Wed 2 Nov. 40 PY
Dear Diary,
Did the laundry today.
R. Dorothy Wayneright
Thu 3 Nov. 40 PY
Dear Diary,
Today was very busy. Norman had arranged to buy munitions for the Big O from some of his contacts, so I was left to prepare Roger's morning. First, the time pieces had to be wound. Next, I rode the elevator to collect the morning edition and iron it; he hates getting ink on his hands. I prepared his breakfast of scrambled eggs, hashed browns, toast, and coffee. I placed the food on a hot plate to keep it warm. I was careful to turn the toast over such that it did not sweat upon itself. I rode the elevator again to collect the post. I set the table. I ran the tap in his bathroom so that he would not need to wash with cold water.
Finally, the hour arrived to awaken Sleeping Beauty. I chose a playful tune, "Dizzy Fingers" by Zez Confrey. Roger did not appreciate it. He picked at his food. I sipped hot coffee to keep him company. Roger did not appreciate that much either; he leafed through his mail. Roger can be a brat.
His eyes widened when he reached a plain envelope covered with large writing. With a grim look on his face, he tore it open and read the letter. When he finished, he closed his eyes meditatively. The hallway clock struck thirteen times.
"Dorothy," he asked carefully. "Are you busy today?"
"No, Roger," I replied. " I am not busy today. Why do you ask?"
"I need to visit some," he took a moment to choose his words. "People and I wanted to know if you would be willing to come along."
"May I know who these people are?"
"No, you may not."
"Very well, invitation accepted. Let me clear off the table."
"All right, then."
Roger left to take a shower. I cleaned off the table. The letter he had been reading had fallen to the ground. I picked it up and glanced at it. I saw the last part of the letter. Large loopy writing littered the ivory stationary.
, please come see us soon.
Love,
Mother
I decided to change. I went to my room and cleaned myself. I have a half bath attached to my room; it has a stand up wash basin. It is convenient. My selection was limited. I decided that casual would be best. Of course, I had to wear black.
Roger appeared in black slacks, a white shirt, and a brown leather jacket. His hair was molded in its usual shape. I wore a dark gray wool blazer over a white cotton blouse, a black calf-length skirt, and black stockings. My casual pumps, string tie, and handbag matched my skirt.
"What's with the get up?" he asked.
"It is what I felt like wearing," I answered.
"There you go, imitating us again."
I did not deign to respond as we descended.
The temperature was 56 degrees Fahrenheit. The sky was partly cloudy, and the air was lightly humid.
Roger did not speak as he drove. He kept his eyes on the road and drove quickly. We entered the
Northern Dome. Roger knew the path well. He tapped at the steering wheel when we stopped at lights.
Finally, he turned toward a brownstone tenement and parked in the lot behind the ten story building.
The Griffin barely fit in the parking space. I followed him to the back door. The parking lot and
sidewalk were swept. Gaunt trees ringed around the building. He hit the speaker button.
"Hello?" A middle aged female voice said over the com.
"Hello, Mom," Roger replied.
"Oh Roger, it's you. Come on up."
A buzz sounded and Roger pulled the door open.
"After you," he said with an ironic bow. I walked in. "There's an elevator ahead."
Roger's parents lived on the seventh floor, room 703. Roger rang the doorbell. He started to adjust his
collar. I stepped in front of him to help him. Just then, a gray haired, tall, and thin woman answered the
door. Roger tried to jump back, but my fingers had trapped cloth. His head whipped back slightly from
the aborted motion. I released him. He finished stumbling back and finished the adjustments.
"You must be Mrs. Smith," I said. "How do you do?"
"Hello, and you are?" she asked.
"Dorothy Wayneright," I answered politely and curtsied.
"Come on in," Mrs. Smith said. "Roger, how are you?"
"I'm okay, Mom," he answered. "How's Dad?"
"He's fine," a crotchety voice growled. A portly balding man sat on an worn armchair in the living room.
He held a can of Budweiser in one hand. A radio announcer described a baseball game. Mr. Smith
reached out with a thick arm and hand and switched the gothic arched device off. There was a full head
of hair on the back of each of those arms."Paradigm's Number One Negotiator, hah, more like
Paradigm's Number One Cop Out."
"Please, come on in," the woman repeated. I carefully wiped my shoes on the doormat and entered.
"Hi, Dad," Roger said in a guarded tone.
"Dear, this is Dorothy," the woman said cheerfully.
"Hello, I'm Roger Smith," the man said amiably to me and then scowled again at the younger Roger Smith. "So, Junior, when are you going to get a respectable job?"
"I provide a necessary duty for the City, Dad," he said.
"Necessary, my hemorrhoid ridden ass," Roger Senior answered.
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Smith said. "Let's go into the kitchen.
The kitchen was small and orderly. Sunlight spilled from between daisy print curtains. The neat table
cloth, kettle, tea cosy, cups, and even saucers were decorated with colorful flower.
"How thoughtless of Roger," Mrs S said. "He forgot to take your coat."
"It's fine," I replied. "He is preoccupied."
"What a nice girl you are," she said. "Please take a seat."
Roger's mother helped me with my blazer and handbag and placed them on the back of a chair. She
bustled about the kitchen. I sat and listened to the heated words that spilled over from the living
room."Don't call me Junior, Dad. I have a name you know."
"No, I forgot."
"I didn't come over here for an interrogation."
"So why DID you come here?"
"I got a letter from Mom-"
"Pity, I don't need it. I was chasing down thugs and delinquents like you before-"
"One or two lumps?" Mrs. Smith asked.
"None, thank you," I answered. She sat studying me for a moment. We sipped at the tea.
"Are you, are you," she asked. Her brows were furrowed with concentration. "Oh dear, what's the
word, I Remembered it once."
I was ready to supply 'android', when she found her word.
"Irish? That would really explain the fair skin."
"No one has told me that before," I said. The noise in the background grew louder.
"Really. Roger never told me about you, but then again he never tells me much. He usually goes for the louder
girls. I've never liked any of her previous girlfriends before, but you're - you're different," Mrs. S said
loudly over the shouting between the boys.
"I suppose that I am different from other girls."
Mrs. S rose and closed the door. It cut the racket down to a dull roar.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"Well I'm not actually his girlfriend, I just live with him."
"Oh," she said with a little surprise. "Well, Roger never just brings any girl home. Actually you're the first in such long time. Sometimes, I'm afraid that Roger Junior will never settle down.
"Well lately," she lean to tell me in a conspiratorial whisper. "Roger thinks that Junior might be you
know - gay."
"I don't know why he would think that," I said.
"Well Junior has always been neat, couldn't stand being dusty for very long. Washed his hands every
time he entered and left a bathroom. I approved, but Roger thought it was prissy.
"Roger reckons that's why he moved out of the Domes, because they aren't that particular about that
sort of thing Outside.
"Also the way he dresses. Roger doesn't approve, simply doesn't approve."
"I see," I said. The racket died outside. Seconds later, the kitchen door flew open. Roger Junior stood
at it. He was indignant.
"Roger Earnest Smith!" Mrs S snapped. "How many times have I told you not to slam doors!"
"Sorry, Mom," he said reluctantly. "Dorothy, we're going. I'll be downstairs."
"So soon?" his mother asked.
"I'll visit again, soon. For you," he said shortly. She approached him. He was well within arm's distance. He reached into his jacket and
handed her a check.
"I couldn't."
Wordlessly, he left the check on the table. Roger walked from the room without looking back.
"I, too, must be going," I said.
"I suppose you must," Mrs S said a little sadly.
"I'll visit again as well."
"You really should, you're always welcome."
She walked me to the door. Mr. Smith sat drinking his beer. The radio stayed off.
"Good to meet you Dorothy," Mr. Smith said.
"Good to meet you, Mr. Smith. And you, Mrs. Smith."
Mrs. Smith gave me a quick hug before I left. The hallway seemed poorly lit and small after being in the
bright interior of the Smiths' home.
When I reached the Griffin, Roger had his shades on and his hand was ready at the clutch. I opened the
door and sat at the passenger's seat. His eyes were clear and focused dead ahead again. His eyes did
not leave the road as we pulled from the parking lot. His hands moved a little stiffly. I could hear his
heart pumping slightly faster than usual. The 478 horsepower engine growled as he drove north.
I glanced at him. He took after his mother.
"You don't look much like your father," I told him.
"That's the best thing I've heard all day," he said. His voice sounded normal.
"This is not the way home."
"No, it isn't."
"Aren't you going to ask me?"
"What?"
"If I want to go to where you are going."
"Okay, do you want to come along?" he asked lightheartedly as he cruised through another amber light.
"It depends."
"On what?" he asked.
"If you'll pay my fee."
"What's your fee, Negotiator?"
"My fee will be the completion of your story, Roger Earnest Smith," I answered.
He grimaced. "If you'll never call me that again, it's a deal."
"Very well," I agreed. After all, there was still 'Junior'.
I must recharge. It has been a long day.
R. Dorothy Wayneright