One month passed by for Monica at Quagmeyer Corporation before Harry and she met again.
Her telephone rang at nine-thirty on Wednesday morning. She picked up the receiver on the first ring. "Hello, Monica Rawlings speaking."
"Monica, this is Harry. I would like to converse with you for twenty minutes or so, give or take five. How is your schedule?"
"Do you want me to come down to your office?"
"No, I will be up in yours in about five minutes, if the elevators are running in top form. See you then."
"Okay, Harry."
Monica placed the receiver onto its receptacle. While waiting for Harry to arrive, she read the memos from Jim on the personnel systems changes.
"Seems as though people never make up their minds on requirements," she said, after completing the last memorandum.
"Who can't make up their minds?" asked Jim. He approached her doorway as she made her indictment. "A person named Jim," Monica scolded.
"I guess you read the changes. Do you have any questions?"
"Not yet, Jim, but I will after reviewing."
"That is why I stopped by." He placed his right hand on the doorframe. "Since you have to read them again, you can let me know about any problems we may encounter."
"Right, Jim."
"See you later, Monica."
Five minutes passed before Harry made it to Monica's office.
"I finally arrived," he said upon sitting down in the chair covered with green leather. "Perhaps you are wondering why I requested an audience with you this morning?"
"Your use of the word audience makes me feel like the Pope, Harry." she flashed her lustrous smile. Harry laughed.
"The reason or reasons why I wished to speak to you, Monica, concerns your work. I just wanted to tell you that we are very pleased with your progress and with your new attitude. Jim tells me you are doing a good job for him now, and he hopes to have you working on another project in a few weeks. Most importantly, we believe in you and now that you believe in yourself, I think we can look forward to a mutually profitable association."
"Thanks, Harry, you have boosted my ego."
"You are quite welcome, Monica, as we are surely hopeful that you will repay our hiring gesture with an excellent work record."
"I hope that I do not let you down again."
"You will do okay. There will be a fellow waiting for me in my office about now," said Harry, reading the dials on his wristwatch. "Guess I better be on my way."
He slithered out of his seat.
"That chair sure is comfortable, Monica, what do you have the seat lined with?"
"The chair was given to me, Harry, I didn't have much to do with building the thing."
"See you later," he waved as he departed.
Monica was happy now because Harry inspired her and made her feel as though she were needed in the company. If he was glad to have her aboard, how could she help but feel wanted? He had done about everything one could do without making her ever feel inferior as a person. More importantly, she felt like a woman again. His views on employees had not changed when he hired her. He always looked for good workers and prided himself on hiring those persons whom he thought would work out in the best interests of the company. Whenever he had the confidence in an employee, he did show or try to impress on the individual the fact that he appreciated the output given. Some employers never express any attitude about performance of an employee. Not so with Harry, he was perhaps, one in a million. Monica had made up her mind that morning to become one of the best data processing people the company had ever had and she could get all the help she would need from Jim and Harry, both of whom were all too willing to help her move upward in the company and in the world.
She worked her butt off for the remainder of the morning and whenever the hands on the clock showed the time to be one in the afternoon, Monica knocked off for lunch. After having a small salad in the company cafeteria, she decided to go outside and sit on the sidewalk for a time. While she was watching the traffic on Liberty rush by, along came Harry and suggested she take a run through the park.
Monica couldn't decide if she would like to go back into Point State Park where she had tried to commit suicide, but when her hands moved the wheels on the chair pushing her in the direction of the country setting, the scene enticed her.
She entered the park and crossed over the bridge separating two ponds. Monica stopped on the concrete roadway and watched the crystal clear water for a few seconds before continuing on the way to the Monongahela River. The Fort Pitt Museum still had two cannons in front and there were children taking turns going into the old blockhouse. The trees were sparkling with their blossoms and the walkway was lined with people sitting on the benches taking the sun-ridden day in stride.
Whenever she reached the river, she noticed a boat rushing up toward her, pounding the water while it moved rapidly along. "What a life," she thought, "to be able to be boating instead of working."
Monica didn't hear the footsteps behind her on the blacktop.
"Nice view from here, isn't it?" remarked a young man of thirty wearing a white suit and sunglasses.
Monica's shoulders jumped. "You always sneak up on people?"
"I am sorry that I frightened you," he apologized. "I will not let that happen again."
"We haven't met anyhow," said Monica, turning her head to the river once more. "You are absolutely correct, Miss, but you see, I do know a little about you."
"But I don't know you." She faced him again.
"Right, we have never met and even though I do not know your name, I have seen you before and had thought about introducing myself to you."
"Where have you seen me?" she asked.
"Here in the park," he answered, placing his right shoe on the edge of the park bench. "You do that at home?" she asked.
"No." He removed his foot.
"You say you saw me here in the park before?"
"Yep."
"When?"
"Well, the day you tried to knock yourself off by jumping in the river."
"You saw that?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, if I had been able to get over here a little sooner, perhaps you might not have taken the plunge in that crummy water. The joggers who came along made it to you before I did, but I found out where the ambulance had taken you just to make sure you were okay."
"Why do you want to make friends with someone who jumped overboard? Are you a psychiatrist?"
"No, do I look like a nutty doctor?" he smiled.
"A little, because they are known to wear white coats and I believe your clothing fits the description." She laughed and he joined her.
"Good point," he said, "but even if my white outfit does have some connotation in regard to quacks, I can assure you that in no way is there anything in my background and experience which has anything to ferret out the solutions to other's problems."
"If you are not a shrink, then I guess we can introduce ourselves. My name is Monica Rawlings."
"And my name is Jack Tyler. Actually my first name is John, but the nickname of Jack has stuck with me ever since I was a small tyke." Jack reached for her right hand and shook it.
"Glad to meet you, Monica."
"I'm happy to meet you, Jack."
"Where do you work, Monica?"
"How do you know that I am employed, Jack?"
"Because I have seen you coming out of the building on Liberty and I don't know of any types of schools in there."
"I am employed at the Quagmeyer Company."
"That company is supposed to be one of the better outfits in the city from what I hear. What kind of work do you do, Monica?"
"Right now, I am a trainee in the data processing department."
"You work with computers, then?"
"Yes."
"Do you find that profession to be interesting?"
"You bet," she answered, "the things going on with computers today makes the field so intriguing that there just doesn't seem to be any end to technological development. The knowledge that is obtainable in data processing is so great, that probably in one's lifetime, you couldn't learn everything that is happening. Quagmeyer does have many facets of d.p. and the opportunity to learn is constant. The people employed there take an active interest in promoting the ability and opportunity of their employees.
"Sounds as though you have an interesting position with the firm, Monica."
"I like the work. What kind of job do you have, Jack?"
"You probably will not believe this, but I am an artist."
"Where do you work?"
"Over in Gateway Four."
"What kind of work do you pump out?"
"I really don't like to think I pump out artwork, Monica, more in the way of creating expressions which make people happy."
"Has any of your work ever been entered in Rivers Arts Festival?"
"No, can't say that it has."
"Some of the stuff I have seen hanging up there is certainly open to question about being art."
"I would have to agree with you, Monica, some of that jazz is real trash, but as they say, beauty is in the eyes of the buyer."
"Those prices on things in the show leave much to the imagination, but nevertheless, pieces do sell and more amazing, is the selling price for some monstrosities."
"You should not place a value on a painting or drawing for less than fifty dollars, at least that is what my instructors used to tell me."
"But some of those items in the show, if not all, are priced so far off the beam, a buyer would have to almost have money to burn."
"Something tells me you are not a connoisseur of art, Monica," Jack said, upon glancing at his watch. "It has been nice talking with you, but I have to go. Will you be here tomorrow?"
"Maybe."
"If you do come down, will you be here around the same time?"
"Yes."
"See you tomorrow," he said, waving as he walked away. "Bye, Jack."
"Wonder what his game is?" she said aloud. "Oh, well, maybe tomorrow we can have another discussion. I better get back to work myself if I expect to keep the job I have now."
Monica saw another boat skimming along the river with a water skier. As she turned to go, the person on the skis hit the water. That move made her grit her teeth.
After completing work that day, Monica caught a taxi home because Rose had an appointment, which took her out of Pittsburgh earlier in the day.
This left Monica to fend on her own for the evening, and to cook whatever she desired to consume as food. When she looked around in the cabinets for something to quench her appetite, she decided to pass on the cereal and instead went to the refrigerator for a look at the meat. Monica found a small steak and selected the protein builder as her meal. After turning on the electric oven, she pulled a grilling sheet from the drawer beneath the oven and placed the steak on the sheet.
Monica watched the ring in the oven turn red and glow in the enclosure through the glass window. When the temperature was reached for the steak, she reached for the oven door and pulled it towards her just enough so she could reach up on top of the stove for the tray and place it into the inferno.
"That thing is really hot," she said, turning her head away from the heat. "Now I can relax for a few minutes while the stove does a job on the meat."
Twenty minutes later, Monica came back into the kitchen to view her dinner for the evening. She peered into the sizzling oven at her steak. "I believe the food is ready to be taken from the oven," she said, reaching for a potholder on top of the range. When she opened the door, the juices frying and the aroma filled her nostrils with the sense that only fried steak could give.
As she reached for the tray, she accidentally tilted the grill, allowing some juice to flow from its housing. The fluid hit the bottom of the oven with a splash causing flames to fly up at her. Shaken by what had occurred, Monica let go of the sheet and the oven door. "Help!"
"Why am I yelling," she said, "no one is here to help me."
Smoke from the burning of the grease flowed from the opening and forced Monica to put her hand over her nose. The darting flames and hissing sound caused by the fire frightened her. She pushed her wheelchair forward and slammed the door on the stove.
"Have to cut off the oxygen to keep the fire down," she said. "Good thing I remember something about science from high school." She didn't hear the apartment door open.
Rose yelled upon seeing the smoke coming from the kitchen. "Monica, where are you?"
Rose, followed by Bob, raced to the kitchen. Monica turned around when they entered.
"Hi, guys. I was just cooking something in the oven and had a little trouble. Nothing serious."
"Let me help you, Monica."
"Sure, Rose, but I don't think you can do much for the steak I was cooking."
Rose eyeballed the meat in the oven and agreed. "We could get Bob to go out and get us some hamburgers, would you like to do that for us, Bob?"
"Sure, I'll be back in two shakes, if you think you two can do without me here."
"I think we can struggle along," answered Rose.
"See you later, then."
"I'll clean up the oven, Monica, if you want to go in the living room for a while."
"No, that is okay, Rose, I have to take care of the mess since I am guilty for the smoke."
"What if we do the cleaning together?"
"Fine," answered Monica.
Monica reached into the oven and removed the tray with the darkened contents. "Do you need some shoe leather, Rose?"
"Not really," she answered.
"Let me throw this into the garbage heap, then, if you do not see any use for this meat which was cooked special for me." Monica picked up a fork and used the utensil to pull the burned steak from the sheet.
Rose proceeded to clean the oven.
A short time later, they completed the task and went to the living room.
"There is something I want to tell you, Monica, and I cannot keep the words back any longer," Rose said upon sitting down on the couch. "Bob and I are to be married in three weeks."
Monica's eye widened.
"I am so happy for you, Rose, I wish you two all the happiness."
Rose pushed herself from the couch and walked to Monica and hugged her warmly.
"Thank you, Monica, very much, because I know how much Bob meant to you at one time." A tear rolled down Monica's cheek.
"Why are you crying, Monica?"
"I am not crying, Rose, that is just a burst of joy."
"You will not have to worry about me leaving you alone here, Monica, because I have already found another roommate to share the apartment with you. Of course, she will be subject to your approval. I will bring her over next week and let you two get acquainted. One thing I have to mention to you is that she is a fiery redhead, but I don't believe her personality matches her hair color."
"Did you tell the prospective roommate that I live in a wheelchair?"
"Yes, Monica, but that doesn't make any difference to her."
A knock on the door interrupted their discussion. Rose walked over and opened the entrance.
"It's only me, Rose, the hamburger man," said Bob as he entered.
Rose turned to Monica and said, "Hamburger man is here and he brought something for us all to eat. Let's move on to the kitchen table."
"Congratulations, Bob," offered Monica as she entered the kitchen. "Rose told you already?"
"Yes, just before you returned."
"Let me get you two your great burgers," he said, reaching into a white bag. "Here you go, Monica, and here is one for you, Rose."
They unwrapped their sandwiches and began eating.
When Monica took her first bite, she wondered who her new roommate was to be and whether she would get along with her. She wished Rose could have stayed forever, but she knew nothing was endless.