Chapter 3
Hope was one of only a few editors and assistants in the offices of Hudson Publishing on this Saturday, the quiet on the fifteenth floor was a stark contrast to its normal commotion. So quiet, she would have been able to hear the soft ding of the elevator as it arrived, even if she hadn't jumped up from her desk when the guard called to say her 'friend was on the way up' and been halfway to the door. Taking a deep breath to calm her jittery nerves, she put on what she hoped was a calm, welcoming smile on her face, and walked out of her office to greet Bobby. Despite her nervousness, she was excited to see him again.
She stopped in her tracks at the sight of him and her breath once again caught in her throat. In the space of just a few hours, she seemed to have forgotten what he looked like, when just yesterday she could have described him to anyone, his image burned into her memory. She noticed several differences immediately in just his posture and his attire. These last few months spent watching him, especially those first months, she had seen him wearing suits and ties. Almost over night, she had witnessed a decline of customary concern about his appearance. His attire changed drastically, and unless he had several of the exact same shirt, he'd taken to wearing the same one almost daily. Shaving became an even more hit or miss proposition. There were times when he looked almost slovenly. Today though, the jeans he wore were well-fitting and his blue shirt, with its long sleeves rolled up to the elbow. While still casual, he looked good. Actually he looked great. He'd even shaved. There was more to it than his clothes, for the first time in weeks, in months, his eyes revealed more than a dull, personal ache. As if a lamp had been turned on inside, his eyes now sparkled with light.
With her hand pressed against her stomach to keep the butterflies from escaping, she walked towards him. Hoping to fake a calm that she didn't possess, she continued out to greet him.
Riding up in the elevator, his heart had been racing, now it was skipping beats, the staccato rhythm even more unsettling. She was just as he remembered. Bobby watched her walk towards him. Her auburn hair was thrown back behind her shoulders. She wore a long sleeve white shirt, with a long multi-colored stripe scarf wrapped around her neck, jeans and boots.
"I hope I'm not too early. I didn't realize how close this place is to our apartment building." He said as they walked towards her office.
"No, not too early at all." She admitted, "Since you called, I kind of lost my motivation…" She snuck a sidelong glance at him to find that he was watching her, as a smirk of amusement touched those full lips – which is when she stumbled.
His hand reached out to steady her, his touch reassuring – the simple contact a reminder that it had been too long since she'd allowed anyone close enough to save her from falling on her face.
"Are you all right?" Concern laced his words more than she would have thought possible.
Once again, feeling flustered, she hastily stepped up to her desk, "Yes, I'm fine... loose carpet. Let… let me just straighten up here a little and then we can go. Come in and sit down, it won't take me very long."
"Take your time. Don't mind me." Bobby wandered over to a set of bookshelves filled with the Hudson Publishing imprint. Pulling out one and leafing quickly through it, while glancing at the titles of several others, he asked, "Did you edit any of these?"
"Oh, don't I wish! No, those are merely for show, to ease the jitters of uneasy writers. I work with mostly first time writers and they're usually nervous types. Those books lend the illusion that I might really know what I'm doing, rather than that I just love to read." She joked.
Bobby turned to face her and froze as his gaze landed on the credenza behind her desk. Pictures of her family, he assumed. Several sent a chill through him. One showed Hope laughing up into the face of a man about her age, and another with the same man, this time with a young child about 4 years old. There was an easy inference here, an easy conclusion and it was tragedy. He knew alone when he saw it, he was the poster boy for alone and he knew Hope Thornton was alone.
As Bobby sat, Hope continued to busy herself with clearing her desktop. "What?" Hope happened to glance up and found him smiling. Her heart contracted at the sight.
Bobby waved his hand indicating her note covered pages - the post-its dangling from the edges of pages. "Oh, it's the post-its. I do the same thing. Between the two of us, we're probably keeping the company in business."
Hope laughed, "I love post-its. They're the greatest things ever. I've found it easier than keeping a notebook around and then having to refer back to the book later anyway. This way I make little notes constantly. When I finish I'm able to go back, expand on my thoughts and write up my recommendations."
"Makes sense," Bobby admitted as he nodded, "But 'the greatest thing ever'?" Bobby asked.
"Absolutely! I stand by my emphatic comment and… and don't mock." She laughed as she reached behind her to grab jacket off the back of the chair. "I can't help it if I'm very enthusiastic about post-its." She came around the desk and leaned against its edge as she said, "Well, I'm ready."
"I would never mock anyone's enthusiasm… especially about post-its. I'm a post-it and notebook man, myself." He replied solemnly. Pushing himself up, he was mere inches away from her. Sensing her unease, and her sharp intake of breath, he stilled his hand and fought the temptation to reach out to touch her hair, He breathed in the slight scent of almond and vanilla as she slid past him towards the door. Mentally shaking himself, he followed her out of the office.
"Well, it sounded like mocking to me." Hope said as she grinned back at him as he past her.
"Yeah, that might have been." Bobby conceded, grinning as he walked past her so that she could lock her door. As he did, he saw the photos of Hope and her family again. The images in those photos seemed to be mocking him.
Hope fixed her gaze on the carpet as the elevator doors slid closed, wondering at the sudden stillness emanating from Bobby. She and Bobby had been joking one minute, and in the next he'd grown quiet. As the doors slid open, Bobby held the door for her, letting her precede him out of the elevator. As she walked through the open doors, he lightly placed his hand on her back. She nearly jumped at the tingle that ran up and down her spine.
"Calling it a day, Ms. Thornton?" Alan, the security guard asked as he looked up from his magazine.
"Yes, I think that's it for today, Alan." Hope signed out, jotting down the time before handing the pen over to Bobby.
"Well, the sun broke through the clouds about an hour ago, should be a nice afternoon for… whatever." He glanced back and forth between the two. He knew a first date when he saw one.
Hope felt her face flush and she busied herself by searching her bag for her sunglasses.
"Thanks," Bobby said as he handed the man the pen. "You have a good one yourself."
The guard nodded once as the two walked out the door and towards the car that Alan had checked out minutes ago.
Alan Jeffries had worked security at Hudson Publishing since 'putting his twenty in' in the Army and that had been ten years ago. As Hope Thornton and her friend left the building, he reached into his jacket for his wallet. Removing the slip of paper from behind his rarely used social security card, he reached for the phone and dialed. He knew the number, he just felt more secure holding it when making this call.
It was three years ago, when he'd first been approached about helping with a special project; he'd been told what was expected of him for the extra $100.00 a week he was going to receive. All he had to do was call in the name of every one who came to see Hope Thornton. It didn't matter if the person had been to see her 100 times or just once – every visitor – period, no exceptions.
As the phone was answered, a mechanically altered voice demanded, "Contact number please."
"H1625T." As always he wasn't sure whether he was speaking to a real human being or a computer simulated voice.
"H1625T" The voice repeated. "Visitor's name?"
"Goren, Bobby. Most likely, full name Robert."
Once again, the voice repeated the information Alan provided. "Any additional information?"
"As far as I know this is the initial contact here. New York license plate, SFV 392."
"Additional information, initial contact, New York license plate, SFV 392. Anything else sir?"
"No that's it."
"Your information has been logged and we thank you for calling. Have a good day, sir."
Alan shook his head as he stared at the phone, momentarily listening to the buzzing dial tone. Even with the "Have a good day, sir" sentiment tacked on at the end, he still didn't know if he'd spoken with a real person. As he hung up the phone, he once again wondered why anyone would want information like this on a woman like Hope Thornton. She was a nice enough woman but only an associate editor of second-rate fiction at a second-rate publishing company. For an additional $100.00 a week, it really didn't matter to him, and he rarely questioned why, but today he experienced a momentary curiosity. Quickly dismissing any doubt about his involvement he settled back into his chair, returning to the magazine he'd been reading earlier.
………… Chapter 4 – hopefully not a long wait ……………
