A Matter Of Respect Ch. 02

I decided to take a look around my new home away from home. The walls were stained wood, a dark cherry color. Just inside my office door and to the right is another door. It has a smoked glass panel with Ms. Peregot stenciled in gold foil. So the gal has been here a while. Well established within the company. That's good for me. A few steps into the office and it opens up nicely. A huge center desk, maybe oak. Behind the desk is a huge panoramic window with a grand view of the city below. The window looks tinted. To the left of the desk is a small sofa and four wooden chairs. To the right is a row of wooden cabinets and a big bookshelf built into the wall. A remote is sitting on the desk. I pick it up, look at the buttons. I hit the power button, and the face of the bookshelf moves forward and around silently, revealing a bank of monitors. The room grew dim suddenly. I looked behind me, and the huge window had turned a solid shade of dark grey. Upon closer inspection I saw the window had several layers of glass. Possibly some kind of liquid crystal display. Either way, it was pretty damned cool. There was a small rotary knob on the bottom of the remote. I turned it a few clicks, and the window lightened a bit. I turned the knob a bit more and it was completely transparent. Yep, kiddo. This place has a little money invested in security. I walked to the bookcase and inspected the bank of monitors. All flat screen. Each had a single camera image. I punched a button on the remote, and the top monitor divided into four split screen images. This is going to take a little while to master, I thought. It was a challenge, though. And I certainly love a challenge. 

Behind the desk was a big chair. It looked like the Cadillac of office chairs. Black leather. Just my style. I sat down into the chair, and for a moment it felt like returning to the womb. The chair was heavy and solid. It lovingly enveloped me. Every curve and contour of my body was attended to. I pushed to one side and it slid across the floor with a silent glide. I decided to give the office the ultimate test. I propped my feet up on the huge desk. Just the right height. I pushed the chair backward to stretch my legs. I stretched and rested my arms behind my head. Not bad for an old hick. Not bad at all. There is a big Dell sitting on my new desk. I click it on and watch the bios screen go through the motions. Less than a year old, too. It's newer than the one I have at home. The screen changes a few times, then stops at a solid blue screen with a welcome message on it in white text. Well ain't that just nice. 'Welcome to our company. We're glad to have you.' the white letters read. I click the mouse once and the screen changed, flashing a prompt to establish a password. Someone here thinks of everything, now don't they? I enter my standard password, and the screen changes again to a panoramic picture of the surface of the moon. Icons denoting employees, interoffice functions, current security protocols and other obligatory crap are dotting the wide flat monitor screen. I'll have to tackle all or part of this information before the next few days are over with. Whoopee. Right now, I think I just need to get a feel for this place. If everyone here is as cordial as young Mr. hot shot, i'm up shit creek without a paddle. 

I have this little ritual I observe. Sometimes it's a way of learning a place. Sometimes it's a way of dealing with a very stressful situation. Either way it works for me. I try to make myself perfectly still, in the most comfortable position possible. Then I just listen. Rest has never came to me easily. Even as a young child I wouldn't sleep. My mind never slows down long enough to allow me to fall into a deep sleep. It's like the tv in my head is in the hands of some snotty little heathen child, and that little shit won't quit changing the channels. After many years of doctor's visits and trips out of state to sleep centers and specialists, I just accepted the fact that I don't sleep. So for exactly ten minutes I am going to sit here and just absorb this place. I look at my Relic watch and note the time, prop my hands behind my head and become perfectly still. At first the sensation is hard to achieve. I have learned to isolate sounds one at a time, then diagnose one for what it is. Everything it is. I always search for the first sound, which is the faint ticking of my watch. I inhale and exhale deeply, then strain for the sound. Tick tick tick tick. From there it's like a scavenger hunt for the ears. I can hear Ms. Peregot moving about. I isolate her. Next I hear heels clocking down the hallway. Two pair, now three. One set of footsteps running to catch the other three. This office is a great place for this little ritual. The walls are solid. The high tech window behind me is very thick and quite soundproof. Somewhere in this room is a clock I haven't seen yet. I haven't seen it, but I know it's here. Time passes in strange ways when concentrating like this. When you think it is dragging, it is flying by. When you think it is flying by, well you know. 

I looked at my watch. Ten minutes have come and gone. I reached down and pulled my old straight razor out of my right boot and began trimming my nails. There was a soft knock. I looked up to see Ms. Peregot standing there with a stack of paper in her arms.

"May I sir?" She asked curtly.

"Certainly ma'am. I was just, ah, trying out the furniture." I said, almost blushing.

"Nothing to worry about sir. Every person who sits in that chair has done that to my knowledge. Male and female."

"Well that's a relief." I responded smiling.

She walked to the desk and laid the papers out neatly. Four stacks. All with company letterhead, all with titled cover pages. Things to be done once they are signed. No job is complete until the paperwork is done. Ms. Peregot pulled up a chair and crossed her legs. She seemed perfectly at ease in here, and I liked that. She pointed out the content of each stack of paper. One was for the purchase order and installation of four particle detection devices, commonly called sniffers. One was for the purchase and installation of six separately powered timers for the elevator shutdown switches. One was for the purchase and installation of metal lock boxes for the shutdown switches themselves. The last stack was a memorandum to the building super detailing my intended changes, asking for his input and suggestions. The additional pages were a breakdown of my changes to the security functions of our three floors. 

My mother used to tell me, if you think a lady deserves a complement, by all means give her one.

"Young lady you're quite impressive. How did you manage to compile all this so fast?" I asked.

"Mr. Finch keeps a microcassette recorder in his jacket. He uses it alot. He had his secretary Ms.Lockhart transcribe it and emailed it to me about fifteen minutes ago." She answered.

"Well now, you're a speed demon with a word processor." I looked down at my watch. "I've only been in this office for twenty eight minutes. It's obvious you are worth every penny they pay you. So young Mr. hot shot likes to record everything we say, eh?" I replied. My dislike for Mr. hot shot was definitely well founded. Something was telling me he had the makings of a genuine egg sucking motherfucker.

"Yes he does, and it is irritating as hell at times. I have a good place here, so I always do my best. I enjoy my job and the people I work with, most of the time." She said matter of factly. Kinda like it was something she looked forward to saying. Maybe didn't get to say enough.

"Well young lady, I have no intention of doing anything willingly to make you dislike working with me. You let me know what it is you are supposed to do and I won't ask you to do anything you shouldn't be expected to."

"Well thank you sir, and you don't have to call me young lady. The formality is appreciated, though." She responded with a genuine smile. 

"You don't have to call me sir if you don't like. My middle name is Lee. That's what I usually go by unless things are formal. And calling you young lady isn't a formality. It's just a matter of respect." She smiled at this. 

"If you don't mind me asking, what is that you are holding?" She said, looking at my old straight razor in my right hand. I had closed it as we talked, out of habit. 

'This is an old straight razor. I carry it everywhere ." I told her.

"Why is that?" She asked.

"Do you want the long version or the short version?" I asked her with a smile.

"The long version will be fine by me." She answered curtly. She had a smile on her face that comforted me a bit. I couldn't blame her for feeling me out a bit. I opened the razor and laid it out on the desk lengthwise. The blade shone in the light. 

"Young lady if you'll order us something to eat i'll be happy to give you the full story."

"What would you like? There is a good italian place around the corner from us."

"Surprise me. I'm pretty much an equal opportunist when it comes to food. And put it all on one check please."

She smiled and walked back into her office. I could hear low words spoken into a phone, and a few moments later she returned.

"So do I have to wait until we eat or will you tell me now?" She asked, resuming her seat. Her eyes were bright green. They reminded me of my cat Christine's eyes. Women with eyes like that are always smart, I reminded myself. 

"I got this old thing when I was seventeen. The day of my seventeenth birthday to be exact. A lady named Mrs. Owlsley gave it to me. I used to pass her house on my way to school every morning. I started doing odd jobs for her. She told me it used to belong to her husband. He got it during the occupation. He was one of the first men to set foot in the sand at Normandy. He got it off of a dead kraut and kept if until he died. I did a little research on the stamping on the shank of the blade a few years back. Apparently Germany and Poland had a pretty good relationship at one point, they traded alot between the two of them. The razor was made in Poland in 1902 and sold in Germany." 

She was listening raptly. The attention of a pretty woman always flattered me. 

"Any way, I got into the habit of carrying it with me. History kind of fascinates me sometimes. Especially world war two."

"Do you mind?" She asked, motioning toward the razor with her hand. 

"Not at all, just be very careful. It's very sharp. It'll lay you to the bone with the slightest touch."

She picked the old razor up gingerly, holding it by the handle and the back of the blade.

"What does this mean?" She asked, looking at engraving on the blade. It read NAILS in calligraphy. 

"That's a nickname the mayor's wife gave me back home. Don't ask me where she got it. The name kinda stuck. And I'd had that razor so long that at the time it just seemed just kinda natural to put my name on it." I explained.

She laid the razor back on the table carefully. I picked it up and closed it, flicked my wrist and the blade popped out, swished it to one side and spun it around. The blade was a dancing silver streak. 

"Is there any paper in this big ol' desk of mine?" I asked her.

"Should be. I stocked it before you got here." She replied. Her eyes were glued to the dancing razor in my hand. I kept it spinning in graceful circles with my right hand as I looked through the many desk drawers with my left. I found a drawer with a cache of pens, pencils, and a neat stack of blank white paper. I pulled a single sheet off the top of the stack. I held it up and danced the razor across its surface. The paper didn't move. 

"You didn't touch it." She said, smiling. 

I stood and leaned across the desk, holding the paper over her lap. I blew a big huff of air against the paper. A paper flower fell in her lap. I lifted the paper and smiled at her through the flower shaped cutout. She squealed in delight. She picked the paper flower up like it was made of fine ivory. 

"Needless to say, this old gal and I have been friends for a long time." I said proudly. "She's got me out of some pretty messy situations. And I still shave with her every morning."

"Wow." Ms. Peregot said. "That's so cool."

I looked at the gleaming silver blade, then to her.

"It's good to have friends you can trust." I said with a smile and closed the razor with a practiced snap of the wrist. I sild it back in my boot then looked at the pretty young woman pensively for a moment. 

"So." I said abruptly. "Ask me anything you want to know. I'll do my best to asnwer. And be as candid as you like. I'm a firm believer that people who work together closely have to communicate."

"Well, first off. You're very polite. Are you Catholic?" She asked.

This tickled me a little. I smiled and tented my fingers in front of me. 

"I didn't know the Catholics were the world standard for courtesy. But no, i'm not Catholic. Matter of fact, if I set foot in a church it would very damned likely burn to the ground. I'm not much for religious faith. I have nine older sisters. My dad died when I was very young.Between my mother and my sisters I got a healthy dose of chivalry real quick like." 

"Wow." She replied. "It's a miracle you're not - "
 
I held my right hand up, palm out. 

"If you're going to say it's a miracle i'm not gay or don't hate women, honey please don't. I've heard that line a few thousand times too many. Trust me."

She smiled and giggled as she spoke.

"Ok, you are right. I bet you have. It's just that it's not every day I meet a true southern gentleman." 

"Is that what I am?"

"I think so. Accent and all."

I drug my speech out into an intended exaggerated drawl. 

"Now why wood you-all wanna go on an' say somethin' like that?" I slurred. 

We both laughed and exchanged a big grin. I knew I was going to enjoy working with this lady. She had class. Genuine class. One of the monitors suddenly blinked red twice. The image changed to an overhead view of a woman in her early twenties. She had a brown paper bag in one hand. She was wearing a red and green shirt and a matching hat. Looking at the background, I could see she was standing in an elevator.  

"Looks like our food is here." I said. "How do I buzz Mr. Finch?"

"Punch the red button on your telephone." She answered, then paused. "You're not going to, you know, Are you?"

I just smiled back at her and pushed the red button. The answer was almost immediate.

"Finch here."

"Mister Finch we have a visitor. Welcome them in, will you?" I said in my most exaggerated drawl, then pushed the button, terminating the call.

"Oh my god." Ms. Peregot said with a surprised smile. "Did you just send Finch to check out the delivery girl?"

"If Mr. hot shot is going to talk the talk, he's going to walk the walk. Nobody in this business is above doing a little footwork. " I said bluntly. 

"Nails, I can tell i'm going to like working for you." She said, still smiling.  

"Why thank you young lady. I'll take that as a complement. Now, is there anywhere in this place to eat besides our offices?" I asked.

"Yes, actually there is a very nice place. The balcony outside the conference room. Alot of us eat there on our breaks."

A knock came at the door. Ms. Peregot began to stand, but I stood and took for the door. I opened it to find the young delivery girl. She spoke up instantly.

"Who pissed in his cheerios?" She said, looking back over her shoulders. I didn't see anyone behind her, but I was certain Mr. Finch was stalking his way back down the hallway to his office. Good for him. Humility will do him some good. 

"I'm sorry about that ma'am. He has a severe case of optical rectitis. One of the symptoms is a short temper."

I pulled my wallet out and fished out a twenty and handed it to the delivery girl. She started digging into a little pouch at her side. 

"No need for change hon. You have a good day, and thank you." I told her.

She smiled back at me and handed me the bag with our food in it. I closed the door behind her as she left. The aroma coming from the bag was tantalizing. I took the food to my desk and sat it close to Ms. Peregot. 

"Shall we?" I asked.

"Love to." She responded. 

Standing next to her as she sat, I was given a generous view of her cleavage. Smooth tanned skin. Perfectly even texture. Better still, she was smiling up at me perfectly knowing I was enjoying the view. From where I was standing, she looked like a mighty fine piece of real estate. 

She stood and left her paper flower on my desk. We made our way out of my office and up the hallway to the conference room. As I was closing the door behind us she turned and asked me. " Exactly what is optical rectitis?"

I responded with a smile. 

"That's a medical condition where the muscles in your eyes cross with the muscles in your ass and give you a shitty outlook on life." 

She laughed aloud and blessed me with the biggest smile I had seen in months. Man oh man, when this girl smiles she is nuclear hot. Outside the conference room  is a long wide balcony, dotted here and there with picnic tables and chairs. All very elegant, simple and pretty. Heavy marble tabletops with formed concrete legs and benches all painted to match. Seems every corner I turned in this place reminded me of how much money there was floating around. She sat at a table and began taking our food out of the bag.

"So I notice you didn't ask me if there were any company policies against commiserating with the staff?" She prompted.

"Actually I didn't ask, but you did tell me. In a way. Let's just say it's obvious you take your job seriously, so you wouldn't take such a risk lightly." 

"Well you're observant. Hope you like calzones."

"I do. I make them every now and then."

"Oh please. Don't tell me you can cook, too."

"Young lady" I responded with a sly smile "I cook in every room of the house."

"Do you now? Where do you live? Here in town?" She asked. She had a gleam in her eyes. She was giving me a fuck me smile if I've ever seen one. 

"I live about thirty miles east of here, off the interstate. Know where the Trebenaeu Plantation is?" 

"Yes." She said with obvious enthusiasm. " They have These rows of huge pecan trees that run alongside the interstate for miles." There was tangible awe in her voice.

"Actually, there's no 'they'. I bought the whole shebang three weeks ago." I said. I was anticipating a response, and brother did I ever get one. Her eyes lit up like a storefront in Nawleans on Fat Tuesday.

For about the next half hour she asked me just about every question she could think of. Soon our meal was finished, and surprisingly enough she had asked me if I minded showing her around the place. 

"I wouldn't mind in the least." I told her.

( And believe me, I didn't mind that look in her eyes either.)

"How about tomorrow afternoon. I'm off work tomorrow, and I can be there at six. Would that be good for you?"

"Yes." I said with a smile. "That would be good for me."

Fade To Black