Chapter 36…Papers…

Honestly, I wondered if any work got done down here because all I saw yesterday before I left was fun and games. But when I arrive at eight, there's already a veritable hive of activity going on in the Boiler Room and delivering mail seems to be the least of it. Quagmire, Farmer Ted and Silent Bob are conferring over architectural drawings around one table. Both Quag and Ted have degrees in naval architecture and engineering; Quag at Rhode Island and Ted at Texas A&M. Silent Bob, who has been at Falk for more than a decade—brought on at the urging of Captain Gray's wife—knows the intricacies of this building better than anyone, in an almost savant-like way. He's become a kind of maintenance man—some employees have called him the Building Whisperer. I learned all this yesterday at lunch. They three are part of the "head" committee to put a women's bathroom down on this level. There isn't one now, only a men's room.

I stop to say hi to them and am rewarded by a shy smile and the sung chorus of LL Cool J's song, "Around the Way Girl," from Silent Bob and comments from Quag about how I make khakis look good before Farmer Ted hits him on the arm muttering, "You're gonna go broke."

When I ask what he means, Farmer Ted points to a large glass jar sitting on a metal rolling rack against one wall. Taped to the outside of it is a piece of paper reading, "Stupid-ist." There looks to be several bills in it. He explains that it's a new rule imposed yesterday. If you say something stupid—sexist, racist, classist, ethnicist, whatever—you have to put ten dollars in the jar. I laugh, thinking this is probably the doing of my new badass friend.

I wave to several others, who shout out "LL's in the house!" as I make my way to my new office. This makes me smile as I feel instantly accepted. Plus, I'd decided on the subway here that the way to a peaceful work day is just to keep some emotional distance from…him. If I can do that, I'll be fine.

Bo is in the outer office to mine, which now has two desks in it. He greets me warmly.

"Am I to be out here?" I ask him, motioning to the new set-up.

"No. You're in there," he tilts his head to the inner office. "Cherie and I are sharing this space." Okaaaay. The two Quartermasters are in the smaller office outside of mine and I'm alone in the larger one? "And may I say that was a brilliant play yesterday. Genius!" He smiles widely, then turns to motion to two of the guys outside who come in. One of the two doesn't have an official polo-style shirt with a name badge, so he must be one of the newbies. I didn't meet everyone yesterday at lunch as I sat with Cherie and Silent Bob.

"LL, I'd like you to meet R2 and Street Meat. They're going to set up your new computer." Bo walks out to the main room.

"Street Meat?" I gasp as I shake their hands. "I got off easy being named LL Cool J." The newbie, Street Meat, who looks to be about my age, shrugs. Proudly, I think.

As we walk in my office, R2 says, "I almost got named Urkel when I came on last year. Because… obviously." When I look at him questioningly, he exclaims, "You know…Urkel! From the old TV show? I look like him only with better glasses!"

"I didn't spend a lot of time in the U.S. so…" What is it with these guys and TV shows?

"Yeah, but there's Nick at Nite. The show runs on cable all the time." R2 sits in my desk chair, opening up the laptop on it and booting it up. "Well, even though you apparently don't know any good TV, you're still already a Boiler Room legend."

"That was Cherie's doing. She's the genius here." I say, half embarrassed and half kind of digging the looks of awe they're giving me.

But apparently it's not just beating Vince at his own game yesterday that's the reason for my newly vaunted status because Street Meat asks, "Were you really born on a plane?"

"Yes. Over the middle of the Atlantic. My birth certificate has map coordinates on it rather than a birth place."

"What airline?"

"It was a State Department plane, not like United or British Airways or anything."

"That is so cool."

"Well, you know what they call me…" I start to joke, right before a shiver runs down my spine. My brain stutters when I turn to see Vince leaning against the doorway with a look of awe on his face that almost matches the two other guys. This is not going to help me keep any emotional distance from him. "I…uh…I brought my laptop from home. Am I…uh…not going to…uh…use that?"

"No." He goes around to where R2 is sitting at my desk chair. "Just give them the name of the translation program you want and our resident computer geniuses will download everything you'll need."

Hearing that compliment, both Street Meat and R2 shoot him small smiles of gratitude and…I can't deny it, admiration. That is just not going to help me here, either.

He hands a piece of paper to R2, then turns to me. "Come in my office for a minute?"

As we enter the office, Vince is rubbing the back of his neck, right at his sharp, recently-cut hairline. I watch, feeling the urge to reach my hands up to do that for him.

Not helping!

When he notices me watching, he explains, "There's only one bed in the apartment. I slept on the couch last night. Badly. Had quite a nice pillow, though." There is a twinkle in his eye when he says that, his hand moving to scratch the left side of his face.

Do I even want to know what that means? Probably not, because all I can picture is a big pair of pillows—like the kind that would be attached to a woman's chest. This might help with the emotional distance plan, but I can't stand the thought, so I shut it down, or try to anyway. He sits behind Captain Gray's desk and I sit in one of the chairs opposite it. He's quiet, gazing at me as if deciding what to say.

"Street Meat? Seriously?" I blurt out, in direct defense against his eyes and the image of pillows in my head.

"I can't control what names they choose." When I shoot him a wry look, he says, "Well, not all of them. Stephan's job before coming here was selling hot dogs at his father's cart near Wall Street. In his case, we're going to contravene the name badge tradition in that we're only going to put 'Street' on it. For his benefit," he laughs.

"He seems proud enough of it."

"But still, I think it's best he doesn't start his time here with a name that evokes…" he shakes his head. "Anyway, LL Cool J…" Gah—the way he pronounces my new nickname so slowly makes my traitor face heat up! "We're changing your employment terms." My breath hitches as the blood drains from my face.

He says quickly, "Don't worry. It's good! You'll like it!" There's real concern in his eyes. "You're to be put on retainer. You'll be paid this per week."

He slides a paper across the desk and I pick it up. It's more than if I worked full time at the hourly rate Ms. Thomas quoted when I was hired.

"If it's acceptable to you, sign at the bottom."

I stare at him, openmouthed, taking the offered pen—a fancy and probably expensive one—and signing.

Definitely not helping, but I don't care right now because I might be able to pay off the medical bills in a matter of months! Yesterday, I thought he didn't want me here; he was the one who'd suggested to Captain Gray that I wait a while to start. Today, I'm essentially being put on salary. Finally, I croak out a whispery thank you as the enormity of this hits me.

But it doesn't convey all my gratitude so I don't stop there. I add, "Merci." Then, "Xie xie. Gracias. Shukran! Spasibo! Dank u! Gratias tibi ago! Grazie! Asante! Danke! Efxaristo! Shukria!"

Those dark eyes are sparkling with…something, as he gets up from his chair, coming around to lean against the desk in front of me. "I'll pass on the sentiments to Captain Gray, he's the one you should be thanking. But really…now you're just showing off."

Sure, I'm going overboard, but I'm too elated to stop. "Dhanayavaadaha! Takk! Tack! Nandri! Ce-zu tin-ba-deh! O seun! Dekuji! Tesekkur ederim! Koszonom! Arigato! Obrigado!" This last one, Portuguese for "thank you," finally shuts me up. Because I might've, sorta, kinda looked up some Portuguese words recently because of him—his Cape Verdean heritage. Last week, I might've also ordered a Portuguese translation book online. It was Bea's fault to begin with, playing that stunning Cape Verdean morna music last week, setting fire to something I just had to know.

"Sodade," the title of the song she first played at that dance party has no exact translation to English, but the closest thing to it is longing, only a lot stronger and more mournful. It might be my new theme song. Leif doesn't know the language, except for some curse words, so maybe he won't catch my Portuguese thank you. But that's stupid because even if he does, he can't know all the other stuff.

His head tilts to the side, a beautiful smile curling his lips before he turns serious again. "Obrigado, yourself. For not mentioning to Cherie anything about…" His eyes flick over my head and the mask slips over his face again.

I look to see Cherie barging into the outer office, as if conjured, then pushing open the door of the inner one. She comes to stand over me, her hands on her hips.

"You might've told me you were a family friend!" she admonishes. My eyes dart briefly to Leif's…Vince's. This must be what he meant, but he doesn't give anything away. And she's supposed to be mad at him, not me! "Just because this one's a secretive bastard," she points hard at Vince, "doesn't mean you have to be! You people!" She collapses into the chair next to me, her mock angry look evaporating. "Did you two talk?" She motions between Vince and me.

"Later," is all he replies. I look over and he's giving her a very pointed stern look. What silent conversation is going on?

"Well, Bo and I are set up in the office," she says to him.

I say, "About that, why are the two of you sharing the outer office to the one I'm in. Mine's huge. We should switch." In addition to mine and Captain Gray's, there are two more glass office set ups exactly like those that appear to be empty.

Cherie says, rather tersely, "We're fine where we are." But she's glaring daggers at Vince's back as he walks around the desk to sit in the Captain's chair. I give her a questioning look that asks what that's about and she mouths "later," before he turns to sit in the chair.

Cherie says, "I want to borrow LL for a bit. I need another pair of feminine eyes on the bathroom project."

Vince laughs. "So she can help with where to store your nail polish?"

"That's exactly what I meant," she parries back before looking at me. "I'm kidding, LL. It's just that Quag and Ted and Bob can get the architectural structure of the space together, but don't have a clue about the aesthetic value of it. And I'm useless with that stuff, too."

"Despite being female and all," Vince smirks.

"Yes. Despite that," she smirks back.

One thing's for sure, whatever conversation went down yesterday after I left, he's got Cherie in his corner again, despite the barbed look she gave him. I tell Cherie I'll check in with Street, then come over.

Vince stands and hoists Em's grad gift over his shoulder—I make a note to tell her. It almost looks like my messenger bag, only a lot less beat up.

"What ferry are you catching to Elizabeth?" he asks her. At first, I hear "fairy" before I realize they're talking boats.

"The ten o'clock."

"The conference call won't take long. I'll be back by then."

And with that, the boss of me—the boss of all us—gives us a tacit dismissal and leaves the Boiler Room, inscrutable mask firmly in place.

Street and I are sitting next to each other behind my desk. He's showing me around my new computer, which is much better and faster than mine.

"Who decided my password?" I ask him. It's sort of an acronym for an adversarial relationship with my computer plus some numbers following; it doesn't seem like something a computer genius would set.

"Don't know. R2, I guess." He pulls up a different screen. "Here's where you change it, if you want. You just have to make it upper and lower case letters and numbers and symbols. Do you want?" I shake my head.

After I give him the name of the translation program, he gets going on that, saying he needs to be done before the trip he's taking to the Elizabeth office. I join Cherie, Quag, Ted and Bob at their table and they briefly explain the women's room plans. Farmer Ted and Quag start arguing about the placement and size of some drainage pipe.

Cherie whispers to me. "See! Two architectural engineers can't get along. They'll always compete about the size of their pipe. I read it somewhere."

I whisper back, "That could be construed as something that would cost you ten dollars in the Stupidisms jar. But I won't tell. Thank you for not mentioning to Vince about my overhearing them yesterday. You didn't say anything, right?" I was pretty sure she didn't, but I want confirmation.

"No. I sure let loose on him after hours, though. But I understand it now. As for what we talked about, he said he'd rather you hear it from him," she whispers.

Great. He's doing what I asked the other night when I said I'd rather hear about him from him. My big mouth strikes again. My curiosity is burning because I can't imagine what would possibly make that okay in Cherie's eyes? What could make her say she understands it, accepts it?

I don't get any further than that because I notice that the discord between the sexist twins is affecting Silent Bob. He starts nervously shaking his head and rocking his body back and forth.

"It's okay, Bob," I say in my most soothing voice, reaching over to clasp his hand. He stills as three pair of eyes stare at our joined hands with shock.

"He doesn't let anyone touch him!" Farmer Ted exclaims.

"Oh. Sorry about that, Bob." I try to extricate my hand, but he won't let it go. With his other hand, he grabs a pencil and draws something on the plan.

Both Quag and Ted lean down to look at what he drew. "Oh yeah, that could work," Quag says, looking disconcerted. Crisis averted. But he still won't let go. Hand in hand with Bob is how I am shown around the empty space that will be the women's room. Bob seems a little trepidatious as we go in the men's room to compare the spaces. We don't stay long after he begins muttering about girls being in the boys' room.

After that little trip, I see Street waving me over from my office. "Street needs me." Still holding tight. Okay. "You want to come with me?" Bob follows me, my hand tight in his, as the others watch.

Street meets us at the door. "It's rebooting, but you're ready to go. Translation program and extra security and all." He leaves as Bob and I walk around my desk.

Bob plops himself in the chair directly in front of the computer and I take the chair next to it that Street had pulled around for me earlier. When the log in screen comes up, I ask Bob if he wants to type in the password and he nods his head. As I tell him what it is, he brings my hand with his to the keyboard to mash down the shift key.

When he's done typing he mutters, "L loves her computer." Several times.

"What do you mean, Bob?" I ask him gently.

"Password. LL's password. L loves her personal computer." He giggles boyishly and I think this is his version of a joke, so I play along.

"Yes, L loves her P.C." The words seem to float visibly in the air after I hear myself. I remember Vince handing a piece of paper to R2. I reach down into the wastebasket to pull the one crumpled paper out of it. I smooth it out under the desk as Bob opens my company email. I look down at the paper.

In Leif's handwriting is… Password: Llvs.P.C.1121

I had thought of my new password as "LL vs. Personal Computer" but Bob is making me see it in a new light. I still have no idea what the numbers are about. Vince wouldn't have known that I'd seen that package in the drawer yesterday where he wrote 'P.C.' on the note before he removed the box.

Prince Charming.

What does he mean by giving me this password? That is, if, in fact, he meant it that way. Apparently, he's still playing fairy tale games. I have to remember that I am not, which is made easier if I view it arrogantly. L loves P.C.? Pfft… In my head, I quote my namesake…I don't think so.

Through the glass wall, I see Cherie and Bo and the other interns gathering in the main room with umbrellas and jackets—it was raining hard when I got in—preparing to take the ferry over to Elizabeth, I guess. Bob drags me up and out to the group as Vince comes around the corner and Cherie mutters, "You almost made us late!" They file out.

He notices Bob still attached to my hand and it's like he's struck. For just a moment, the Invincible Vince looks almost vulnerable before a wistful smile plays over his lips. "Bob, go catch Cherie and Bo so you can take the ferry with them." Bob instantly drops my hand, scurrying toward the elevator lobby with a look of delight on his open face. Vince calls after him, "Get a jacket first! It'll be cold on the water!" Bob doesn't stop. "Oh well. Bo will give him his." Vince shakes his head, looking like any exasperated dad with an errant child. I think it's sweet before I remember that this might not be far from how he views me.

He says quietly, reverently, "You got past his defenses rather quickly. His parents don't even touch him."

I say, "Cherie mentioned you want to talk to me." In a millisecond his face is all goodbye Exasperated Dad and thoughtful wistfulness, hello Inscrutable Mask. He starts walking and I keep pace with him. He bypasses his own office and puts his bag down on Captain Gray's desk.

"Yes. I had an idea during the conference call I was just on and it involves you and your language skills. I don't know if this will come to pass, but I'd like to be ready if it does. What would you say to teaching a class in rudimentary Mandarin, potentially to all three metro offices, in groups of, say, ten to twenty people. I just mean basic greetings and such. Could you do that?"

I know what he's doing—the move I call the Classic Redirect, because this was not what Cherie was talking about—but I'm sparked by the idea he presented. Apparently this secret Chinese deal is a step closer to happening. "I could do it today. Right now. That's pretty much the job I had in China, although it was the other way around language-wise and really, in one way or another, every other job I've had before that."

We talk about it a bit more and I suggest some handouts to give the attendees so they can practice afterwards. I'm to give a trial class to Cherie, Bo and him first, at a date to be decided.

With that settled, right when I'm about to bring up what Cherie said again, I hear a voice from the phone. "Vince, I have a Kelly Granger on line four, returning your call."

"Tell her I'll be right there," Vince says. My stomach flutters as if it has grown wings. He looks up at me, a clear dismissal on his face.

I get up and start to walk out to the empty Boiler Room. Before I leave, though, I turn back to him. "Just a quick question. Who decides the computer passwords?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, mine is like an acronym for an adversarial relationship with my computer. LL versus P.C. Just doesn't seem like something a computer genius would choose, you know."

"Well, maybe that's not…" He looks away, shrugging. "For the Boiler Room, it's usually R2. You can change it."

Ha! Lying definitely helps with the emotional distance plan. I will hold this thought close: Vince lies!

"Let's talk tonight," I say as I leave his office.