CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The morning air was a mixture of smells unidentifiable in their origin. Remy just liked to call it 'city smell'. He leaned against his car casually a newspaper in his hand. He didn't usually do newspapers, but he needed the distraction. The driver knew how much Mr. Warner hated when he carried around his infamous gossip magazines. The daily funnies were the compromise. Warner could be consoled that passerby's would be under the impression that his driver looked like he cared about daily news. Remy got paid well enough to do the things he liked just as much as he did the things he didn't much care for. Standing outside of his daughter's home, knowing full well Jo had spent the night fell in the latter.
Remy looked up when the door he'd been waiting to open finally did. He saw a glimpse of surprise on Jo's face when she stepped out, but she recovered quickly. Blair looked curiously at Remy over Jo's shoulder noticing how it stiffened. She didn't think it was coincidence that he was here, especially since the last time she saw him she saw Jo giving him orders.
"Who is that?" she leaned against the door frame. It was wide enough to see him but his view was obscured by Jo standing in front of her.
"Business," Jo answered noncommittally.
She tilted her head. He smiled acknowledging her and she returned the gesture. "And what am I?" She could find out what she wanted about the mechanic's friend later. Right now she wanted to know if Jo regretted their time together.
"Beautiful," Jo caressed her cheek much like she had done the previous night.
"Jo…" she sighed ready to voice any uncertainty she felt when Jo pushed her in closing her hand around the knob she pulled it.
"Shut up Blair," she claimed the blonde's lips and her waist with a firm grip. The kiss was meant to reassure her, but that didn't stop the debutante from wrapping her arms around her neck. The door shut with the force of Blair's pull. They slammed against the wall together and Blair dragged her arms to Jo's center.
Jo pulled away their lips inches from the other. Their breathing heavy mingling while hands roamed eagerly indiscriminate. "You love me," she reiterated from their altercation at Jo's. The brunette smiled knowing. Before tonight she probably could have given her a convincing no. But she liked the sound of the words too much to argue.
She pulled away making promises to come by later that evening, "if you want to see me that is," Jo offered.
The moments where Jo discarded her own bravado took Blair's breath away. She fell more in love with each piece of the puzzle that was Polniaczek and she still wasn't tired of piecing her together. She lowered her eyes to Jo's mouth, "did I kiss you like I don't want to finish what we started?"
Chuckling at the response Jo dropped her head for a chaste lip lock. It had been her idea to just hold each other last night. It didn't feel right to be with her until she knew everything. And she did intend to tell her. Jo knew she was a bastard. It just wasn't her ambition to be a well rounded one. Their promises weren't set in stone, but they might as well have been with the way they were determined to make them an 'us' again. Jo had been a fool wallowing in blind self exile. Blair had been a fool for her letting her as if she cared less than she actually did. They weren't going to let each other go.
Jo practically skipped down the steps. While she glowed her counterpart glowered folding his newspaper under his arm, "you're playing with fire," he said barely audible.
She wondered briefly why he was whispering but settled into the backseat without question. When she met dark eyes she answered the question. She didn't have time to speak before a fist shot out. What the hell is it with Warner's hitting me lately? She queried to herself holding her busted lip. Jo could take a hit. The shock came from the sneak attack and who'd been behind it. She pushed the pain aside enough to smirk.
"Good morning to you too Dave," she chirped feeling her lip throb.
He glowered with his fist resting on his knee clenched. Jo eyed the fist. This was a side of Dave she had never seen before. She liked it. It was something that not only she could relate to, but manipulate. Because he drew first blood, Jo felt like she had the upper hand now.
"What were you doing there?" he asked with controlling rage.
"You're a smart man, put two and two together," Jo taunted, "or would you like a diagram?"
"Before last night I thought you had the potential to be a smart woman Joanne," his voice was strained.
"That's funny," she began, "I see last night as a wakeup call. Before I let go of the very thing I should have been fighting for and now there's no way in hell I'm letting her go."
David scoffed. "It's taken me four marriages to know what you fail to realize Joanne. Fairytale endings don't exist. This can only end badly for you."
"Stop the car Remy," she called out feeling the older man's eyes boring into her. She met them. They both had made their intentions clear. Neither would back down. Remy stopped. Jo exited the car closing the door after her. The vehicle sat unmoving even after she walked away.
The driver stared after the woman knowing no good could come of Jo's rebellion. Sure her strides belied assurance in her decision to metaphorically spit in Warner's face, but the aftermath had the potential to be devastating. If love inspired insane risks like going up against a man like David Warner then he wasn't interested in it.
Daryl Ronson had been a homicide reporter for all of six months before he realized he like the lighter things in life. A diet of blood, pain, and more pain wasn't healthy for anyone to ingest if they didn't have to. Instead he molded his talent to provoke emotion with another type of news. He took pride in his column even if his viewers knew him as Gladys Lorring. The gift of gab was what made him an exceptional writer. Being raised by his mother put him in touch with his feminine side. The two attributes merged to create a successful column that newspapers vied for and finally The Times won out. He had no loyalties in Chicago and it was time for a change of scenery.
The Times was a lot busier than the moderately small paper he came from before. He appreciated the beauty of the gritty city and the other small joys it offered namely, Natalie Greene. He reacted to her sharp sarcastic wit and immediately found a kindred spirit. She of course thought he was too idealistic for reality, but he countered that maybe some time with her would ground him and he could find a happy medium. The blondish brunette obliged and before long lunches became dinners and dinners became heated make out sessions after hours in her living room.
He was having fun and he hoped she was to. Unfortunately last night was cut short by the screams of her roommate leaving him wanting. Today he admired her chewing at the end of her pencil while she wrote with purpose. Her gaze never lingered, despite how much he had willed her to look in his direction so that she would know his private hell. He smirked to himself and then headed over with two cups of coffee. One black just like Natalie liked it and the other full sugar and cream enough to induce a sugar coma as his mother joked often.
"Morning," he grinned placing the glass on her desk.
She looked at the offering and then the man the offering came from. "Hey Gladys," Natalie stopped typing long enough to take the pencil out of her mouth. She loved that the world didn't know that the middle aged lady looking at them from their paper was really a Harlequin hunk. She teased him constantly about the ruse, but it was all good fun.
"What's that?"
Daryl lowered his voice, "a bribe."
"For?"
"Attention," he smirked leaning over to see what she was writing.
"Hey hey buddy top secret," she plucked him away from her screen.
He threw his hands up in surrender laughing as he left her desk. Usually they chatted a little longer than that. She didn't dwell on it assuming she looked as possessed as she felt, until she saw a sticky note under the coffee cup she began to sip from. Natalie recognized the writing and then smiled at the time and place scribbled on it.
She had planned on working late into the evening. But with a gust of anticipation for the next six hours she was determined to get as much work as possible done. She wanted to spend the evening in the arms of a Harlequin romance hunk. She'd never admit to him that's how she saw him. It made her look shallow and she didn't want him to think that she saw him as just a piece of meat. Though the writer found it liberating to be on the other side of the exchange she found demeaning.
She stopped herself from giggling uncontrollably. She had said goodbye to giggling Natalie in High School. It was more mature to smile in sultry mystery. She laughed at herself focusing on her notes. She talked to Mr. Rodriguez the little girl's father; he was a mess, which was understandable. How long did it take to get over someone they loved especially family? When her father died she took it hard and no time felt right to feel better. In time the pain had eased to a dull ache. Fortunately she hadn't turned to darker vices to hide from reality, Mr. Rodriguez on the other hand had.
They had talked for an hour. An hour was all it took for the man at his most vulnerable to share what he should have told the police all those months ago. Charles March had hurt his little girl.
"He hurt her in a way a father should never let a man hurt his blood."
His eyes were haunted and Natalie didn't know what it said about her, but she couldn't feel sorry for him. Daryl, who had been looking around the room, stopped his perusal to stare speechlessly. His face betrayed his feelings, but Mr. Rodriguez was too focused on self deprecating to be concerned with being judged.
While he told his side of the story he didn't leave out any unflattering details. It was only a matter of time before he put himself in a liquid coma if the empty bottles around the room were any indication. The father lied for a paycheck at his daughter's expense. One socially apt man was held unaccountable because another was just as corruptible as Sophia's father. She could clear Jo's name. She had the power to tell the world about what happened to Sophia.
Blair pulled her gaze away from the contracts her father had sent over. She hadn't even been aware her father was interested in the March computer company. The name that hiked her delicately plucked eyebrows up left her even more curious than her father's unexpected interest. She looked at her watch. Her father was in a meeting and wouldn't be out of it until after lunch. She moved to pick up the phone, but didn't know where to call Jo. She had hours until they met up last night.
Unanswered questions were falling like the unyielding rain outside. Too many too count, but Blair felt the blow of each droplet tax on her psyche. Her father was a businessman. He made no apologizes for the sacrifices he's made to stay on top, and if he did she doubted they were sincere—even to her. His tenacity meant bull dozing people on a regular basis; it was something that came with the territory.
For the first time in a long time Vesper noticed her boss smiling. Since it was her business to dissect every expression to gauge her performance she was apt to the many faces of Blair Warner. Today her smiled hadn't been particularly aimed at her, but it was genuine. The morning had been going well despite the rain.
"Good morning Ms. Warner," Vesper came in carrying her pad. Earlier she delivered a cup of coffee and a bagel that she noticed Blair had yet to touch. The young woman noticed and frowned wondering if she had done something wrong. It was a cold rainy day and Blair's mood mirrored it the assistant noticed, she hoped she had doing nothing to feed it.
"Was the coffee and bagel not to your satisfaction?" she asked dropping her pad already making a move to rectify whatever mistake she made to her employers morning meal.
Blair shook her head waving the young woman away. She needed to get some work done and distracting herself with her secretary checking off her responsibilities of the day would have to do.
"Warner," a voice rang from the door as uninvited as the owner who waltzed in.
Stopping from making an audible groan Blair plastered a mirror of the faux smile for her visitor, "Roger."
"Lovely weather we're having isn't it?" he glared at the spacious view. He would kill for her view.
"I have a lot more pressing matters than the weather to attend to," though he ignored her critical observation with little heed. Roger folded his hand and peaked at the flourish of papers on her desk, "pressing matters as in…the contracts of the purchased shares of March's company. The old man does love paper, pen, and legality."
Blair sighed at her own curiosity and dismissed her secretary.
"How would you know about it?"
"I wrote it," he smiled inordinately proud of himself.
Great things are not done by impulse, but by a series of small things brought together.
- Vincent van Gogh
Remy sat in his car eight minutes away from the Warner building. He knew his boss hated when he was late, but there was no getting around the traffic from the work being done to the streets. He had the brilliant idea to leave early, but that just insured that he stayed in the line longer. He groaned leaning his head back into his seat. He watched the rain falling and the wipers clear the water in a mechanical rhythm. Craning his neck he found his magazine and smiled reaching for it. At least he could catch up and use the distraction to ignore the horn blowing frenzy.
The passenger door opened abruptly. A wet Jo Polniaczek dropped into the seat hurriedly closing the door behind her, "…like cats and dogs," she mumbled.
She threw the limp newspaper Remy assumed she used to fend off the rain with, on the dash. When she turned her attention away from her soaked person she focused on the befuddled driver. In the short time they knew each other Jo was privy to a few facts that accumulated into what she thought of the Cajun driver. She liked him. On a scale of one to ten she could give him a safe, but sure five.
"What are you doing here?" He noticed the cut on her lip and then looked around outside needlessly. He was safe from the prying eyes of his boss, who sat in a high rise in a meeting with only thirty minutes left.
Her hair fell matted on her forehead but she didn't bother to move it. She turned fully in her seat, her clothes in their condition, made an otherwise silent shift into a production of wet sound. "I have a proposition."
The driver shook his head as Jo waited coolly until he finished, "no I'm not going to get involved absolutely not…my job…I love the money I do some shitty things, but I love the money." He watched the wipers feeling safe to train his eyes on them and not Jo. "You know what it's like to be poor and then…..to have the security of a job like this, for a man like David Warner."
"People like you are the reason he has this insane god complex," Jo shifted again. The red lights from the cars brought color to the gray morning.
Remy scoffed, "you are people like me Jo."
Their gazes didn't meet and the car stayed quiet until Jo answered, "I know," she lifted her head and turned to him, "but I'm done."
It was stated with so much conviction Remy didn't want to contest it, even if it felt better for him to have company. Warner, both of them, had had their claws in Jo a lot longer. He wondered what she was like before meeting them—he knew that he was less morally contemplative.
Jo watched him clench his jaw, "I'm not even supposed to be talking to you."
"I'll do all the talking and when I'm done I'll never jeopardize your silk cushion again ok?" The nod was there, but if Jo hadn't been paying attention she wouldn't have caught it.