Chapter IV
Jack was enjoying coffee and a bagel with cream cheese and an orange on the side. The waitress, he noticed, wore an ichthys pin that contained a small crucifix in the center. Smiling at the display of faith, Jack looked the waitress in the eye and nodded his head.
"Miss," He said, "Would it be improper of me to tell you that I appreciate your service?"
The Waitress, whose name was Paula, simply scoffed politely at him and nodded. "Yes it would Prof."
"How did you deduce I was a Professor?"
"Because," Paula replied with a sly grin on her face. "You have chalk on your shirt."
"Oh, I suppose I do."
Jack dusted his shirt as best he could. When he was finished he looked up and remembered her answer. He quirked his brow curiously and began to laugh.
"Why, if I may pry a moment, would it be improper for me to appreciate your service?"
"You're trying to get into my pants aren't you Prof.?"
"Rather unlikely, Miss. I am well past the age of courtship and shan't be looking anytime soon. Besides, you are much too small in the waist."
Miss Paula scoffed at Jack's humor and rolled her eyes. "Your point is…?"
"Your ichthys pin, Miss. I find it very pretty. What time is it?"
"Three-sixteen." The waitress answered after looking at her watch. Mr. Lewis smiled a bit more.
"How appropriate. I think I'll have some coffee- black, and a cheese Danish."
Scribbling down his order, Paula looked at Jack, noticing the mature smile on his face and besides the chalk on him, believed him to be rather clean and neat with himself. As a red motorcar passed, Miss Davidman walked down the sidewalk with a large paper brown bag full of groceries- bread, cheese, milk, meats, and two packs of cigarettes.
Warnie entered the deli just as Miss Joy exited the view of Jack, who was looking rather extensively over her, admiring her stride as if she were a valiant soul who was charging bravely into the fray of consumerism and a horrific state of a marriage to a Mr. Gresham, an American poet of little mention or care here.
"Ah, brother, how did the coaxing go?" Jack asked as his brother sat down across from him. Warren observed his brother's jovial behavior, deducing it as perhaps having too much coffee, or not enough.
"Not good. He left, I did not dare follow him. He seemed rather… put off by the proposition." Leaning up in his chair and pulling out a cigarette, he fumbled with his lighter that was being rather temperamental in his pocket.
Paula returned moments later with Jack's coffee and pastry. When she noticed Warnie struggling, she pulled out her lighter which lit on the second attempt. The Professor of History leaned in and nodded his head.
"I won't be having anything thanks."
Paula nodded her head and returned to her business. Jack nodded his head in thanks and watched her leave before returning his attention to his brother's words.
"What did he say to you?"
Warnie sighed as he exhaled smoke, which came out like two dancers in his head. Jack on the other hand, saw his brother as a dragon with a short fuse but too big of a heart to hold a grudge.
"He said 'not right now'. I gave him my business card, if he calls I'll let you know."
Jack nodded and collapsed his hands in thought. Closing his eyes, Mr. Lewis prayed a moment and when he was finished, he slowly consumed his pastry.
Samuel Blake entered his suite at the Baker Street Hotel just down from the fictional residence of Sherlock Holmes. The place was, in a positive light, livable. It was nearly perfect in terms of cleanliness; for, his books were in alphabetical order, his ties were situated by color on the rack that stood readily by the front door, and his militaristic boots, which were next to his casual shoes, were polished.
The galley kitchen's light flickered, its luminance reflecting across the mint green walls of twenty-years ago and a lone house fly buzzed near a piece of left out bread. The refrigerator, which rarely worked, was working this afternoon as it began to clank and clatter like a dismally functioning automobile. Sam crossed the floor, not removing his shoes and noticing the click and precise measure of the heels as he hit the side of the unit, ceasing its noise.
As Sam entered the living room, he removed his shoes and threw his socks at a wall, at the moment not caring about protocols. His cat, Davis, a black and gray tabby, purred when his owner came home and gently placed himself on top of Sam's feet where he curled up in a ball and fell asleep. When he was certain of Davis' slumber, Sam picked the feline up and petted his back. Mister Blake began to sing a lullaby to himself. He was asleep within few minutes- deciding to follow his friend's advice and take a midday nap.