or an old friend. She waited patiently.
After a while, he seemed to return to the warm, steamy present, where he still cradled her shapely and muscular leg in his hands. With a last gentle squeeze, a physical promise to return some day soon, he let her foot float down. He looked her over, thinking once again how attractive she was, flushed and warm from the water. She was alert, not sleepy at all, and relaxed. He had never met anyone who could wait with so little tension, nervousness or irritation.
Certainly he couldn't. "How about that drink you were suggesting?"
Joanna let her smile widen into a laugh. He was back with her again, no longer lost in that unpleasant memory, and she thought he was ready to tell her about it. "I'm feeling a powerful thirst myself, as my daddy used to say."
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Copyright 2013 by Rebecca Allen Updated July 17, 2013