Someone to Watch Over Me
Chapter 6Having his own apartment to come home to at night eased Jeff's stress at work considerably. There was no one to interrupt his studying and no one to ask him if he'd had something to eat. He ate when he got hungry and stopped wearing pajamas to bed; he reveled in his new-found freedom to do anything he wanted, anytime he wanted to do it.
He finished the study material he'd received from the State Licensing Bureau and then went through everything one more time, just to be sure he had no more questions. He took a day off work and drove to the bureau to take the test. He was the only one there taking the test, but he did see another man at the same window he'd gone to. A little older than Jeff, and dressed much more expensively, he stood at the counter a long time before handing over some kind of card or identification. Jeff was curious, and wondered who the man was and what he was doing there.
He was a handsome fellow, the kind that attracted all the women. Dark hair and well-groomed, he waited while the bureau employee typed up something – a card of some kind, and once she gave it to the man he smiled and left. Jeff breathed a sigh of relief. At least he didn't have to compete with somebody like that for a P.I.'s license. Then he reminded himself it wasn't a competition and went back to his test.
The test was complicated but not difficult. He was glad he'd gone through all the papers he received and not tried to take the test blind. When he was finished, he turned it in to the lady at the window and, at her suggestion, sat down to wait for the results. About fifteen minutes later he heard her call, "Mr. Spencer to window six," and hurried to see how he'd done. "Quite impressive, Mr. Spencer. You only got one answer wrong on the whole test. If you can wait while I type up your license, you can be on your way."
"I'd be happy to wait, thank you," Jeff replied. He was thrilled to be told he got almost all of the questions answered correctly. Having passed the test so handily, he was one step closer to becoming a private investigator.
He couldn't wait for the day he could give his notice at the law firm. And find a suitable office, with all the trappings that went with it. He was more or less daydreaming when the woman at window six called his name again. "Mr. Spencer." She handed him a brand new license and shook his hand. "Congratulations."
"Thank you. Could you tell me where the test is given to get a gun carry permit?"
"1600 South Street. That is by appointment only. I'd start calling them right away, as it could take them several days to get you on the schedule."
"Thank you, I'll do that."
Jeff slipped his P.I. license in his wallet and drove home. He was so excited he could hardly think straight. He changed into something more casual and went outside for a walk. As soon as he was out in the fresh air he lit a cigarette, and smoked while he walked.
There was a park a short block away from his apartment, and that's where he headed. He found a picnic bench and sat, giving his mind time to settle down and clear. He started thinking about what he would need to get started in the P.I. business. An office, of course. That was first on the list. But then he'd need furniture – a desk and a chair, plus a chair or two for people to sit in. A desk lamp, maybe, business cards, paper and pens, a filing cabinet of some sort, telephone and electric service, and last, but certainly not least, clients.
The list seemed to go on and on. He smoked a second cigarette and wondered if he could get by without an office for a while. Maybe he'd better not quit his job as quickly as he'd planned. Did he really think he could make this work? Why not, he reasoned. He had the experience, of a sort, both from his stint in the army and working for the government after his discharge. And he certainly had the knowledge, as his almost perfect score on the P.I. test proved.
There was one other thing he had, in spades. And that might be the most important of all – an intense dislike of the job he was doing now.
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Another three paychecks came and went, and Jeff found himself still sitting in his little office, throwing pencils at the wall. He'd saved every penny he could afford to put away, paying the rent and utilities, buying gas for his car, and being extremely frugal when it came to buying groceries. He lived on peanut butter sandwiches and coffee, and refused all invitations to eat out at lunch. To keep his mother happy, and to get one decent meal a week, he had dinner at her house every Saturday. She deliberately fixed too much and sent leftovers home with him, for which his stomach was eternally grateful.
He started looking for offices, and what he saw ranged from tiny to gigantic. The prices per month followed suit. He wanted to get business cards printed but couldn't do that until he had an office. The day came for his gun test and he passed with no problem. Now he was a licensed private investigator with a gun permit and no office or clients. Finally he had enough to rent a small office, already furnished, and all he had to do was sign the lease and turn on the electric. His hand shook as he signed the lease agreement, but he went home and made arrangements for the electric and the telephone to be put in his name and turned on. The office came with a once-a-week cleaning service, but no switchboard or answering service.
He'd already bought enough office supplies to get him started, so he went to the print shop to get business cards made. He'd been thinking about this day for a long time and he was more than ready to design one.
Of course, he had to have a minimal amount of stationary, so he had some of that printed, too. It took two days to get everything done, but he was pleased with the results and took it all back to his office. Then he sat at his desk and stared at the cards.
Jeff Spencer
Private Investigator
1843 Monroe Street, #315
South Gate, CA 23
Dunhill 5-6432
Everything was ready to get started. All he needed now was to quit the law firm, and he intended to do that on Friday, right after he'd gotten paid.
He was nervous as a cat on Friday. Paychecks were usually distributed around noon, so they could be cashed and/or deposited at lunchtime. Jeff packed his personal belongings and left for the bank, cashing the check before returning to the office. He typed out his letter of resignation and left it on his desk, then carried the box of his belongings to the car. He'd finally done it! Now he was left with a gnawing in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. It was time to see his mother.
His mother's car was parked in the driveway, and the closer he got to actually explaining what he'd done the more nervous he got. He parked behind her and went inside, calling, "Mom! Are you here?"
His mother came hurrying out of her bedroom. "Jefferson! What's wrong? Why are you here at this hour of the day?"
"Do you have any coffee made, Mom? Let's have a cup and sit down. We need to talk."
His mother went to the kitchen and Jeff followed her. She poured two cups of coffee and set them on the table. "Now, tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong. Sit down, I have something to tell you." Jeff was smiling at her, hoping to ease her anxiety as best he could. Given no other option, finally she sat. When she was settled he took out his wallet and removed a business card, then handed it to her. She sat staring at it for almost a minute before she said anything.
"What is this? What did you do, Jefferson?" That's when he opened his wallet and showed her his P.I. license. She looked from one to the other before looking up at her son. When she did there were tears in her eyes. His mother was a bright lady; it hadn't taken her long to figure things out. "That's why you were so insistent on moving out, isn't it? How long have you been planning this?"
"Quite a while, Mom. Since before I found an apartment. I was studying to take the exam to get my license, and now I have it. And that's the address of my office. I quit Sanders, Davis and Byers today." His mother continued to sit there staring at the card he'd given her. "Say something, Mom."
"Why, Jefferson? Why?"
"You know why. I hated being a lawyer, sitting in that little office all day proofreading contracts and depositions. They wouldn't let me do anything productive, interesting, or even out of the ordinary. All that education, just sitting at the desk doing a job that anyone with half a brain could do. I couldn't stand it anymore, but I made myself stay until I had enough money to do what I wanted to do. Get an apartment, take the tests I needed to take, rent an office. Don't you see? Now it's up to me whether I succeed or fail. Not to some old man who sits in a big, fancy office and makes money off of my work, my brainpower."
"But I don't understand. Why did you have to move out to do all this? Why couldn't you have stayed here? I gave you privacy and space. You didn't have to leave to get that."
This was going to be the hard part. He knew he'd probably hurt his mother's feelings terribly, but she had to understand. "Mom, I love you. Don't lose sight of that. But the last thing you gave me was space and privacy. Your idea is to knock on the door and go on in before somebody can say excuse me, I'm busy. How many times did you do that to me? And space? If I told you I had something to do on Saturday or Sunday, you always had a reason that I should stay here instead. I needed peace and quiet, to be able to study when I wanted, all hours of the night if that's what I wanted to do. To lay around in my underwear and not worry about somebody walking in on me. To live on coffee and peanut butter sandwiches. I couldn't do that here. That doesn't mean I don't love you . . . it just means I had to be out on my own. You've been so good to me . . . but I had to try it on my own. Even if I fail."
"Does your sister know?"
"That I wanted to do this? Yes. That I was actively working on making it happen? No. Can you still love me, even though I'm not a lawyer anymore? Because I still love you."
Dorothy took a sip of her coffee. "You're my son, Jeff. I'll always love you, no matter what."
"Do you want to see my office? I promise, it's not a whole lot better than my apartment."
"Now?"
"Sure, why not. It's safer in the daytime."
"Jeff . . . "
"Kidding, I'm kidding."
"Alright, give me a minute." Dorothy headed off for the bathroom and Jeff looked to see if there were any leftovers in the refrigerator. He was in luck. There was an apple pie with one slice missing, and he took it out and cut another piece. Then he poured himself more coffee and sat back down with the pie. He was almost finished by the time he saw his mother again. "Is that your lunch?" she asked him, with that you-better-not-lie-to-me tone in her voice.
"Yes."
"We're not going anywhere until you let me fix lunch for you."
His stomach was in no mood to argue. "Yes, ma'am."
Dorothy fried two pork cutlets, put them on buns, then added some potato salad to each plate. "Do you want some iced tea?" she asked, already pouring some for herself.
"Yes, please."
"Have you been eating?"
"Of course I've been eating," Jeff responded.
"What did you have for dinner last night?"
"Mother, privacy, remember?"
"A peanut butter sandwich?"
"Good guess," Jeff answered.
They ate in silence, and when they were both finished Jeff put the plates in the sink. "Kat can wash them," he laughed.
"Alright, we can go now."
"Are you sure?"
Dorothy nodded her head. "Yes, I am."
