Paul's door was half-closed when I rapped on the door
frame. At the muffled noise, I pushed it al the way open.
He sat at his desk, staring at his computer monitor. The
screen had dissolved into a rapidly changing pattern of
expanding pipe-work, his screen saver, and I wondered
how long he'd been sitting there.
'Paul?'
'Paige. Come in.' He gestured and swiveled in his chair.
Careful not to spil or drip anything, I puled his lunch from
the bag one item at a time. It felt like a ritual, passing lunch
instead of a torch. Paul settled each item onto his blotter.
Sandwich at six, potato salad at nine, plastic fork and
napkin at three. His drink went to noon, and he looked up
at me.
'Thank you, Paige.'
It was the first time since I'd started working for him that
he hadn't lifted the bread to make sure the sandwich had
been prepared properly or sipped the tea to make sure I
hadn't mistakenly brought presweetened.
'Do you need me for anything else?'
He shook his head. 'No. Go ahead and take your lunch
now. I wil need you back here by one-fifteen, though. I've
got that teleconference thing.'
'Sure, no problem.' Taking my own sandwich, I headed
down to the lunchroom to meet Brenda.
down to the lunchroom to meet Brenda.
Since no clients saw it, the lunchroom had seen better
days. The vending machines were new, but the tables and
chairs looked as if they'd been salvaged from the garbage
more than once. My chair creaked alarmingly when I sat,
but though I poised, prepared to hit the floor if the rickety
thing colapsed, it held. I unwrapped my food quickly, my
stomach already rumbling.
'This weather, huh?' Brenda stabbed at her limp lettuce. 'I wish winter would make up its mind.'
'In another three months everyone wil be complaining
about it being too hot.'
She looked at me with a blink. 'Yeah. I guess so. But I
wish it would get warmer. It's nearly March, for cripe's
sakes. Though we did have that blizzard in '93, right
around Saint Patty's Day. I hope that doesn't happen this
year.'
Under other circumstances we'd never have been friends.
Not that I didn't like her, but we didn't have much in
common. Brenda was older than my mom and had twin
girls in colege. She also had a husband she referred to
girls in colege. She also had a husband she referred to
constantly as 'my sweetie,' and whose name I hadn't even
yet learned. I imagined him as a Fred, though, for
whatever that was worth.
