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Hale had been in the military a long time, in a branch that was regularly loaned out to help the DEA investigate and participate in drug dealing in Southeast Asia. Often an effort was made to demonstrate that this participation was ultimately intended to halt the drug trade. Given the large number of operations in which they helped manufacture, protect, transport or sell the products the DEA was created to eliminate, and the small number of operations in which they actually confiscated those products, much less shut down the manufacture of those products, Hale remained unconvinced.
In addition to the lack of satisfaction with his work, because of the weird hours and hazardous working conditions associated with his job, not to mention a lot of unpredictable excitement, in regions where the bordering countries themselves made no effort to establish jurisdiction, much less justice, Hale knew a lot of men who slept lightly and woke easily.
Hale wasn't one of them. After his second tour in the Golden Triangle, he knew he wouldn't last if he didn't get his post-REM deep sleep, and he was not going to get it if every minor disturbance woke him up. He haunted public libraries until he found a working form of self-hypnosis. When he was sure it would do to him what he wanted, he had programmed himself to sleep like the dead while on leave. He could turn it on and off at will. He was convinced this was why he was still in the service, when Brad and John, his age and better soldiers than he in every way, had left years before, claiming advancing age and an insatiable desire for a soft bed.
Hale's periodic upgrades, his term for his private use of self-hypnosis, had given him an idiosyncratic set of unusual skills. He never needed an alarm clock, for example. When persistent buzzing finally woke him up, he had to think for a minute before he knew what it was. Someone was leaning on the buzzer to the office downstairs, which also rang up here. It wasn't even nine a.m., and already someone was holding the damn button down. Between that and the sun, it wasn't worth the effort to pull the covers back up over his head.
Pulling on a pair of pants and a shirt, Hale trotted downstairs, barefoot. In situations like these, Hale thought, one wants epic disaster, to justify the lost z's in the sunshine streaming through a bedroom window. But those wishes have an unappetizing tendency to come true. Therefore, while Hale fantasized about how he might convince the fool leaning on the buzzer never, ever, ever to wake him again, he also hoped for a request that could be rapidly satisfied, leaving him free to enjoy a leisurely breakfast, coffee and morning paper before braving the rest of the tenants, with their postdated checks and overused excuses for being caught short when the rent was due. Why didn't they just put their checks in the drop box the way they were supposed to?
Answer: because they were hoping to have a chat with the manager while dropping off the rent. In this case, #A-101 asked, "And is the spa ever going to be fixed?", Hale fixed her with the look he reserved for particularly foolish new recruits.
"Check it out now. It's been fine since yesterday."
"Oh. Really? Thanks!" She grinned at him before turning and trotting out to her car. She did not inspect the spa.
Hale shrugged and went back upstairs. As he let himself into his unit, he could hear his phone ringing. He parked the handset between his ear and his shoulder, and started making coffee. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's John. Did you talk to Brad last night?"
"I did. He said you were going to call."
"Then he told you most of it. I've been putting together a list of names, and one has come up several times."
Hale mentally reviewed the people the three of them had gone after years ago, when they had all still been in the service, before Brad got married, and before John's obsession with technique had caused him to lose interest in an impromptu brawl. Very few of those people had attracted their attention more than once. They'd had to have a couple of discussions with that one guy's roommate before he realized it was time to move on, but that had been an unusual situation.
Hale could think of only one guy they'd had two talk to more than three times. William Vaughn the Third, a sad disappointment to Mr. and Mrs. William Vaughn, Jr., had left a string of pissed off ex-girlfriends in his wake, at least four of which he had gotten pregnant. One of them just wanted Loser the Third to pay for the abortion. One had miscarried and wanted her medical bills paid, and money to make up for missed days at work. The other two wanted regular child support payments. And while Loser couldn't hold down a job, he did have a regular allowance, the interest and dividends associated with a trust fund established by the first William Vaughn. Mr. and Mrs. William Vaughn, Jr. may have disowned Third, but there was still money to be had.
After the second request, Brad had started asking questions. How did one guy get so many women pregnant? Persistent, tactful questions produced an outrageous tale. Third had suckered a series of women into having unprotected sex with him after producing medical papers showing a clean bill of health and a vasectomy. He hadn't bothered to include the additional paperwork which showed the vasectomy had been successfully reversed.
"Let me guess. That loser who claimed he was shooting blanks but wasn't?"
"You got it."
"I wonder why I didn't think of him last night. But there's no way he got it together enough to come after us."
"Absolutely no way. Loser the Third is dead."
"You're kidding." While the coffee was brewing, Hale turned on a burner, and set a cast iron pan on it to heat.
"I'm not. I found an archived obit online. The society columns got the expected mileage out of his mother attending the funeral, and the father staying home."
"Jr. didn't attend Third's funeral? And I thought my family was evil." Hale pulled a couple strips of bacon out of the refrigerator and dropped them into the pan on the stove.
"And William Vaughn the First was dead, too, by the time of the funeral, so Jr. isn't anymore, he's just second. It made for a confusing article, since Third was called Jr. half the time and Third the rest of the time."
"Hunh. If it's not Third, who do you think it is? If Dad didn't go to the funeral, I have a hard time believing he'd muss his manicured hands with us." Hale carefully broke two eggs into a bowl.
John paused before answering. "It can't be Second. Same archives says that Second had a massive stroke six months ago, and has been vegetative ever since. Huge sums of money sinking into the black hole of life support systems."
"You have been busy. All right, then who is it?"
"I don't know. But you haven't heard the best bit yet. Do you know how Third died?"
"Nope. Crashed that ridiculous car he drove?"
"Murdered."
"You're kidding. Who would kill the cash cow? Even the women who wanted us to go after him for child support payments didn't want him dead."
"The coverage is sketchy, but the verdict unambiguous. A guy by the name of Jack Frasier was convicted of murder in the first degree. Previous convictions suggest he was a debt collector for a casino. Looks like he roughed up Billy a bit more than planned and accidentally offed him. Want to guess what happened to Jack?"
"One assumes he's still in jail. Money isn't worth much if you can't at least put the guy who offs your kid away for a good long stay." Hale ground fresh pepper onto the eggs.
"This is where it gets good. After Second had the stroke, Mrs. William Vaughn the Second supposedly had a change of heart and, realizing that death comes to us all, forgave Jack Frasier and stopped opposing his efforts to get parole, or work release, or something."
"In the natural course of things," predicted Hale, "the next round of mandatory sentences for drug dealers made it very easy to put Mr. Frasier out on the street."
"Sort of. He signed up for some deal where he goes to inner city high schools and tells the kiddies not to do the bad things he's done because look how it turned out."
"And?"
"And he was murdered."
"You are kidding."
"No, I am not. Hit and run with a plate-less car. No leads.
"He didn't have any kind of guard or escort?"
"He did, but the cop had stepped into a bank to deposit his check, leaving Jack unattended outside. One story has it the cop handcuffed him to a meter. And this all happened over two months ago."
"Jack was not following us around."
"No," John agreed, "Jack was not following us. Whoever ran Jack down was following us."
"There could be more than one person involved," commented Hale.
"True. Employed by the same person, presumably."
"I'm sorry to say that I can find no flaw in your theory," Hale said. "But if dad's in a coma, do I understand you correctly? You think mom hired the thugs? Why'd she quit fighting parole, then? Or, you think she's such an amateur she thought he had to be out on the street to nail him. She didn't realize it would be cheaper and easier to hire it done while he was in prison." Hale cut a pat of butter into the pan.
"Looks like. If you have a better idea. . ."
"Well, it could still be those assholes from Burma my boss thinks are responsible." Hale laid out three strips of bacon.
"You pursue your end; I'll pursue my end. Let me know what you find out."
Hale had never yet known John to push back on anything. He just yanked you off your balance when you least expected it and sent you flying through the air. "I'll do that. Thanks for the call."
"No problem. Let me know when you finish that book I loaned you. I want it back; the publisher doesn't have any more copies and they aren't going to print another run."
When Hale heard John hang up, he glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was not quite nine yet. While the bacon and eggs sizzled gently on the stove, he got pen and paper, and wrote a note telling tenants to come upstairs to deliver rent checks. He ran downstairs and taped it to the office door. He couldn't see anyone walking across the parking lot towards the office. Maybe everyone other than #A-101 slept in on Saturday mornings.
Hale set a nonstick skillet on another burner, then found the pancake mix Brad had left. He puzzled over the note taped to it. Shrugging, he added orange juice and mixed in a bowl. It looked right. He poured it into a nonstick skillet. It smelled good.
As he transferred his breakfast from the pans to a plate and started eating, he heard a knock on his door. Looking up, he saw #E-204, the Indian guy waving a checkbook at him. Hale let him in. "Hi, Mani. Want a cup of coffee?"
"Sure!" While Hale was getting a mug, Mani scribbled out a check. "Smells good in here."
"I was thinking the same thing outside your door yesterday."
"Yeah. Mother is visiting. She's decided I'm too old to be a bachelor."
"Going to arrange a marriage for you?"
"She's going to try. As long as she's cooking me food, I'll play along."
"When did she get into town?" asked Hale.
"Three days ago. If you'd dropped by a week earlier, it wouldn't have smelled good at all. She's right. I do need a wife. I'm a terrible cook." Hale shuddered, remembering his own mother's cooking. Mani drained his mug, set it down, and handed Hale the check. "Thanks for the coffee! Stop by for lunch some weekend. We usually have leftovers."
"Thanks, I may do that." After Mani left, Hale finished his breakfast. He remembered #E-104's remark about the upstairs apartment smelling like something had died. At the time, he had thought she was just another bigoted blue-collar worker. He knew now that conclusion had been unjustified. Mani's bachelor housekeeping likely wasn't any better than his cooking. As he was emptying the rest of the clean dishes from the dishwasher, and putting his breakfast dishes in, three more tenants dropped off rent checks.
When he was done cleaning up, he went down to the office. Shortly after unlocking the door and taking down the sign, Susie from #E-105 came in. Yelling, "Hey, you!" to get his attention, she hurled a key ring at him. He plucked it out of the air.
"If you want to get any of your deposit money back," Hale said automatically, "you'll have to go over the unit with me."
Susie's eyebrows went up in surprise, and she laughed harshly at him. Without any further answer, she flounced out the door. A moment later, he heard a car zoom out of the parking lot. After a moment's thought, Hale reached for his note pad and added to his list of to-do items: hire a cleaning company to clean up #E-105. It was one thing to clean his own unit, while searching for paperwork. He wasn't cleaning up after Susie, "I assumed we had the same deal" and her johns.
Hale sat in the office, sipping his coffee and waiting for more tenants to drop off their checks. He read his notes. Call the cleaners. Buy furniture. Finish and return John's book. He leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand, staring out the office window into the parking lot. He should be making phone calls, he thought to himself. He should do a lot of things, but all he wanted to do right now was stare out the window at the sunshine outdoors. His assistant would cover the office in the afternoon.
Buy furniture. He'd written it down on his list, right there. He'd never bought furniture in his life. Furniture meant settling down, staying in one place, being part of a family. Oh, sure, he'd picked up some art in his "travels", some of which was functional. But he'd been careful to buy nothing that reminded him of the trailer he'd been raised in, by a drunk father who sucked up any kind of abuse just to keep a lousy job he lost anyway, all to support a slutty wife who turned tricks for spare cash. Hale wondered sometimes who his biological father really was.
He'd been in the service longer than he hadn't been, by now, and he had friends who had quit. He knew happily married people raising smart, well-behaved kids. But until last night, he hadn't been able to imagine being a part of that world. The women who tolerated him weren't the kind of women that fit into that dream. And the women he could tolerate didn't exist. At least, that's what Hale had thought he had known. Meeting Joanna made him question that belief. She was the first woman quiet enough to let him think, and self-contained enough not to find his own silences nerve-wracking. It was possible that would change as they got to know each other better, but in the mean time, Joanna was the first chink that had ever appeared in the wall between Hale and a normal, civilian life. Idly, he wondered what Elaine would think of Joanna. She was one of the best judges of women he had ever met.
He had written down "Get furniture", and changed it to "Buy furniture". His first plan had been to rent. Then he remembered the last month. He'd been here a month. His boss wasn't answering his calls any more. If his friends were right, he might be retired whether he wanted to or not. And truth be told, he was getting old. The adrenaline used to excite him. Now, sometimes it never hit at all, and after it did, he felt tired. He'd tried a lot of supplements over the last few years, some legal, some not. They helped him get through the jobs, but they didn't make him love it the way he had years ago.
He missed working with Brad and John. When he thought about them, he knew they had the right idea. He had to get out. He was no gourmet chef, dreaming of opening his own restaurant. But he knew a lot of dirty tricks. Like John, he could quit doing the work and start teaching the idiots who still thought it was grand fun. John had offered Hale a job teaching at John's academy. He had said Hale could do well for himself, and there was more than enough business to go around.
Hale sat down in front of the computer, and drafted two e-mails. One, to John, said simply that he'd given it some thought and was going to take John's advice and try teaching at his school. The second was inspired by Joanna. When her boss offered her a job, she'd called head hunters to find out what the market was like. In the same spirit, Hale sent e-mail to several people he'd known through the service who had either moved up the chain of command and out of the field, or who had left the service and become police officers. That e-mail tested the waters: who would send students to him, and what niche most needed filling?
After sending the e-mails, he picked up the book on adrenal stress conditioning, determined to finish it. Like John, he now read from the point of view of an instructor, trying to learn how to do his job better. It was still a badly written book, but this time, Hale stayed awake.
After finishing the book, he was flipping through parts he had read earlier, making sure he hadn't missed anything, when Brad, Elaine, Kate and Audrey swarmed through the office door. As usual, Brad opened it, the kids ran through first, and Elaine and Brad stood half in and half out while continuing some long-running conversation. Hale said, "Hello", in their general direction, knowing that when they reached a good stopping point, they'd include him in some new, complex conversation.
It had been a while since he had seen the kids and as usual, they had both grown. They looked him over for a few minutes trying to decide whether they still liked him or not. He knelt down to their level, and said, "Hi Kate Hi Audrey, I'm sure you've forgotten me. I'm your uncle Hale."
Also as usual, Kate immediately argued, "We haven't forgotten you." Audrey looked up at her older sister, uncertain whether she should respond independently. She didn't say anything, but looked back at Hale intently. After another moment, she asked, "Upside down?"
Hale considered her question. "Do you need to be upside down?"
Audrey nodded vigorously. This time, Kate looked uncertain whether she should say anything. Hale was never sure what went through the kids heads, but other than the limited vocabulary, he imagined it would be something like: The coy approach this time had not resulted in immediate adult attempts to curry favor. Instead, she'd missed out on one of the better rides around, and to her younger sister no less.
As Brad and Elaine wrapped up their discussion and finished entering the office, they saw Hale scoop their younger daughter up off the floor and turn her completely upside down. Holding her by her ankles, he reached as far above his head as he could. Audrey shrieked with laughter. Kate clamored for her turn, but Hale knew better. He spun Audrey around a few times, then tossed her up in the air and caught her before returning her, dizzy and exhilarated, to the ground.
Kate received similar treatment, but since she was a little older and her balance was better, he stood her briefly on his shoulders, supporting her legs with his hands. Elaine kept a watchful eye on her children, but otherwise did not interfere.
"I noticed the spa isn't all foamy anymore," she commented.
"Yeah," Hale agreed. "I fired the pool guys, rehired the lawn guys and cleaned the manager's unit up myself. This place was in terrible shape when I got here. You set me up, Elaine. What did I ever do to you?"
"Well, if you'd quit the service years ago, I might have put more effort into finding you a cozy spot. Besides, this wasn't that bad," she shot back.
"Did you see the manager's unit?" Hale asked, skeptical.
Elaine shook her head.
Hale reached into a file and pulled out the Polaroids he had taken before he started, in case anyone wanted to know what he had done in the course of the job. "Take a look at these."
Elaine looked the pictures over carefully. "Yuck. I did not know I was setting you up for this. I'm sorry. The owner was a friend of a friend and they needed someone reliable because the money was getting more off every month. I knew you'd straighten out whatever was going on fast. I had no idea it was this bad."
"It's okay. Some time I'll tell you what was going on with the money."
Elaine raised her eyebrows, but didn't comment. "If you give me a key, I'll take these up and put them in your freezer," said Brad, holding up a couple of grocery bags.
Hale tossed him a key. "You can both go up and take a look around. I'll watch the kids."
Shortly after Brad and Elaine went upstairs, while Hale was tickling Audrey and Kate and trying to keep them from backing into office furniture or bonking their heads on the counter's corners, Joanna walked into the office.
"Hi! Here's my rent check," Joanna said, handing him an envelope. It was dated, sealed and had her unit number written on it. She could have dropped it in the mail slot, but she had come in to talk instead. Hale, however was busy with two cute little girls. He turned from Kate and Audrey, who quieted immediately to look over the new arrival. No one could think of anything to say for a moment.
Hale recovered enough to introduce Kate and Audrey, "They are my friend Brad and his wife Elaine's kids. They're upstairs right now restocking my fridge."
"Lucky you," said Joanna with a laugh. "Friends show up and provide entertainment and food." She waved hello to the girls, but respected their shyness. She'd seen Hale playing with them, but when he stopped, they had settled down immediately. It was great to see someone who could rough house with kids, without getting them so worked up they drove their parents nuts for the rest of the day.
She continued, "Wish me luck. I'm going to need it. My cousin Jacki set me up on a blind date, and she has the worst taste imaginable. I don't know what I was thinking to agree to it."
Hale laughed, relieved. "Good luck. At least you'll get dinner out of it, right?" Joanna rolled her eyes and nodded. "You're the second person in here with a sad tale of meddling relatives. Mani, over in #E-104, has a new roomie. His mom is in town to set him up with a nice Indian girl. But she's also cooking for him, so he doesn't mind."
Joanna laughed. "And we think our cultures are so different. Well," she added, after an awkward moment, "I guess I'll be going. See you later!"
Hale's self-recrimination that he should have thought of something to say to keep her talking a few minutes longer was interrupted by the need to stop a wolf-whistle forming in response to seeing her luscious backside sway gently as she walked out of his office. It was okay for her to leave, if she looked that good doing it, and he was pretty sure she'd be back anyway. Hadn't he offered her unlimited after hours soaking? Who was going to turn that down?
Brad and Elaine arrived in time to notice Hale watching an attractive tenant leave the office. They exchanged glances, but didn't ask any direct questions. "We've got some errands to run," said Brad. "But we're going to have a barbecue next Saturday and we were hoping you could come over. Feel free to bring a friend along."
Hale thanked them for the invitation. He thought he knew what they were thinking. He also thought there wasn't much of a chance he could invite Joanna along.
After paying rent, Joanna returned to her unit. Since it was a bright, sunny day, she left the front door open. While she cleared her breakfast dishes, she considered what to do with the rest of the day. As she was running down a list of errands to run, and chores to do, Kelly poked her head in the door. "I'm going to drop off my rent check. Want me to drop yours at the same time?"
"Already been there. I knocked, but you didn't answer."
Rather than leave immediately, Kelly leaned in the door frame. "Did ya see Hale?" she asked knowingly.
Joanna rolled her eyes and started the dishwasher. "As a matter of fact, I did." Maybe if she acknowledged the encounter calmly, Kelly would tease her less.
"Well?"
"Kelly, what do you expect?"
Kelly slouched, disappointed. "I don't know. You spent a couple hours in the hot tub last night with no interruptions and didn't so much as smooch to hear you tell it. No hope here. What are you wearing tonight?"
"For the blind date? Probably just my black dress. I may have to pick up some nylons."
"Are you at least going to do up your hair? Who cares if you're sure this guy is a dead loss? Someone may run into you on your way out or when you come in. You should look your best."
"Hale's already seen me half naked, dripping wet with my hair plastered to my head. He seemed happy about how I looked then. I don't think it matters."
Smelling a juicy tidbit, Kelly asked, "How happy was he?"
"Leave it alone, Kelly. I don't like it when men stare at my breasts so I don't look at their crotches. You have an evil mind."
Kelly laughed, "You are way too gallant. Let me do your hair and makeup for you. It'll be fun."
Joanna thought for a moment. Their coloring was similar enough, and while Kelly's going-out-on-the-town makeup was often extreme, Joanna liked her everyday look. Besides, if they did it early enough, she could always wash it off. "Okay."
"Great! Drop by this afternoon whenever is convenient. I'll be home all day. Bye!" Kelly trotted across the parking lot to drop off her rent check.
As noon approached, Hale made sure all the rent checks were logged, and safely zipped into the bank deposit envelope. He filled out a deposit slip as he waited for the assistant manager to arrive.
Doris arrived a few minutes late and slightly out of breath. She must have run over from her unit. "Sorry I'm late! Can you add my check to that drop?"
Hale took the check, logged it, added the amount to the deposit slip and closed the envelope again. He waved goodbye and walked out to his car.
A local branch was open on Saturdays until 1 p.m. If he hurried, he could make the drop and pick up some cash. After a short wait at the merchant window, he was again confronted with the question of furniture. Hale noticed a chain import house wares store in the strip mall that shared a parking lot with the bank branch he had just exited. He walked over to it.
Browsing inside, he tried to remember how normal people got furniture. It was too expensive to buy it when you first needed it. Hadn't Brad and Elaine, when they were first dating, gotten stuff from her parents? Brad's parents were no better than Hale's, but Elaine's had given them a beat-up sleeper sofa and coffee table that had been demoted from living room to family room. He remembered that sofa. It weighed a ton, and had been a bitch to get around the corner into Elaine's apartment. Brad and Elaine and what's her name, started with an A, he'd think of it in a minute. Hale scratched his head. She'd been cute, nice and sane. Why had he broken up with her?
They'd struggled with that couch for ten, fifteen minutes before John had arrived. He'd taken one look at it, ordered them to set it down, stared at it for a while, then had them rotate it upside down to get it through the door. That had impressed Alexandra. Remembering her name, Hale winced. He hadn't broken up with her. She'd dumped him. He pushed the memory back out of his mind. John had proved himself a true friend then, as always.
Hale had bugged John a few times about the conspicuous lack of furniture in his apartment. John hadn't said anything at first, but finally broke down. "Hale, I used to have furniture. Don't you remember?"
"Yeah, I guess. A couple futons. And didn't you have a table?"
"Still do, same one," John had replied, pointing to the short, broad table that served double duty, as desk and dining table. It was short; to use it, you sat on the ground, either tailor-fashion, or reclined, Roman-style. John's cushions and bolsters made it a bit more comfortable for guests, but the setup required more flexibility than most people had after thirty.
"Why'd you get rid of the rest?" Hale had asked, genuinely curious.
"'Cause I can never get enough mat time." John had laughed at Hale's disbelief. "It's true. But don't ask me questions if you won't believe me." Hale had dropped the subject. He couldn't imagine being so wrapped up in becoming a better grappler, or any kind of fighter, that it seemed reasonable to get rid of one's furniture just so one could get more comfortable spending time on the floor. Mat time, for Hale, would always be a hobby, or perhaps a job. Not a lifestyle.
As he walked the aisles of the import shop, he saw things he remembered from markets on the other side of the ocean. Idly, he glanced at the price tags, and gasped in shock. He hurried out of the store.
Sitting in his car, Hale looked at his note pad. He considered his options. Elaine had told him IKEA had good, cheap furniture when he'd got her rather than Brad on the phone earlier in the week. But that was a long drive south, and something about her tone of voice had made him put a question mark beside the name. He tried to remember now what it was.
She had sounded enthusiastic, but the only thing she owned herself from the store was one of the kid's beds and a TV stand. Hale didn't think that was a good sign, if they carried as much stuff as she said they did. Besides, he had no idea what Elaine thought was cheap. He'd seen a sales flyer in the paper, and those prices were worse than the import shop he'd just left.
Maybe he'd spent too many years browsing markets in countries which used child labor.
As he drove out of the lot, he found himself working his way back through town, not to The Retreat, but to a street he had paid little attention to when first driving through town. He didn't find parking on the first pass. The shops he remembered were run-down, junk shops that called themselves antique stores. Judging by the window displays, they carried a little bit of everything, most of it breakable, but some of it sturdy, wooden furniture.
By the time the shops closed in the early evening, Hale had also visited local thrift shops that made no pretensions to "antique" status. He'd bought a dining room table and chairs, a dresser, a bookcase, a desk big enough to hold a computer. He had arranged to have it all delivered next week. He had a feeling he could have gotten it all for less, if he'd been willing to dicker, but he was relieved to be done with it. He knew exactly what he wanted to buy next. If he was going to be stuck behind a desk, he might as well be comfortable. He found a phone booth, hauled out the yellow pages and located the nearest dealer in Herman Miller chairs.
Apartment tidied, garbage taken out, nylons purchased along with a few other odds and ends for the apartment, Joanna could no longer avoid preparing for her date. It was a little early, but that was probably for the best. It would allow time for arguments and failure. She knocked on Kelly's door. When Jared opened the door, Joanna asked, "Hi, is your mom busy?"
"Nope, she's waiting for you. Hang on a sec."
Joanna always expected the kids to just holler for Kelly, but they never did. They'd been trained thoroughly never, ever, ever to wake up their father if he was sleeping. Yet Dave and Kelly had not otherwise broken the spirit of their kids.
"Hi, I've been waiting for you. Hang on a minutes while I grab some stuff. Can we do this at your place? Dave's asleep."
"No problem," responded Joanna. "I'll be next door."
A few minutes later, Kelly arrived carrying a cardboard box of a size Joanna thought suitable for packing books. When she peeked in, she saw it wasn't full, but it had layers of cosmetics, hair and skin care products, and small appliances. She recognized the curling iron and hair dryer, but some of the others were mysterious.
"We won't use it all," Kelly reassured her, "but I didn't know what we'd want and I didn't want to risk more than one trip into the master bathroom." She looked around the apartment. "Where's the best light here? The kitchen? It is in my unit."
"Same here. And I just cleaned mine, so it should be okay to use."
Kelly laughed. "If I'd just cleaned my kitchen, I'm not sure I'd want to get a bunch of goop all over it, but then I have kids. I don't know what a clean kitchen is any more." She set the box on the counter and started pulling out stuff. She paused, and took a long, critical look at Joanna. Joanna had showered, but left her hair wet. Kelly hadn't thought Joanna wore makeup but seeing her now she realized she usually wore liner and mascara. "Do you want to grab anything to bring out here? And how different from your usual look do you want this to be?"
"I just wear mascara and eye liner. I leave the house with lipstick or gloss on, but it never lasts."
"Ain't that the truth. I thought for a while I had a great trick. I just used lip pencil; it never seems to chew off. Guess what happened?" Joanna shrugged and shook her head in response. "Instead of coming off and disappearing, it comes off and sort of migrates out. I looked like I had cherry Koolaid mouth. Not sexy." Joanna grinned.
"I have foundation," she volunteered.
She walked down the hall and got the tiny amount of makeup she owned. She had foundation and powder from an expedition years ago to a department store for a makeover, instigated by Lisa. Joanna had a few shades of eye shadow from over the years. She'd never understood how something sold in such tiny quantities could nevertheless last forever. Her mascara and liner, which she hadn't replaced in over a year. Two shades of lipstick, one pink, one red. A blusher she had never figured out how to apply without making herself look like a clown.
They lined up their combined haul on the kitchen counter and giddily contemplated the little bottles and packages. They tried Kelly's foundation on Joanna, but wiped it off when they saw what Joanna had was a better match. Kelly suggested, "Do you want to try my concealer? It should work for you. My skin's a little lighter than yours, and lighter is better than darker with concealer."
"I thought that was just for pimples?" asked Joanna.
"Not really. I use it when I don't get enough sleep," said Kelly, looking closely under Joanna's eyes. "You don't have any shadows though. It's a good base for foundation so it lasts longer, but that doesn't matter since you're only going out for dinner, right?" Kelly had winked broadly, then added, "Don't roll your eyes at me. At least, not right now."
After a few minutes of working quietly with sponge and foundation, Kelly picked up Joanna's blusher and brushed some over her cheekbones. "When you do it, it looks right," commented Joanna.
"It's all in the brushes."
Joanna doubted that. She suspected a lot of it was in the angle and amount Kelly used.
"Go ahead and do the mascara and liner, and then I'll do the shadow, unless you want to," Kelly offered. Joanna had refused, and Kelly had added, "Some people are adamant about shadow first, then mascara and liner, but I think the shadow last is a softer look, and works better on you." Since this amount of attention to detail was more than Joanna had ever considered, at least with respect to makeup, she refrained from further comment.
A few minutes later, they contemplated Joanna's face. "I like it. It's your everyday look, but for me," said Joanna with a smile.
"We probably should have done your hair first, but you know, I didn't think we'd get the makeup right the first time we tried, so I thought we'd let it rest while we worked on the hair after our first failure or two. But this looks good. Do you usually blow dry your hair?"
"If I'm in a hurry. Otherwise I just let it sit and style it with my fingers. If you can call that styling."
"I noticed you tweaking it a few times to get it to flip up at your shoulders. I like that look. I've got a diffuser, though, if you want to speed the process up."
"A what?" asked Joanna.
Kelly showed her a cylinder that flared at one end, an attachment for a hair dryer that filtered the air so the heat came through, but very little of the pressure. "It adds body. And some people use it to keep natural curl, or a perm, from frizzing, although I don't think you have that problem. Here, I'll show you how it works."
A few minutes later, Joanna's hair was dry, styled the way she usually did, but flipping up a bit more on the bottom. Kelly used the curling iron to encourage the ends to curl up more. "What do you think?" she asked.
"I like," said Joanna. "Wasted on my date, but I like. You'll have to tell me where I can get one of those diffusers. That's cool."
Satisfied with the day's purchases, Hale added to them a six-pack of beer and two rental movies. He stopped in the office briefly to make sure Doris had locked up. She'd left the checks in an envelope on the counter. He checked them off against his list, while filling out a deposit slip. Again, everyone but #E-105 had paid. He shoved it all into a zippered bank deposit envelope. He considered running it over to the bank's night deposit, but decided to leave it in the safe instead.
As he spun the dial after closing the safe, the thought that had been niggling at him since he'd noticed #E-105 was the only missing check finally got his attention. Cursing, he remembered that he hadn't checked in on the unit, nor called the cleaners. For that matter, if Susie was anything like the departed manager, there might well have been furniture left in the place. Not that he would have wanted it for himself, but the people he'd been buying furniture from also bought furniture. He might have been able to work out a trade.
Shrugging, he locked up, grabbed the paper bag with his beer and videos, and went upstairs. He shoved a potato into the oven to bake, while thawing a steak. He broke off a third of a long, slender loaf of bread, stuck it on a plate with the salad, and went into the living room. He popped one of the movies in and settled down to watch.
When he was done with dinner, a movie, and two beers, Hale was wide awake, worrying over the lock on #E-105. He hadn't checked the keys. For all he knew, Susie had tossed some other set of keys at him. He'd gotten into movie theaters as a kid with a similar dodge. Tell the girl at the box office you'd left something and needed to retrieve it; she asked for collateral; you leave her a set of bogus keys or maybe someone else's used ID. Watch whatever movies you want for free, and avoid further attention from management.
Unable to convince himself that one night made no difference one way or the other, Hale went downstairs, retrieved the keys and walked over to the unit. He tried them in the door. It opened. It was dark inside, and a mess. No one was inside. He shrugged, and locked up after taking only a cursory look.
Hale drove to the still slightly surreal 24-hour store for everything you need around the house. While walking the aisles in search of a lock cylinder that would fit in #E-105's door, he came across a display of club-like flashlights. He picked one up, trying its balance, as he might a weapon. Some were packaged with batteries and a spare bulb. Twenty bucks seemed steep for a flashlight, but cheap for an innocuous-appearing blunt instrument usable as a weapon. He dropped one in the shopping basket, and continued his search for locks.
He eventually found what he needed to swap the single lock cylinder on #E-105's door. It controlled the lock in the knob, and the dead bolt. Hale thought the purpose for that arrangement was to make one feel safer than one was, but it wasn't his place to change things. Locks made nothing safe. Security was determined by people, not things.
After returning to The Retreat, Hale made short work of #E-105's door. As he walked back towards the office, he saw Joanna leaving her unit with a man. They spoke briefly after she locked her door, then walked over to her car and got in. Joanna had done something different to her hair, and she was wearing more makeup than he had seen her wear before. She looked different. And very good.
An hour after getting out of the recliner, he was back in front of his TV, watching the second movie. While mostly ignoring the trailers at the beginning of the video, he ripped open the flashlight package, and put the batteries in the light. He thumbed the switch, to check the brightness. Turning it briefly in his own face, he quickly shut it off, and blinked several times. He thought that was bright enough to blind someone for a crucial moment. Pleased, he turned it off and set it by his front door. As the movie started, he opened up his third beer, and another bag of chips. Hale was diligently not thinking about Joanna, and her date.
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Copyright 2013 by Rebecca Allen Updated July 17, 2013