Chapter Three
Fighting a hangover from his stop at Boomer’s Bar and Grill after the hockey game, Danny popped the lid on a bottle of aspirin and swallowed two tablets with a mouthful of lukewarm coffee.
It was Friday. He had nearly survived another week. In spite of the gloom, the snow and cold, and his loneliness, he felt okay. Considering that it was serious hunkering-down time around the Great Lakes, Danny could only imagine that everyone else was suffering the same malaise — except perhaps for the loneliness. But things could be worse. He could still be stuck in a bad marriage. And since there were undoubtedly millions of other guys enduring marital pain like a prison sentence, he reasoned he didn’t have it too terribly bad after all.
True enough, his drinking was getting a bit out of hand lately, but he blamed the season for that as well — the season and his hockey buddies, that is. Since hockey was the only physical exercise he got in winter, not to mention his only regular social activity, clearly he could not afford to abstain from hockey. Once spring arrived with its warmer days, he’d get on his bike and ride himself into shape — again. Until then, he’d do his best to keep the alcohol consumption down to two or three beers at a sitting, no more. Apart from Super Bowl Sunday, at least. He’d have to make an exception for that.
As quickly as his thoughts turned back to work, Bill Cook appeared in the doorway, exactly on time for his appointment. Danny shook his head in disbelief.
“I wasn’t expecting you for another ten or fifteen minutes, Bill. What’s with the punctuality thing — another doomed New Year’s resolution or something?”
“No, I wouldn’t want to wreck my reputation. Truth is, Danny, I have nothing else to do. Your recruiting department has practically put me out of business.”
Cook closed the office door and made himself at home in one of the chairs in front of Danny’s desk. He reached underneath the seat and squeezed a handle while lifting his weight, thereby elevating the chair six inches to accommodate his long legs.
As always, Danny offered a comeback. “Well, since qualified engineers are in such short supply, maybe we should run down to the rescue mission and pick out a couple of warm bodies. Their skills will probably match your job orders perfectly.”
“So that’s your secret — the rescue mission. How resourceful. Come to think of it, I guess that explains why the last guy you hired couldn’t make it through the client interview.”
Bill Cook was the stereotypical salesman — good looking, articulate, persuasive, able to think well on his feet, with a healthy sense of humor. Though somewhat self-deprecating with clients, when not involved in sales situations he could turn the tables on anyone, like he was doing with Danny at the moment.
“Okay Bill, let’s cut the crap. What have you got for me?”
“This project at Chrysler is big. They’re planning to staff a whole new department of design engineers under R&D. The thing is, they don’t know all the particulars yet. That’s why we only got a preliminary job order. But I know the guy real well who’s in charge — Ed Brady’s his name — and we’re the only company he’s told right now. So, if we can get a couple talented people in on the ground floor, we could have an exclusive on the whole project.”
Danny listened while gazing right past Cook and out the window. He has heard stories like this before. “That’s all well and good, Bill. But if you can’t define the skills your customer wants, my recruiters are never going to find anybody that will fit, and there goes your exclusive — right up the chute.”
“It’s real simple, Danny. We need a couple of bright designers. Five or more years experience.”
“What about tools; how about methods, application experience? You know, specifics to help us narrow the field a little.” Unintentionally, Danny telegraphed his exasperation at having to prompt the company’s top marketing rep for the basic requirements of any legitimate job order. He also did so somewhat sarcastically.
Cook ignored the insult and tried again to make his point. “Look, Dan, Chrysler is setting up a competitive design team within the company. This team is going to be given carte blanche to come up with some breakthrough new concepts and methods for developing an entry-level luxury sedan to compete with the Lexus and the BMW 300 series cars. There just isn’t anything else that my friend Ed is looking for at this point except bright people. They’ll figure out what methodologies and tools to use once they get the project underway.”
It sounded wonderful, even to Danny, though he felt relatively certain that Cook’s opportunity was pie-in-the-sky, and consequently, he could see himself being yanked around in a consulting business snipe hunt. “So why don’t you just pick a couple of star performers out of your existing staff and send them down to your friend Ed?”
“There isn’t anybody on the bench. And I can’t spring anybody fast enough to take advantage of this opportunity.” Cook was obviously not making this up, or he would not have come here to grovel for a couple new hires in the first place. Danny understood that much.
“All right, let’s say we find these ‘bright people’ Ed says he wants. We hire them, then you send them out to interview at Chrysler, and they get rejected for ‘insufficient skills’ or some other reason. What do we do with them then?”
Cook got visibly exasperated himself. “Why should you care? That’s not your problem, is it?”
“No, I don’t suppose it is.” Danny couldn’t wiggle out much further to escape the trap he had carelessly set for himself. But neither did he want to admit outright that his department couldn’t come up with anyone even remotely resembling Cook’s “bright people” right now, at least not at the price Chrysler was willing to pay. Every design engineer with five years’ experience or more was already working somewhere and being paid to stay happy. And, considering Chrysler’s low rate scale, what, besides money, could Base Line offer in attempts to lure a couple of good ones away from their current employers? Obviously, not enough, or Danny would not be struggling like this. He’s been in the recruiting business long enough to know what it takes to get a couple techies on board.
Danny played his last card. “Well, I’ll tell you what, Bill. It comes down to money. If you’re willing to increase the salary range to say...70k, we can probably find your people.”
“Hell, my grandmother could find them for 70k. And besides, you know Chrysler won’t pay more than fifty bucks an hour.”
“Then, maybe that’s where the problem lies. Bright people don’t come cheap, Bill.”
Upon hearing that declaration of the obvious, Cook got up and started toward the door. “No, Dan. I think the problem lies with your lame-o recruiters. They wouldn’t know a bright person if one dropped out of the sky and landed on them. And if they ever did get so lucky — because God knows they aren’t going to find a candidate any other way — they couldn’t sign him up without a truckload of cash.”
Danny stifled his urge to fire back. “That’s a little harsh, Bill, don’t you think?”
“Just let me know if you get lucky. Then we’ll see if it’s harsh or not. And it would be nice if you displayed more of a can-do attitude. I don’t know what’s happened to you, Danny. Ever since you took this job you haven’t been the same.”
He left.
Danny shook his head. This business never used to be so difficult, he thought. And the reps never used to be so damned arrogant. Cook must think we just sit around here all day picking our teeth. It’d serve him right if we can’t find anyone for his project. But unfortunately, Cook won’t be the one who gets blamed. That would be me.
After returning some phone calls and checking his e-mail, Danny caught up on his paperwork for the week. There were weekly reports to complete and submit on the activities of his staff and a work plan for the following week, tasks he always saved for Fridays.
Next thing he knew he was hungry. At eleven-thirty he slipped out of his office and headed unaccompanied down the elevator to the cafeteria.
Though Friday was typically a light day for in-house lunching, Danny figured the cafeteria might be crowded with people who preferred not to brave the sub-zero wind chills for the privilege of enjoying a meal in a legitimate restaurant. He had guessed right. At the Cafe del Giorno there was a line out the door and into the hall. Just my luck, he thought.
But a moment later, Danny’s luck changed. The next person to arrive for lunch was a splendidly attractive woman. Danny noticed her legs first, on display as they were below a navy-blue wool jumper just long enough to cover certain essential body parts. Then, as he looked up, he saw a familiar face. It was the face of an angel. But not just any angel — the one he’d helped out of the parking lot last night. There is a God, he acknowledged silently.
“Well, hello again,” he said, as she joined him in the lunch line.
It took her a few seconds to recognize him. “You’re the man who helped me get my car started last night.”
“Yep. That was me. Danny Predmore’s my name.” He put out his hand to shake hers. “I hope you remembered to turn your lights off this morning.”
She smiled and returned the gesture. “This time I double checked. I’m Valerie. Valerie Robinson. My friends call me Val.”
She was truly beautiful. Without her parka covering her up, he could see much more of her — youthful figure, cream-colored, silky skin, perfect posture, and alluring womanly appurtenances. She had a round face, like a cherub, with prominent cheeks and wide-set, dark-brown eyes. He wondered how it could be possible that he never noticed her before last night.
“Valerie is such a beautiful name; if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Valerie.”
“Sure, that’d be fine, Mr. Predmore.”
“Please, it’s Danny.”
“Okay then — Danny.”
“Have you worked here long, Valerie?” Danny had to satisfy his curiosity.
“No, no. I just started last week at Peninsula Title on the third floor. I’m the new receptionist.”
That explains it, Danny thought.
With her right hand she began picking at her curls. Watching her, Danny became particularly aware of her youth and her innocent vivaciousness.
The line moved enough for them to step inside the door of the cafeteria. Danny held it open for her before letting it gently close. Deep down inside, he could feel his heart fluttering — like a hummingbird in spring. He mentally ran through what he might say next, where to take the conversation. He believed that, no doubt, he could dominate and manipulate her; he possessed the experience and skill to do so. Perhaps he could even charm her, maybe get her to accept an invitation to join him for lunch one day at La Michoacan. Young people always go for Mexican food. He couldn’t miss with that. But his better judgment told him to try and get to know her a little better first.
“It actually smells pretty good in here today,” he offered. “What do you think you’ll have?”
“Oh, probably just a salad; maybe a bowl of soup if they have something vegetarian.”
“Are you a vegetarian?” He was surprised and somewhat incredulous at the thought.
“Sort of, since high school — but I do eat fish and dairy.” Her smile revealed a dimple on one side, very alluring.
“You say that as though it was a thousand years ago,” he replied, hoping to get at her age.
“Well, I’m not that young. I got my Associate’s’ from OCC in December, after setting the all-time record for most semesters.”
Danny sensed that he had put her on the defensive, so he aimed at setting things right. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were too young — just out of high school, I mean. You say you got your Associate’s degree? That’s great! What in?”
“Psychology.”
“Good field. Will you be able to use any of it on your new job?”
“Well, you can use psychology everywhere, but I hope to eventually follow a career in the field. See, I had to get the job here because I ran out of money for school, and my parents can’t really afford to send me. But it’s just temporary. I plan to go back and get my bachelor’s even if I have to go to night school.”
When they reached the counter, Danny ordered a kielbasa sandwich with fries, the special of the day. Valerie wrinkled up her nose at the soup — Manhattan Clam Chowder — and stepped ahead to the salad bar. Danny waited for her at the register and insisted on paying for both lunches. “You need to save for college,” he said.
They found an abandoned table along the wall and continued to get acquainted. She asked Danny about his job and then about his personal life. He couldn’t seem to finish a statement — about his kids, his former marriage, how Julie had moved out to the West Coast and totally out of his life, his love for hockey — before Valerie fired off another question, then another, and another. He had been mistaken about dominating and manipulating her. She was too bright, too inquisitive, too charming.
Then she volunteered something he never expected. “My real dad died from an industrial accident when I was young. I always missed having him around to talk to. You know what I mean? I imagined it would have been kind of like we’re talking right now. Anyway, my mom said I needed a father. Actually I think she needed another husband more, so she got remarried. He’s a good guy at least, and he’s always been there for me. But I never felt like I could talk to him like I’m talking to you right now. I’ve never felt that comfortable.”
Deep down inside Danny was crushed. He didn’t want to be a father figure to her. Secretly, he wanted to get her to fall in love with him, to become his girl, his beautiful, adoring, young maiden. He’d had himself convinced that such a relationship was actually possible, even probable, but apparently it was not.
Unprompted, Valerie began talking about God, whom she said was her real father. He’d taken good care of her all these years since her dad died, answered her prayers, taught her how to do the right things, helped her to follow through on commitments, and show love for everyone who came into her life. “My mom has always gone to church two or three times a week,” she told him. “So, I guess you could say I grew up there. It’s really been a good thing for me, kept me out of trouble and all...”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Danny interjected.
“No, there isn’t. But too much of a good thing can be a little tedious, if you know what I mean, so much of the same teaching over and over. I’ve heard some sermons so many times, I could quote them word-for-word. Which isn’t necessarily bad either, except that lately there seems to be less and less meaning in the words for me. And it’s hard to relate a lot of it to real life.”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums up the reason why I stopped going to church years ago. That and the fact that the priest was always preaching to the people who didn’t show up.”
“I know what you mean,” she said, just before switching tracks again. It was her perceived opinion, she said, that Danny missed his wife. “I don’t know quite how it is I know these things; I just do. Call it a woman’s intuition or something.” She claimed to sense it clearly. She recommended that Danny try to get back in touch with Julie somehow, maybe give her a call. Surely after a year-and-a-half, she’d be glad to hear from him.
Imagine this, he thought. She’s giving me advice.
Of course, Danny hadn’t told Valerie the real reason Julie divorced him, why she probably would not want to hear from him again. And now, learning of Valerie’s beliefs — of her religion, or relationship with God as she called it — he was mighty glad he didn’t. Such an admission would have knocked him out of contention even as substitute father. Yet, precisely because of that unstated truth concerning his infidelity, he would not be giving his ex-wife a call when he arrived home tonight. And he was certain Julie wasn’t expecting to hear from him either.
Valerie suggested they exchange work numbers. Danny happily obliged. As they got on the elevator together, they agreed to keep in touch. At the third floor, as Valerie stepped off and walked down the hall toward her office, Danny felt a pain inside. She had taken a little piece of his heart along with her, and it seemed like the same piece he’d lost once before.
On her way home after work on Friday afternoon, Julie mentally replayed the events of the week. Considering the pressure of two new classes at school, deadlines to meet for Spence, and Mike Tattersall’s proposition with its implications for her career and personal life, she understandably felt exhausted. Plus, as if all that were not enough to deal with, she also thought she felt a cold coming on. Colds always hit her at times such as this. She’d drive herself beyond the limit of functioning reasonably well, and then — crash! This evening was clearly one of those times. Fatigue was washing over her in waves, each bigger than the last. She needed some rest or the night out with Tracy would be a disaster; she’d be no fun at all. On second thought, maybe she should just call Trace and postpone for another night. In fact, that’s exactly what she would do, just as soon as she got home.
“Trace, it’s Julie.”
“Julie! Hey! How’re you doing? All set for tonight?”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling, actually. I’m crashing from a rough week. I’ll be asleep on my feet tonight. Maybe we should make it for next Friday night or something.”
“Not on your life. You’re not getting off that easy. I got a surprise up my sleeve.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“Let’s just say that it comes with legs and a mustache.”
“Not tonight, Trace, please. I look like crap.”
“Tonight it is. I’ll pick you up at eight. Be ready.”
“I’ll get you for this.”
“No, you’ll thank me for it. See you at eight.”
Julie had one free hour. So, after setting her alarm for seven o’clock, she lay down on her bed, hoping for a minor recharge to get her through the evening. Almost immediately, she fell off to sleep and into a world of dreams.
Normally, she didn’t remember her dreams. But when she awoke again it was with a vivid memory of her childhood. And, though she was certain things could not have happened the way they appeared in the dream, the drama was nonetheless shockingly real. It frightened her awake.
Seeming to be about eleven years old, maybe twelve, she and her mom had just arrived home to their old house on Cherry Street in Fountain Valley, having been out all day at the beach. Her mom drove the old Ford into the driveway, and Julie saw her little green stucco house shining in the late day sun. Since it was summer, the grass was brown, burnt to a crisp really, and as they walked to the front door, she could practically hear the shrubbery crying out for water.
The sunburn on her back and shoulders stung like a belt lashing. “We’ll get some Noxema on that right away. We shouldn’t have stayed out so long.” Her mother spoke as she unlatched the door and held it for Julie. They entered through the small living room, passed the two old, overstuffed chairs, and proceeded down the hall to the bathroom on the left. While she pulled down her swimsuit, her mom opened the vanity doors and looked for the jar of Noxema.
“I must have left it in the bedroom,” she realized, and walked off to find it, leaving Julie with the straps of her bathing suit draped over her arms, her pre-adolescent chest exposed. There was a cool breeze blowing through the house. Julie felt the chill of it when suddenly she heard her mother scream.
“You son-of-a-bitch! What do you think you’re doing?”
Julie heard her dad mumble something but she couldn’t make out the words. And then her mom shouted again, “And you had better finish getting dressed and get the hell out of my house, young lady, before I have a mind to get a knife from the kitchen and slice you open from top to bottom — you snake!”
There was some shuffling around and Julie heard the bed squeak. Then she saw Lora (she didn’t know her, or her name at the time, but in the dream of course, she did). Her silky sable hair was tussled, her cheeks flushed. A look of primal fear was etched into her face. She was carrying her bra and trying to snap a pair of skimpy white shorts closed as she escaped past the bathroom door. Julie had her hands over her own breasts, but she couldn’t make herself look away.
Before her mom could return with the cream for her sunburn, she awoke. And though she couldn’t remember anything from the dream after Lora’s flight down the hallway, she swore at some point she had seen a humiliated look on her father’s face.
He must have been mortified. And poor mom. What had she done to deserve that?
And Lora...
In the past year-and-a-half Julie has come to love Lora like her own flesh and blood. So it was all so strange that she should imagine such a horrid scene.
But, in reality, this event never actually happened. At least Julie couldn’t remember it, nor could she recall ever hearing about anything resembling it from either her mother or her dad. It’s weird how your mind plays tricks on you, she thought. What a nightmare. Good thing I don’t take naps often.
At that instant her alarm rang, and she reached to turn it off. She lay still for another few moments trying to make sense of the dream but could not. After making a mental note to call both her mom and dad on the weekend to see how they’ve each been getting along, she got up and went into her own bathroom — the same one from the dream, she realized — and turned on the shower.
“Look at you; you’re a sexpot. I never knew that about you,” Tracy said, leering through the bars of Julie’s security door.
“I am nothing of the kind. Whatever gives you that idea?”
“The lipstick, the eye make-up, the stretch top — what do you think? You sure don’t look like you said you did. Well, don’t just stand there; hurry up. I left the car idling in your driveway.”
Julie went back into the house for a moment before emerging with her purse and jacket. She opened and then shut the gate behind her, and together, they clip-clopped down the walk before climbing into Tracy’s Camaro.
“We are going dancing, aren’t we? I had to dress appropriately,” Julie affirmed in her own defense while fastening her seat belt. “Do you think I look too trampy?”
“No, you look great. Honest. Remy will go nuts.”
“Remy who?” Julie had begun examining her make-up in the vanity mirror, but upon hearing this, she looked directly at Trace. “Is he the big surprise?”
“You got that right. And he’s going to llovvve you.” Tracy glanced over at her friend and smiled before re-fixing her eyes on the road.
“Slow down, what if I’m not interested?”
“Oh you’ll be interested all right. Remy’s a catch.”
“Well, if that’s the case, why are you giving him to me?”
“He’s my cousin, that’s why. Otherwise, forget it, I’d have had my hooks in him years ago.” Again, she looked at Julie. “Too bad for me. But it’s your lucky night!”
“I don’t know, Trace. I’m not really looking for a relationship right now. I’ve got to concentrate on getting through school.”
“Just wait till you meet Remy. You’ll change your mind.”
After driving about a mile down the peninsula, they pulled off Balboa Boulevard and stopped the car in front of the South Coast Club. They got out with the engine still running. Tracy advised the valet not to put any dings in the doors. Walking toward the entrance, Julie draped her waist jacket over her shoulders. Tracy carried her red leather coat in the same hand as her purse.
“It’s chilly tonight. Aren’t you cold?” Julie asked.
“No. I’m hot blooded. It’s the French DNA from my mother’s side.”
“I see you actually learned something in Biology class.”
“You’d be surprised what I learned in that class. Some of it comes in very handy, for sure.”
They paid the cover charge and were seated by the hostess in a booth, not far off the dance floor. Tracy told the young woman that they wanted to order something from the kitchen. The hostess said a waitress would be by momentarily.
“I’m famished,” Tracy proclaimed to half the known world while fluffing out her bottle-enhanced, blond straw mane.
“You better hold it down Trace, or they’ll think you’re already in the bag.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m a little revved up.”
“A little? You’ve been geeked since you picked me up. Did you start drinking earlier or something?”
“No, of course not. I’m just happy to be out with my best friend. We’re going to have a good time tonight. I can feel it in my bones.”
Julie hadn’t realized that Tracy regarded her so highly. Best friend status wasn’t something she viewed lightly, nor was it a title she could confer upon Trace in reciprocation at this point in their relationship. She liked her of course, probably because Tracy was as wild as a mountain stream and just as refreshing with her cavalier attitude, her quick wit, and her bigger-than-life gestures. She was also a lot of fun to be around, but Julie would need more time before she could regard her as a best friend.
She quickly decided to change the subject. “So, when is this Remy guy going to show up?”
“Oh, he’ll be here. Just you wait and see. Look, here comes our waitress. Let’s get some food before I feint dead away.”
Disregarding dietary discipline, they ordered burgers and drinks. Trace even insisted on a plate of fried cheese sticks for an appetizer, though Julie protested, saying that she didn’t want to have to run off all the fat and calories. The waitress returned quickly with their drinks — a glass of Chardonnay for Julie, a Rob Roy for Trace.
Tracy went on commenting about this and that, taking the conversation down one path after another but getting nowhere on any one particular topic. She was wound tighter than a Swiss watch.
The band assembled on stage and began tuning their guitars. People poured into the club in groups; it was filling quickly. There were patrons of every stripe, young and not so young — a real eclectic crowd — mainly couples, though. Julie noticed only one guy who appeared to be alone. He looked to be about her age. As he took up residence in the booth next to them, she wondered if he could be Remy. He was certainly handsome. But he remained totally oblivious to the fact that they were sitting there, nearby. Evidently, he was not the awaited cousin.
The cheese sticks arrived, and by then, Tracy was ready to order another drink. “Remy is really sweet,” she volunteered calmly, relaxing somewhat, probably from the effects of the alcohol. “I always looked up to him when we were growing up. He’s actually five years older than me. He went into the Navy right out of high school, and he’s been all over the world since then. Now, he’s back. He actually retired at the end of December, with over twenty years in. Can you believe that? I haven’t even got started on anything yet, and he’s retired. It blows my mind.”
“Was he ever married?” Julie asked.
“Oh, yeah. Who hasn’t been? They had three kids even, but he’s been divorced for a few years now.”
The waitress brought their burgers. While they were eating, the band kicked off its first set with an R&B number. Julie was beginning to feel pretty good herself, no further sign of the cold she felt earlier.
Remy arrived a little after nine, alone. Trace introduced him as her long lost cousin, even though he’d been stationed down the road in San Diego for the past few years. He wore a Navy Pea coat over a denim shirt and dark-brown cords that matched his eyes. When he removed the coat, Julie could see why Trace had made such a fuss over him. He was muscular — massive really — especially in the upper body. His light-brown hair was cut short but brushed over neatly. As promised, he had a mustache, trimmed carefully to compliment his set of full lips. When he smiled, his dark eyes told tales of warmth and experience.
But when she smiled back at him and shook his strong hand, no bells went off inside her head. He couldn’t possibly be the one for her.
Remy joined them in the booth on Julie’s side, and they ordered more drinks. He asked for a beer — anything they had on draught. That struck Julie as odd in this day and age. She wasn’t a beer drinker, but Danny had been, and even he was discriminating about his brand. “Hockey players drink Molson,” he would say. Oh well, she thought, to each his own. But this little insight into Remy’s personality made the idea of dating him seem even more remote. I like a man with convictions and preferences, she realized.
“Well, I don’t see Steve anywhere. Is he coming?” Tracy asked.
“Sorry, Trace. He called me around seven to say he couldn’t make it. The Chief asked him to work some overtime at the last minute because one of the night shift guy