The Underground Part 15

"I'm afraid," she said, as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked at his offering, but didn't reach for it.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," he a.s.sured her. "It's just private, that's all."

She took the bag and was about to open it when the machine that her father was hooked up to beeped and his sickly body coughed violently. In a whirlwind, she was swooped out of there, but she clutched that velvet bag as she saw her father alive for the last time. She ran to her suite with the bag hid it in the bottom of her toy bin.

Chapter 26.

Memories of Shayla washed away with each pa.s.sing day, and Brigg and Chester started fading too. Reality sank in. Nathaniel would never see anyone from his life in Cambridge again. It was far more challenging now that it was up to him to keep the distance.

He had diligently worked on his new life but was tired of attending the POAs. He had gone on countless dates, and cooked gourmet meals for women who were only after s.e.x. What he really needed was a wife, not another random date from a woman at the POA. Nathaniel needed a break. He picked up a slice of pizza and popped open a beer as he relaxed on his futon bed, with a brand new novel by Berrini that made him think of Shayla. Had she already read it?

The phone rang and he sprang from the couch.

"Joe Merino?"

"This is he," Nathaniel said, bracing himself. Fear pulsed through his veins.

"This is Kelly Boys," said an unfamiliar voice. It was Sat.u.r.day night, and he couldn't imagine why they needed to contact him. Garrett was gone. Nathaniel wondered if they knew. Maybe they just realized he wasn't returning or maybe they were going through Garrett's files and Joe Merino was listed as an Underground affiliate. Nathaniel's heart pumped with fear. Maybe there were Tasers right outside his door, ready to storm in.

"Sorry for the short notice, but your Monday a.s.signment has changed."

"Oh, that's fine," he said, relieved. Couldn't they have just sent him an email? Then again, Garrett usually called with a.s.signment changes. Nathaniel was about to ask about Garrett, but stopped himself. What was he going to say? "What happened after he got Tased and taken away at the protest?" That could be self-incriminating, as they might want to ask how he knew that Garrett was part of the demonstration.

"We're sending you to Was.h.i.+ngton D.C. for the next week to work as an executive meeting scribe. Your flight is on SuperAir, and it leaves Monday at 6 a.m. Someone will meet you at the airport in D.C and help you out on that end. If you have any questions, feel free to call us."

"Okay," Nathaniel said, feeling out of sorts all over again. He hung up and let it sink in. He would have to cancel two dates, but wasn't sure he minded missing either.

More importantly, his Underground contact at Kelly Boys was gone and n.o.body else stepped in. What did that mean?

Then there were logistics. Nathaniel had never been on a plane. The Underground had all kinds of courses, but there wasn't anything that covered how to squash the anxiety of your first airplane flight.

After waiting more than a half an hour for takeoff, he was far more nervous than he cared to admit.

"Another Maker's Mark, please?" he asked the steward.

"You sure? Kind of early for so many drinks, don't you think?"

"It's my first flight," he whispered, thinking about the life he used to have. There was never a reason to fly anywhere. Winter vacations in New England were just a drive to a ski area and summers meant hiking in Maine or a beach trip to Cape Cod.

"I'll get you one more, but I don't want to have to carry you out of here," the steward said, half joking.

He thought of Janice. "You know what? Maybe I don't need another," Nathaniel said. He would rather white knuckle it all the way than be a drunk.

"You sure?"

"Yes, thank you," he said, just as the pilot announced to prepare for takeoff.

The flight went smoothly, but he was glad when he landed. Right outside the gate, he saw a man holding a sign with his name.

"I'm Joe," he told the man.

"Do you have luggage?"

"Right here," he said, indicating his carry-on.

"Let's go," the driver said dryly before silently leading Nathaniel to the car. Nathaniel tried to ask a little about the capital, but the grunt-like responses told him this grumpy taxi driver only drove. Just like Simon, he thought to himself.

"Are we going to my hotel?" he finally asked.

"I'm dropping you at Archibald Company," the driver said.

As they drove through the city, Nathaniel drank in the sights, which differed from both Cambridge and Kansas City. It was a clean city. Watching people walk the streets, he noticed a more formal dress, a far cry from Kansas City and even farther from Cambridge.

It was a short drive from the airport to Archibald, which was in a bustling business district of the city. The driver got out of the car, took Nathaniel's luggage from the trunk, and deposited it on the sidewalk. Nathaniel pulled out his wallet.

"It's paid," the driver said without looking at Nathaniel. He returned to the car and drove off.

Nathaniel was about to enter Archibald's building when a jackhammer sound caught his ear, like a familiar tune on the radio. He stopped and turned. A group of Public Works personnel were going in and out of a manhole in the middle of the street. He remembered wearing their uniform: protective eye and ear-wear, and the ever-present hard hat. He didn't miss that kind of work, and yet, a piece of him wanted to walk over to see what they were doing.

He stepped inside, and took the elevator to Archibald's floor. The grandiose reception area had intricately inlaid marble floors and a large floral arrangement on the clean gla.s.s counter out front. The three men behind it were all occupied, speaking politely on phones. The first who was free approached Nathaniel.

"I'm Joe Merino from Kelly Boys. I was told you would know where I should be," he said. He was glad to be holding luggage, which hid the shaking of his nervous hands. This was the first time he would work solely as a scribe.

"Follow me," one of the men said.

As he followed the man down the hall, Nathaniel imagined himself bragging to the women at the next POA. Being a scribe had cache.

"Here you go," said the man who had led him through the maze of hallways filled with gla.s.s offices and conference rooms where the "skirts" appeared to be hard at work.

"I'm Dan, by the way. Can I get you something? Coffee? Water? Something to eat?" It was strange to be on the receiving end of the work he was accustomed to doing.

"I'd love a cup of coffee, if it's not too much trouble," Nathaniel said. "Actually, I can get it myself if you'll just point me to the coffee station." Surely, Dan had plenty to do. Nathaniel knew this from firsthand experience.

"Don't be silly."

"Are you sure? I really don't mind getting it," Nathaniel said, feeling awkward no matter what he did.

"Cream and sugar?"

"Yes to both," Nathaniel said.

He put his suitcase in the corner and admired the large room. He counted 18 chairs around the conference room table before sitting down. It all seemed too pretty to disturb. The black lacquered table s.h.i.+ned beautifully without a single fingerprint on its glossy veneer. He carefully unpacked his laptop and pad of paper before sitting down.

"Here you go," Dan said, handing Nathaniel a mug wafting with fresh-brewed coffee.

"Thank you very much," Nathaniel said. "Do you know what I'm supposed to do now?" Nathaniel asked.

"I'm sorry. I don't. But I know the management group has signed this room out all week, and I'm sure they'll be in within the next 15 minutes or so," he said, looking at his watch. "I'd just sit tight. Give a holler if you need anything though," Dan reiterated, smiling as he left.

Nathaniel drank his coffee and felt guilty for this plum a.s.signment as he looked at the original art on the walls. Sometimes he just didn't understand art, and now he grappled to find the beauty in the odd and probably expensive collage of ripped and broken canvases dipped in oil paints.

All at once, a group of women came through the door chattering and laughing casually as they planted themselves around the table and continued their conversation as if Nathaniel were invisible.

"Hi, I'm Gladys," one of them finally said as she held out her hand. "You must be the Kelly Boy." Nathaniel stood up and put out his hand. She was pet.i.te, and she looked him squarely in the eyes as her strong handshake surprised him. She wore a flattering, business appropriate red suit.

"It's nice to meet you Gladys. Yes, I'm Joe Merino from Kelly Boys," he continued. "Do you know when I'm supposed to start taking notes?" he asked.

"We're still waiting for a few others, but they should be here soon, and then we can get started," she said, sitting beside him. Her perfume reminded him of Shayla's with that same hint of honey vanilla. It was distracting.

"Don't be nervous, I'll take care of you," she joked sensing his concern.

Was she flirting?

A few minutes later, all seats were filled.

"Okay, ladies," Gladys said. "Let's get down to business. We've got a lot to cover this week. Here's the agenda." She handed out sheets of paper. "We are fortunate to have our boy Joe from Kelly Boys here to take notes, so best behavior, please," she said. "No off color jokes in front of him, even though he's adorable," Gladys said, triggering light laughter around the table.

He tapped their names as attendees into his laptop on a chart so he could easily doc.u.ment their ideas. A number of them were very beautiful. In fact, this was about the best stock of women in one room that he could imagine: bright, successful and attractive. Maybe he would get a date. First things first, he had to do a great job.

At the end of the day, his fingers were as tired as his brain. He was grateful for the Underground training.

"Joe, would you like to join me for a bite to eat?" Gladys asked. "I could show you some of D.C.'s finest hotspots."

He wanted to. Very badly. But he had to come across as professional first and foremost, to build her respect. He didn't need another woman wanting him only for s.e.x. "I would love to," he said, balancing on a tightrope beneath which his professional and personal life spread out beneath him, "but I should really reorganize the writing I did today so it's in good shape for you tomorrow."

"All work and no play makes Joe a dull boy!" she joked, waving her finger.

"I just want to make sure I get it right," he said, feeling the ache in his neck from hours of bending toward the ergonomically incorrect screen.

"Get your coat," she said. "I'll meet you in the lobby. I'm taking you out tonight, and it's not up for discussion."

They went to Snake Oil, a hopping club right near the National Zoo where all the dishes had names that referred to cliched business opportunities. There was a chicken sandwich called, "Wanna Buy a Piece of a Bridge in Brooklyn?" And a burger with sweet potato fries called, "I'll gladly pay you Tuesday," among others.

Gladys was a cla.s.s act with an easygoing air that Nathaniel liked. And the restaurant fit her perfectly.

"How do you like Archibald?" he asked.

"I've been there for seven years and let's just say they've been good to me. Just look at today. I met you and here we are having dinner," she said.

"I am glad you invited me," he said, genuinely happy.

At the end of the evening, she leaned over to kiss him. Nathaniel enjoyed Gladys's soft lips on his. She smiled as she pulled away and turned to leave. Nathaniel stood outside his hotel, watching her walk away.

He took in one last breath of the hot summer night as he enjoyed looking at the city street before him; yet another new place he had never imagined himself.

"Hey, Joe," she said, turning and yelling in his direction from down the street.

"Yes?" Joe said. She was far more relaxed than your average white collar woman. She reminded him of a football player telling him to send her the ball. And he liked it.

"You like opera?"

"I've never been. There isn't a lot of opera in Kansas City."

"Good, you'll come with me tomorrow. I've got tickets for a star-studded benefit of La Traviata, and I won't take no for an answer," she said, flas.h.i.+ng a big grin.

"How can I say no to that?" he answered back before he waved goodbye and walked away. He knew this was an important invitation, but it wouldn't be until the next evening that he would see just how important.

Chapter 27.

"It's supposed to be a fabulous production," Gladys said, as they made their way down the street. She wore a strappy magenta gown that had a tasteful slit half-way up her toned calf. She was transformed from her business persona. "I'm so glad you were available to join me," she said.

"Me too," he said. "I must confess, my theater experience was limited to one trip as a kid to see the Nutcracker." Brigg's mother had taken them to the w.a.n.g Center, in Boston, as kids. He would never forget the 20-foot-tall Christmas tree that magically grew out of the floor like a dream. He nearly mentioned the details, and then realized how easily the truth might slip out about his true origins. He needed to be guarded. Always.

"That was your only time?" Gladys said, giving him a come-hither look that made him blush. They moved slowly through the crowd. Gladys knew many of the patrons who waved to her, as they made their way toward the lush velvet seats that signified the comfort of wealth and privilege.

"This place is unbelievable. I could just stare at these murals on the ceiling all evening," he said, wondering if he should tone down his working cla.s.s excitement.

"I like the idea of showing you new things that make you happy," Gladys said, moving her body close to his and smiling as she looked into his eyes.

Nathaniel was grateful that the lights dimmed at that moment. The voices hushed, and the operatic experience kidnapped his senses. This was no Nutcracker. The men and women stood gallantly on the stage, entrancing the audience with pristine voices that filled the Was.h.i.+ngton Opera House.

After the first song, Nathaniel tore his eyes from the stage and looked out over the audience sitting perfectly still in their finest eveningwear, and jewels that dazzled under the dimmed lights. His eyes moved from person to person on the opposite side of the balcony and came to a dead halt at a woman who wore a necklace that held a shocking resemblance to Shayla's necklace that he remembered from their evening at the hotel. She told him it was one-of-a-kind, a gift from her mother's favorite jewelry designer. Could it be?

He looked at the woman, sitting beside a tuxedo-clad man. As he leaned into her, placing his hand on her lap, she turned momentarily away from him and Nathaniel saw that tiny beauty mark peeking out from the base of her neck and realized it was Shayla. It could only be Shayla. Here was the love of his life, directly across the balcony from him, sitting with another man.

The moment froze and the music seemed to stop. He begged her to look at him. This way, Shelia. Here, my love! But she continued to stare at the stage. He wanted to leap across the balcony and kiss her full red lips, and hold her forever.

Maybe he could go and wait by the door where her seat was... how could he get away from Gladys without drawing attention? Escape plans flooded his mind. One way or another, he was going to get to her before they left here. He had to.

At the end of a song, the audience applauded and Shayla did too, her eyes leaving the stage and scanning the crowd. When they caught his gaze, she froze, her eyes wide and her lips parting slightly as her rapid clapping slowed. They stared at each other throughout the singing of Dite Alla Giovine, the voices singing a version of their own heart wrenching truth.