To Play the Fool
Chapter Twenty-Three
A delivery boy set down a vase with roses that took up nearly half my desk. I looked out through the right side. "Who is this for?"
"Jenny Harkness. Sign here please." I signed the slip of paper that said I received it, gave him five dollars, and sent him on his way before searching for the card that would tell me who they were from.
"Jenny?" Mr. Wayne had to stand on tip toe to see over the top of the bouquet. "Is that you in there?"
"Just give me a minute so I can figure out who I need to kill." I found the card with James Carroll's signature on it. "I'm starting to hate this man."
"Because he gave you flowers?"
"Does this look like a reasonably sized bouquet? It's in my way,and it's gaudy." I glared at it, imagining it in a pyre.
Mr. Wayne nodded thoughtfully, then took the card and read the note. " 'Darling Jenny, Your blue eyes are the only thing holding my soul together.' " I dived over my desk to snatch the card away from him, but he danced away from me and just kept reading it. " 'They are the color of the deep blue ocean,' – not much of a wordsmith is he, this Mr. Carroll."
"Give me that!" I hissed as I chased him into his office.
"I would have chosen the color of a storm, personally. 'Your radiant smile fills my world with light.' You smile?"
"You're hilarious, and this is childish." Even more so now that he was holding it well above my reach.
" 'I am desperate to see you again. Please return my phone calls.' "
"It does not say that."
"Yes it does. Right here, see?" He pointed it out and I grabbed it back, tore it up, and threw it away. "What did this poor man do to earn the wrath of Jenny Harkness?"
"You haven't seen me angry yet, Mr. Wayne. This is annoyed." I stalked back to my desk, still not sure how to handle this awkward pile of flowers in the middle of my workspace.
"I think I liked it better when you called me Bruce." He followed me back to my desk.
"I'll call you Bruce when you're not my boss." The phone was ringing, so I found it under some rose leaves and put on my cheerful voice. "Mr. Wayne's office, this is Jenny. How can I help you?"
"The flowers … the flowers … they're everywhere!" Jackie wailed.
"You're not supposed to use this number unless it's an emergency."
"You weren't answering your phone! And this whole place smells like pollen!"
"That's because I'm at work. I turned my phone off. How bad is it?"
"I am literally sleeping in shrubberies. I have no more room to put these. Who is sending them? Ah! Die, azaleas, die!" I imagine the sounds I heard in the background were those of Jackie using a kitchen knife to stab some defenseless flowers.
"James Carroll. I may have led him on a little bit."
"A little? There is no room to walk in here. Do you understand that? I've got about twenty bouquets in the bathroom, six under my bed, four under yours, three in each of the sinks – NO! NO MORE DELIVERIES! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!" Jackie was getting so loud that Mr. Wayne was scooting in closer to eavesdrop, and I was letting him.
"Is someone at the door?"
"No," she whispered with desperation. "No one's at the door, because if there's someone there, then I have to answer – " Beep!
"Ooh, Jackie, someone's on the other line." I transferred over. "Mr. Wayne's office, this is Jenny. How can I help you?" For the next three minutes, I set up a meeting with a Mrs. Han of Rio-tech Incorporated and our board of directors for next week. Then I went back to Jackie.
"Why are they here, Jenny?" she sobbed. "I don't want to sneeze anymore. Take them away! Do whatever he says!"
"I'll talk to him. Good luck with … stuff." I hung up and dialed maintenance. "I need someone to bring the biggest garbage can they've got up to my desk. I've got a large bouquet of roses I would like to get rid of. Thank you."
"I didn't realize that you hated flowers so much," Mr. Wayne commented as he pulled some of the Baby Breath out of the bouquet and put a bit in his lapel.
"I don't hate flowers," I replied as I started trying to clear a path to my desk. "I just kind of thought I had gotten rid of this man."
"What you're doing is playing hard to get. I know you're not trying, but trust me. You've been ignoring him, and now he's intrigued. He's asking you out in a way that you can't ignore."
"But I don't date. People don't like me. Now the one person I want to avoid won't leave me alone."
"So give him one night and tell him it's not going to work out. You get a free dinner, he gets his heart ripped out, it's a win-win." His smile suggested that it wasn't Mr. Carroll he was thinking would win in this situation. "I kind of feel bad for your sister, though. It sounds like she's developed a phobia of roses."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure she's exaggerating."
She wasn't.
I opened the door a crack, took one whiff, and closed it. There was enough pollen in there to give even the most resilient person hay fever. I had to throw my weight against the door in order to open it. Jackie had finally just blockaded the door with flowers to keep the delivery boys out and just went through the window to go to work. This was ridiculous, and there was no reason for it. I waded through some roses to get to the table where a pile of cards waited. James Carroll. James Carroll. James Carroll.
I whipped out my phone and dialed this man. "James, we need to talk."
"Did you get my flowers?"
"Yes, James. Yes I did."
"Wonderful! I hoped you like roses. I was wondering if you were busy tonight. No one else has asked you out, right?"
"Well, no, but –"
"Perfect! I'll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice." Then he hung up.
Something nice translated into a dark blue skirt and blazer, white blouse, a silver necklace, and black pumps; i.e. exactly what I wore to work. James Carroll knocked on my door one minute before seven wearing a suit and holding a bouquet of white roses. "Jenny, you look beautiful. I brought these for you." He held out the roses.
"Last one, okay?" I said as I grabbed the bouquet and tossed it onto a pile somewhere in the kitchen. "This is too much."
"I'm sorry. I should have realized you don't like flowers. Let me make it up to you."
"No."
"I have reservations at the Criterion. I think you'll like the place. Come on."
And that is how Mr. Carroll got me into his Camaro and took me to the Criterion restaurant. As the valet took the car away and James escorted me inside, I suddenly felt under-dressed. Women were coming inside draped in gold, jewels, and expensive fabrics cut and sewn by the most 'in' designers. I thought I was just eating food, but the Criterion is where the rich and fabulous show everyone else how rich and fabulous they are. It was nothing more than another Wayne party, but without Mr. Wayne and the fake smiles. Several ladies, and their men, looked down at us as the commoners trying to be a part of their world.
One of the waitresses approached us. She wore the standard white button-up shirt and black slacks, but changed it up with a pink rose in her red hair that was twisted into a braid that fell over her left shoulder. "Good evening, Mr. Carroll. I have your table ready over here." She led us to a table well in the center of the restaurant, gave us our menus, and left to get our wine.
"Nice place," I said as I put the napkin on my lap.
"It's the best in Gotham. So how have things been going for you?"
"It goes. Sometimes it goes in circles, but it goes. You?"
"Just the usual at work. A lot of screaming children today. I don't know what it is about being knocked out that's so scary," he laughed ironically.
"The thought of not waking up." Our waitress returned and poured our wine.
"Oh. Maybe it's best not to talk about my work. I know that doctors and nurses have a high tolerance for gross things. Nothing phases me anymore. Not even –"
This is the point where my face went bright red. No one else around could hear his story about a particularly bad knifing that he had to take care of a few days ago, but I certainly could. And he did not spare me on the details. He almost enjoyed the entire thing, like he found it so much fun to help sew a human back together. Oh, a headache was coming on.
But then again, two could play this game. "How … fascinating. Do you know what I did the other day? I was working on a chemical that can identify human blood that's doesn't destroy the sample, but I'm kind of failing miserably." What followed was basically a list of chemical formulas I used that didn't work, what happened, and why. Dry, boring, and time filling. Unfortunately, this backfired because he studied chemistry at one point too, and he became enthralled.
"I can't believe how brilliant you are," he said in awe.
"You haven't seen bright yet."
"How do you mean?"
"What I mean is that I know you're a liar, Mr. Carroll. You told me you're from Colorado, studied medicine at the University of Utah, and only moved to the east a year and a half ago. Your accent is nothing like the midwest. In fact, I'd have to say you were born and raised in Connecticut. You've never been west of Ohio."
"I think it's time to order." he waved over our waitress. She smiled and came over immediately. "What would you like, Jenny?"
I hadn't even glanced at the menu yet. "If I may," said the waitress, "the chef recommends the Gazpacho Soup."
"I think we'll both have that," said James, effectively sending her away. I couldn't care less about what I was eating at this point.
"I heard that you and Bruce Wayne like to play baseball," he started.
"Softball, and don't change the subject. You make far too much for an anesthesiologist. I think you come from money, probably a good sized trust fund provided by your parents to live off of. You work at Dawes Memorial, which hires only the best and brightest from around the country. You went to Yale, judging from the lapel pin you are loath to abandon, but are trying to hide, and also from the corner of an envelope you quickly stuffed in your glove compartment right before coming to pick me up. Why do I think you went in-state? Because you hate travel. Even though you're trying to hide your past, you didn't pick up and run across the country. You prefer to stay close to home. What I don't understand is why you would give up your status as an Ivy League graduate and tell everyone you went to school in Utah."
He slammed down his wine glass impatiently. "I got tired of the rich kids crowd, alright?"
"No you didn't. When I met you, you were schmoozing with Mr. Wayne's friends after trying to lie low got boring, even though your version of lying low was a mansion in the Gotham Palasades. You missed the attention."
"Look, Jenny, there are a lot of things in my past that I'd rather not bring up."
"Well too bad. You chose to be obsessed with me. I'm the kind of person that digs. The more you interact with me, the more I will lay you bare."
"Do you interrogate every man you date?"
"I don't date. I interrogate and investigate everyone I come in contact with, regardless of the potential for romance. If you have something to hide, run away now." This was the biggest hint I could drop for him. Leave me alone. I am giving you an out.
James took a swallow of wine. "The truth is that someone back home wants me dead. I'm trying to lie low in Gotham. So far, he hasn't come after me, so it's working. You're right, though. I'm not doing a good job of it," he laughed. "But if I hadn't gone to Bruce Wayne's party ..." He reached across the table and held my hand. "I never would have met you." He looked deep into my eyes.
I leaned forward. "James."
"Yes?"
"You have a tell."
"What?"
"A tell. It's a nervous tic you have when you're telling me stories. Your eyes kind of tighten."
"I'm sorry?"
"You're lying to me again."
The waitress conveniently reappeared with our plates and the cart with the soup in a bowl. She set up our plates and bowls while the two of us traded some loaded glances. "Sure feels chilly here all of a sudden," she remarked as she ladled James' soup into his bowl. "I'll see if the manager can turn up the heat a bit." Then she moved to pour soup into my bowl, but her elbow bumped my chair and she dumped half the ladle into my lap. I gasped and stood up out of shock, but the waitress was far more traumatized than I was. "I … I'm so sorry!" she said.
I wiped some of it off with my napkin, then just threw it on the table in frustration. "I don't think this is going to work out. Goodbye James." Then I stalked out of the restaurant, hailed a cab, and went home. I can only assume that James stayed to finish his soup.
I planned on just going home long enough to change my clothes and then head out to the Motel 6 near the police station, but my plans suddenly changed when I noticed that the dumpster was full of flowers. I went up to my apartment and opened the door without having to unlock it.
A man in his fifties with thinning and lightening red hair, wearing a dark gray business suit, a pair of square-frame glasses, and non-slip black shoes was sitting at my kitchen table with his computer out in the only spot that didn't have any wildlife. He acted like he hadn't noticed me come in, but he definitely had. "Your locks are ridiculously easy to pick, Jenny," he said in his way of saying Hello.
"Only for someone like you. Hi Dad." I gave him a hug around his shoulders while also taking a look at what he was working on. The report was for some blonde girl from Massachusetts, but Dad minimized the window before I could read any more. "That's a homicide, not a missing person."
"She used to be missing. Still my case." He stood up to give me a proper hug. "I figured that since I was in Gotham that I ought to visit you. I saw that you decided to open up your own flower shop."
"Remember James? That guy who picked me up? I got rid of him."
He nodded once. "Good. I didn't like him."
"Which is why you decided to throw away some of my roses."
"I needed room to breathe. When does Jackie get home?"
"Her shift ends in a couple hours, but then she goes out and … hangs out with some friends." Dad and I hadn't been too clear with each other on what we knew about Jackie. I don't think he thought Jackie would be staying with me as long as she had been. "Do you want some coffee?"
"I would love some. How are you doing with school? I can't believe you're this close to graduation."
Dad and I spent the next half hour just catching up on things. Then we spent the next little while taking trips to the dumpster with our arms full of flowers. Eventually, my little apartment had one bouquet of daisies in the center of the kitchen table, and that was it in regards to flowers. We may or may not have gone down the street to use the neighboring apartment complex's dumpsters too. After that, we started playing a game of chess.
It was pretty late when Jackie finally came home from work. As soon as she saw us at the table she squealed, "Daddy!" in joy, and tackled him with a hug. "I'm so happy you're here!"
"It's been too long since I've seen you, young lady. You could have come home every few months or so."
I managed to catch a glimpse of Jackie's face and was surprised to see a nice bright shiner developing on her left eye. "Jackie, what happened to your face?"
She suddenly realized that she was sporting a very obvious injury. "Oh. I met your boyfriend after work."
"He wasn't ever my boyfriend!" I protested.
"James Carroll did this to you?" Dad said through his teeth. His eyes were narrowing as he thought of ways to kill him. And where to hide the body.
"He surprised me," she said dismissively. "You should see his face, though. I'm pretty sure I broke his jaw." I sat her down at the table while Dad went to the freezer to get some ice. "Definitely his wrist. Maybe some ribs. And I think I want to double my rate for sustaining an injury." She held out a hand to me.
Dad wrapped the ice in a towel and put it on her face. "What is this all about?"
I got $200 out of my purse and handed it over to her. It was money well spent. Jackie got into her story-telling stance: legs folded, body leaning towards the recipient, hands out and animated. "As soon as she came into my restaurant, she started signing, Help me! Then while she's talking to Mr. I-have-a-stupid-haircut, she's signing under the table, telling me she'll give me a $20 to help her out. As if I'm that cheap. It's kind of cool to see her talking and signing at the same time, actually. She finally settles on $100, and I tell her to get the Gazpacho soup."
"Why Gazpacho?" Dad asked.
"Because it's served cold," I explained. "She spilled it on my lap and I made my escape."
Dad wasn't nearly as amused by the story as Jackie was. It was more concerning to him. "This man has a surprising temper. I don't want you going anywhere near him, Jenny. I've seen men like him before."
"He won't come back. I'm sure of it."