Someone to Watch Over Me
Chapter 3Stu borrowed his mother's car the next day and drove to the State License Bureau in Los Angeles, where he took the short test required to transfer his P.I. license from New York to California. He still had to take the sidearms test on the firing range to get his carry permit, but he couldn't do that today, so he drove up to Thousand Oaks, where Elizabeth lived with her husband, Matthew.
His sister's eyes lit up when she opened the door and found him standing there. "Stuart! I'm so glad you're back. Come in, come in. I was just about to have another cup of coffee – will you join me?"
"You know I will. You don't have to ask twice when it comes to coffee."
She locked arms with her brother and marched him into the kitchen. "Tell me all about New York. And tell me what life is like for a private investigator." She turned to kiss him and that's when he noticed the mark on her right cheekbone.
"What's this?" he questioned, pointing to the bruise.
"The bruise?" she asked casually, as if the mark on her cheek was an everyday occurrence. "I was cleaning out the closet and bumped my head on the doorknob." It didn't look like the mark you might get from running into a doorknob, but why would his sister lie about it? She had him sit at the kitchen table and removed two cups from the cabinet, setting them down and pouring coffee into both. "Did you have breakfast?"
"You're getting as bad as mother. Why do all the women in this family try to feed me?"
"Because you look like you haven't eaten in months . . . no, years."
He blew on the coffee to cool it down before taking a sip. "Haven't you heard the whole, sad story of my New York adventures?"
"I've heard a lot of rumors from Dad, but I try not to pay any attention to whatever nonsensical babel he's pedaling this week. It's easier to ignore when you don't live with them. Poor Mom, I think she became immune to his blather a long time ago. So tell me what happened." There was a look in Stuart's eyes she'd never seen before – haunted, almost.
"Long story short . . . the career was coming along. It was slow at first, but I kept working at it and I was headed in the right direction. Then I met . . . Connie. I fell for her, Liz."
"Hook, line and sinker?"
"Exactly. We were happy for a while, happier than – well, happier than I've ever been. I asked her to marry me, and she accepted."
Elizabeth poured more coffee. Stu didn't look happy; in fact, he looked thoroughly miserable. Liz knew from their mother that things had gone wrong, but she let her brother take his time in explaining everything.
"What happened?"
"I don't know. She told me she couldn't marry me and gave me back my ring, then I packed up and left. An abject failure, to hear Dad tell it."
"Ignore him, Stu. He may never get over you resigning the position at Harvard. And that's his problem, not yours."
Both coffee cups were empty again, and Stu got up and took them to the sink. Elizabeth followed him, and when he was finished with the cups the brother and sister hugged. "It's a good thing I had you, Liz. Otherwise, I might never have gotten through adolescence." They both laughed.
"What are you going to do now?"
"Try to get my business started," Stu insisted with finality.
"Still want to play detective, huh?" his sister teased.
"I'm good at it. My New York license is being transferred to California. I just have to get a carry permit for a gun and I can start looking for business."
"And an office?"
"No, I thought I'd work out of the garage," Stu replied with a smile.
"Smartass."
"I'm looking at a place this afternoon, in Burbank. I just need something to get me started. Something I can live with while I build the business. And then . . . an apartment. I can't stay in that house, trying to keep Mother happy and avoiding Dad. I swear, I'd pull my gun and shoot him someday."
Liz looked appalled. "Don't joke like that, Stu."
"Who's joking?" They stood in silence for a minute before Stu looked at his watch. Ten till one. "Time for me to go, Liz." They walked arm-in-arm back to the front door. "By the way, you did a nice job with the flowers at the house. It looks good."
"Thank you. I was shocked when Mother called and asked for my help. I guess she finally persuaded Dad to loosen the purse strings. And surprise, surprise – Dad seemed pleased when we were finished. I'm glad you liked it."
"You take care of yourself, alright? And watch out for those vicious doorknobs."
"The what? Oh, the doorknobs, yes, I will. See you soon, big brother." She kissed him on the cheek, and Stu walked down the driveway and got in the car. He waved and pulled out into the street, heading east to Burbank.
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Forty-five minutes later Stuart had pulled up to a two-story office building with a sign out front – Office Space for Lease. He'd seen better-looking buildings, but he had to admit it didn't look any worse than the office he'd rented in New York. And at least in this office he had no one to answer to; it would be all his.
It was just about big enough to hold a desk, two chairs and a filing cabinet. The floor was tile and needed a good cleaning, as did the windows. That would only take elbow grease and time, and at the moment he had plenty of both. The rent was cheap enough – less than half of what he'd paid in New York. And there was an answering service on the bottom floor of the building . . . something he didn't have in New York. "I'll take it," he told the agent, and went downstairs to sign the lease. They shook hands and Stuart paid the man, then left for home to change clothes and gather cleaning supplies.
It was almost four o'clock before Stu got back to his new office, and he promptly got to work cleaning the windows. He stood back and admired his handiwork when he was finished, and set about getting down on his hands and knees to scrub the floor. There must have been twenty years' worth of dirt and grime on the tile, and it took almost an hour to get it looking clean again. When he was finished cleaning he took the bucket to the restroom down the hall and emptied the water in the toilet bowl. Then he took everything and placed it in the small utility closet in the corner of his office. He looked around the now clean room and smiled. He left the office and locked the door, washing up before getting in the car and heading for his parent's house.
"My goodness, Stuart, you're a mess!" his mother told him when he got home. "What were you doing, scrubbing floors?"
He nodded and grinned. "That's exactly what I was doing, Mother, scrubbing the floor in my new office." He ignored the appalled look on his Mother's face and almost made it into the bathroom when his father came through the front door.
"You're filthy," his father pointed out needlessly as they passed in the hallway.
"Yes, I am," Stuart agreed.
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The next morning Stuart had the electric turned on and arranged for the telephone man to be there the following day. Then he drove to the Thrift Store to shop for furniture. Much as he would have appreciated new office furniture, he couldn't afford it. He'd learned the art of Thrift Store shopping in New York and continued the practice in California. He was fortunate; he found exactly what he was looking for at only the second store he went to. A wooden desk in reasonably good condition, two office chairs, a chair for the boss, and a two-drawer filing cabinet. It would be delivered tomorrow afternoon, and there was only one more stop he needed to make. A print shop, to have business cards and a modicum of stationery printed for Bailey Private Investigators. Good thing there wasn't a lot more to get, because his wallet was beginning to look decidedly thin. He had blank paper, message pads, pens, pencils and, best of all, a typewriter being delivered with his personal belongings, three days from now.
Since he'd signed a one-year lease, the owner had agreed to stencil the business name on the door at no additional cost. When he came back the next day the stenciling had already been done, and he looked at the door with pride - Bailey Private Investigators. The phone was working and the furniture was delivered as scheduled. Once everything was in place he sat in his chair behind his desk and smiled. Now all he had to do was work his tail off, just as he had once before. For the first time since Connie had taken off his ring and set it on the table, he saw light at the end of the tunnel. When his belongings arrived a short time later, he sorted out what needed to stay at the office and what should go back to his parent's house. His coffee maker stayed there, sitting on top of the filing cabinet, and the typewriter was perched on the desk's credenza. And the day he picked up his business cards and stationery, he felt the beginning stage of establishing himself in California as a Private Investigator was almost complete.
That night when he went back to his parents' house he was bursting with pride. "Mother, are you busy tomorrow?"
"I have a meeting at the church tomorrow afternoon. Why?"
"Because I'd like to take you to see my office tomorrow morning."
Helen smiled at her son. He seemed to be making headway in his war against the memory of she-who-shall-remain-nameless, and she was proud of him for not crawling in a shell to hide and staying there. "Oh, Stuart, it would thrill me to see your new office."
"Good. First thing tomorrow?"
"That's fine with me. Are you open for business yet?"
Stu nodded. "I will be as of tomorrow." He took out his license holder and removed a business card, handing it to his mother.
Stuart Bailey
Bailey Private Investigators
879 Old Sebastian Road, Suite 204
Burbank, CA 54
Avery 5-3652
"It's very elegant, Stuart. May I keep this?"
"Of course, Mother. If you need any more, let me know. I have a supply here and at the office."
"What time would you like me to be ready?" Helen asked.
"How about nine o'clock? Is that good for you?"
Little did her son know that any time would have been good for her. He was, after all, Stuart Bailey, Chief Investigator, and he was her pride and joy. "Nine o'clock is fine, dear."
Stu smiled. As of tomorrow, he was back in business.
