“The truth is, I really like older men…a lot…know what I mean?” she whispered as if sharing a secret.
Now the hairs on the back of my neck were no longer at rest. I stopped what I was doing and hung my head for a moment then sighed.
Finally, I said, “Please tell me you aren’t trying to pick me up.”
I could hear the nonchalance in her voice as she replied, “Well, hey… You’re kind of cute. I was thinking maybe we could go get a cup of coffee or something and see where things go from there?”
I turned to face her and she eased back, flashing me a shy smile that was too brazen to truly qualify as coy.
“I’m betting I’m old enough to be your father,” I said.
“Yeah, probably. So what? That’s the point.”
I opened my mouth to comment on that observation but decided against it. I certainly had no right to judge whatever her proclivities were. Instead I bolstered my objection with, “I’m also happily married.”
“Yeah. Okay. But, she isn’t with you right now is she?” she countered. “You’ve been alone since I’ve been here.”
“Actually, she’s the entire reason I’m here at the moment, but that’s not the point…”
“Hey, I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“Look, young lady…”
“Erika.” She interrupted me then thrust out her hand. “And you are?”
I ignored her gesture but returned with a sigh, “Rowan.”
“Rowan. That’s an interesting name. I like it.” She continued holding her hand out waiting for me to take it.
“Thanks,” I replied, still ignoring the offered appendage. “So, listen, Erika, you’ve got to know that you’re playing a dangerous game here. You have absolutely no idea who I am.”
After a silent pause, she finally allowed her hand to fall back down to her side. “Yeah. Well, that’s part of the turn-on too.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I could be some kind of sicko for all you know.”
“You look pretty safe to me.”
“Most sociopaths do,” I told her. “And, I’ve actually got some experience in that area.”
“Really? How so?”
“Trust me, you really don’t want to know.”
She paused again and gave me a once over as if she were sizing me up. “Okay. So, tell me. Are you a ‘sicko’?”
“Again, that’s not the point.”
She pursed her lips, thrusting the lower one out in an exaggerated pout while giving me an obviously practiced come-hither gaze. “So what is it then? Are you just not into blondes?”
“Listen, Erika, is this some kind of game show? Is there a hidden camera somewhere? Because, honestly, I don’t have time for this.”
She chuckled. “You’re funny too.”
I held up my hands in mock surrender as I huffed out a heavy breath. “All right, look, I’m flattered… At least I think I am… Anyway, this just isn’t going to happen. Understand?”
She blinked and shook her head. To me, her expression looked as if reality had just walked up behind her and given her a swift kick.
“You’re serious,” she said, a wisp of incredulity in her voice.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“You really don’t want to…”
“No. No, I don’t.”
“Well… Okay. It’s your loss.”
“I’ll just have to take your word for that.”
“Well, you know…” she began, as she opened her notebook and started pulling a pen from the spiral binding. “I could give you my number in case you change your mind…”
It was my turn to do the interrupting, “That isn’t necessary. I won’t.”
She looked at me curiously then shoved the pen back down and closed the notebook. “Okay. Well, never know until you try.” With a shrug she added, “Good luck with whatever you’re doing there, I guess.”
“Yeah. Thanks. You too.”
With a shake of her head, she finally walked away.
I took in a deep breath and shook my own head as I let it out. This was the second time I had been propositioned in as many days. Even less if you considered that the first had actually been fewer than twenty-four hours ago. Granted, that one had been a hooker, but I had to wonder just what it was about me that was attracting the overtures.
Turning back to the machine, I decided to put it out of my mind and get to work. If the rest of the day continued along the same lines as my morning, I still had a lot of searching ahead of me. Even then I was beginning to wonder if I would ever find what I was looking for, especially since I didn’t really know exactly what that was.
Cocking my head over against my shoulder, I stared at the image on the marred base of the film reader. Winding the celluloid slowly, I located a reference frame. I glanced over to my steno pad and read a note I had scrawled across it then returned my gaze to the dimly luminous image and started winding the lever. The film stopped moving after a moment, so I gave the side of the machine a hard rap with my knuckles to re-engage the slipping gears then started winding it again. After a few seconds I slowed, advancing the film frame by frame until I found the date I had written in my notes.
Using both hands, I twisted the projection head and turned the image of the better than 150 year old newspaper 90?, which would allow me to hold my head at a less painful cant. Sitting down, I adjusted the magnification and began turning the focus ring. It took me a minute of fiddling to get it to a point that was at least readable, though a long way from what one could call sharp.
Picking my way through the scratches and dropout, I scanned the almost undecipherable blobs, trying to make sense of the vernacular of the day. I was on the verge of giving up when something caught my eye.
Reaching up, I pulled on the positioning bar and centered the frame. Tilting my head up, I focused on the words through the lower half of my bifocals. Tracing beneath them with my finger, I read silently to myself, although I could feel my lips moving slowly as I digested the words.
When I finished, I went back to the top of the paragraph and read them all again. It was at that point my heart skipped a pair of beats and vaulted into my throat.
CHAPTER 10:
It took reading the small, almost hidden public notice for a third time before my heart let itself slide back down into my chest. Even at that, it kept racing, fueled by a fresh dump of adrenalin.
I sat back in my chair and let a hot breath escape slowly through pursed lips, then rubbed my hand across the lower half of my face, ignoring the sharp stubble that by now must have had me looking like a bum. Pushing my glasses up, I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, simply sitting there and allowing the information to soak fully into my grey matter. Whether I was suffering from a bout of subdued elation or exhaustion-induced insanity, I didn’t know, but I heard myself let out a small chuckle.
When I finally opened my eyes, I looked to make sure the words were still displayed on the base of the reader and hadn’t merely been a figment of my exhausted imagination. Finding that it was quite real, I muttered to myself, “Miranda, you bitch.”
I leaned forward then snatched up my pencil and scribbled a couple of quick notes. Scooting the chair back, I stood, and with a rapid spin turned the crank until the film had rewound completely onto the spool. Popping it off the feed shaft, I made my way quickly across the room to the microfilm imaging station. My timing was fortunate, and there wasn’t a wait for this more sophisticated piece of equipment.
