She had been looking at the directory on the wall, and turned to him now. 'Yes. Pm trying to find the offices of a Mr. Arthur Penn.'
He looked blank for a moment, and she felt her hopes sink. She wasn't even going to get out of the starting gate on this one. Then his face cleared and he said, 'Right. New fella.
Thirteenth floor.''
'I thought buildings didn't have thirteenth floors.'
The guard shrugged. 'Fellow who built this place wasn't a superstitious sort.'
'Oh, really?' The guard looked old enough to have been there when the building was first constructed.
'Yeah. And he was a lucky fella too. He was fortunate enough to see his work completed.'
He coughed. 'Day after, he got hit by a truck. You can go on up.'
'Gee, thanks.'
'Main elevator's out. Better use the freight 'round back.'
The freight elevator was a rickety affair that moved up the shaft with a maximum of screeching and clanking. She felt out of place, neatly pressed and dressed, wearing high-heel shoes and trapped in a huge elevator with metal walls and floor. A dying fluorescent bulb lit the elevator, and she felt as if she
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were being carted up to her execution.
When the doors opened on the thirteenth floor, she stepped out gratefully and the elevator bounced up and down like a yo-yo. As it closed behind her with a thud like a guillotine blade descending, she walked out into the main corridor, and what she saw astounded her.
The offices of Arthur Penn were beautifully put together, but far from modernistic. All the furniture was antiques, solid, dependable pieces everywhere she looked. The walls were paneled in knotty pine. The carpeting was a deep plush in royal blue.
Her breath taken by the extreme contrast between this office and the rest of the building, she started to wander about until a firm voice called her up short, saying, 'Can I help you?'*
She looked around and saw a fierce-looking receptionist seated at a desk, and she wondered how she had missed the receptionist the first time. 'Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I have an appointment. An appointment with Mr. Penn.'
The receptionist glanced down at a calendar on the edge of her uncluttered desk and asked, 'You're Gwen?'
Gwen nodded.
The receptionist seemed slightly mollified by the fact that this person was supposed to be here, but still looked regretful that she was not going to have an opportunity to give someone the heave-ho. She said, 'Very well. Take a seat, please. Mr. Penn will be with you shortly.'
'Thank you.'
Gwen sat in an ornately carved chair and looked down at a coffee table next to her, on which several recent news magazines rested. She started to reach for one but then said, 'Would you like me to fill out a form or something?'
'No. That won't be necessary.'
'Oh. But how will the woman in personnel know anything about me?'
Looking up from the book she was trying to read, the receptionist snorted in annoyance.
'We don't have a personnel department. Mr. Penn himself will see you and decide either yes or no. All right?'
'Yes. AH right,' said Gwen, feeling completely cowed.
'Any more questions?'
'No, ma'am.'
The receptionist went back to her book. What appeared to 28
be an unspeakably long time passed, and finally Gwen ventured in a small voice, 'Nice weather we're having, isn't it?'
She'd barely gotten the words out when thunder rumbled from outside and rain smacked in huge droplets against the single office window. Gwen glanced heavenward.
'He will see you now,' said the receptionist abruptly.
'Who will?' said Gwen, but quickly recovered. She stood and said, 'Well, thank you. Thank you very much.' She smoothed her denim skirt. 'You've been very kind.'
'No, I haven't,' was the tart response. 'I've treated you like garbage.'
'I beg your-'
'You let people walk over you, dear, you'll never get anywhere.' She stabbed a finger at Gwen. 'I bet your personal relationships have the success rate of buggy-whip manufacturers, right?'
Gwen drew herself up to her full height. 'Now I don't think that's any of your-'
'You don't think? Hmph. I bet.' The portly woman chucked a thumb at a closed office door.
'Go in. He's expecting you. He's been expecting you for ages. And for pity's sake, don't let yourself be used as a doormat. You've got too pretty a face to let it be filled with shoeprints.'
And with that she stared down at her book again. Silently Gwen walked past her, completely confused. She went right up to the door, then swung about on her heel to face the receptionist.
There was no one there.
Gwen's eyebrows knit in confusion. She walked back to the desk, looked around. Nothing.
Under the desk was nothing. But the receptionist hadn't gone out the door-it had creaked horrendously when Gwen had entered; she would have heard an exit. Out of curiosity she rested a hand on the cushion of the seat behind the desk. It was cool, as if no one had sat there all day.
Gwen assessed the situation.
'Ooookaydokay,' she said finally, went quickly to the office door that the receptionist had indicated, and swung it open.
She was a little surprised to see a bearded man deep in discussion with an eight-year-old boy. They were speaking in low, intense tones, and it was quite clear to Gwen that there
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was none of the typical adult condescension in the man as he argued with the boy. Not the slightest. Apparently this Arthur Penn, if that was who this in fact happened to be, treated everyone as an equal.
Arthur didn't notice her, and it took the boy's abrupt indication by way of a fierce gesture in her direction before Gwen was even sure that she would ever be noticed at all.
She was seating herself on a large chesterfield couch as Arthur was saying petulantly,
'Honestly, Merlin, sometimes you treat me as if I'm a child.'
'Arthur, we have a guest.'
'I am perfectly capable of making decisions and watching out for .. .pardon?'
'A guest.' The boy was skinny, his hands too large for his arms, his feet too large for his legs. His silken brown hair was longish in the back, and his ears virtually stuck out at right angles to his head. He was nattily attired in dark blue slacks, shirt, striped tie, and a blazer with a little sword emblem on the pocket. Bizarrely, the man's clothing was identical, but the boy looked better in it.
Arthur turned, and the moment he saw Gwen, he smiled. Merlin, on the other hand, frowned deeply.
Gwen found herself staring deeply into Arthur's eyes. She had never seen such dark eyes, she thought. Dark as a bottomless pit, which she would willingly plunge into....
She tore her gaze from him and swung over to the boy he'd called Merlin.
And stifled a gasp.
It was like looking at two different people in the same body. The lines of the boy's face were youthful enough, but his eyes were like an old man's, smoldering with wisdom of ages and resentment when he looked at her. He frightened her terribly, and she stared down at her shoes.
Arthur appeared oblivious to her thoughts. 'How unforgivably rude of me,' he said. 'You're the young woman who was sent over by the employment office.'
'That's right,' she said quietly.
Arthur regarded her for a time and then said, 'Is there something particularly intriguing about your feet, my
