Norman wasn’t cheap by nature, but it bothered him that they kept coming out with new features every few months. Mixing up old parts to make something new was Norman’s little act of anarchy against the system.
Wallis slid the paper around feeling herself growing more frustrated.
“Laurel? I can’t remember, does the paper go face down or face up? We should really put a sign on this thing,” she said, sounding more agitated than she had meant.
Laurel squeezed in behind Wallis, ducking under the fuse box on the back wall to get around her.
“Face down, just like the arrow says. I didn’t put a sign here because this one is correct,” she said, emphasizing the last word.
“Problem?” asked Wallace, trying to force the tension out of her voice.
“It’s not like I don’t know who ‘we’ is, meaning me, and it’s not like I don’t see something that needs doing and take care of it, all the time.”
“I’m sorry, bad morning. You’re absolutely right,” said Wallis, slipping her hand into her pocket again, feeling the edge of the paper with her finger.
“It’s not like you to snap. We’ve had clients worried about the safety of their children and you were still as calm and cool. I can’t imagine how bad it would have to get before you’d tense up.” Laurel eyed Wallis, scrutinizing her for clues.
“Did you reach Jim yet?” said Wallis.
“Second time today you’ve used Jim as a diversion. Okay, but I’m going to figure this one out. I always do. You could save both of us a lot of trouble and trust me now, but either way, I’m putting the pieces together.”
“And Jim?”
“Yes, I got him. The message is in your pile as per your usual routine, if I’m not being too insubordinate, that is.”
Wallis managed a small smile, rubbing her forehead, feeling the beginning of a headache.
“Thank Goodness for you, Laurel, or I might actually run the risk of ever being too big for my britches.”
“It’s on my resume, as you recall. And Jim said Mr. Woermer’s a little out of your league, a seven minute runner, but he has a list of more appropriate names. I think he meant slower.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“He mentioned he used to train with Stanley when he was still running marathons, and he said Stanley still shows up for the Saturday morning runs over at Runner Bill’s on the South Side. Is that where you know him from?”
“I’m due in court.” Wallis jabbed send on the fax machine and started to slide past Laurel out of the closet. Laurel put her hand on Wallis’ arm and stopped her, dropping her voice to a whisper.
“Are you in some kind of trouble? You do know you can trust me, right? Because I’d really be insulted if I found out you even had to wonder about that.”
“I do know that,” she said quietly, “thank you.”
“Excuse me.” A young woman with a serious expression under short blonde hair against pale skin, wearing charcoal grey trousers and a white shirt with embroidered vines across the front stood at the door to the closet. “I’m here to see Mr. Weiskopf?”
“Sure,” said Patty from behind her, “let me ring him for you. What’s your name, honey?”
“Annie Brody,” she said turning slowly toward Patty. “I have an appointment. Sara Kaye recommended him.” She sputtered out toward the end of the sentence, the words trailing off.
Annie Brody stood at the corner of Patty’s desk listening to her page Norman and glancing nervously back at Wallis and Laurel, never showing any expression except the small hints of worry in her eyes. The color of her skin and hair made her blue eyes stand out on her face, the one spot of color that came naturally to her.
“Hi Annie,” said Wallis. Annie gave a small half-wave but didn’t move from the spot.
“You want to take a seat?” said Patty.
“Sure, sure,” she said, looking around like she’d just noticed there were seats in the room. “Over there,” she said, pointing to the chair nearest the stairs and looking back to Laurel and Patty.
“Sure, honey. Take any chair you like. We won’t mind,” said Patty, her usual tone of voice making it sound like more of a judgment. The woman gingerly sat on the edge of the seat.
Laurel turned her back and made a face at Wallis.
“Norman, Annie Brody is here to see you,” said Patty into the phone. “Sure, okay. He said to go on up, these stairs here, and it’s the office to the right. Good luck honey,” said Patty, hanging up the phone and pushing her glasses back up her nose.
“It’s become like a code word around here, Sara Kaye sent me,” said Patty, once Annie Brody was safely out of range. “I feel like I’m part of some women’s network for Junior League businesses,” she muttered.
“They like Norman, they find him to be absent of judgment,” said Wallis. Patty and Laurel both let out a laugh.
“So true,” said Patty.
“Hello, ladies.” The secretary who worked at St. Stephens, the local Episcopal Church located just across the river, darted in the back door, dropping a brown padded envelope on Patty’s desk.
“Hi Evelyn,” said Patty. “I’ll see Norman gets this. Is it a rush?”