Mrs. James, in her now accustomed spot in the lobby, was crocheting a black and gray beanie, popular colors for snowboarders. She often longed for something a little more colorful. Maybe the next order, she chuckled, ruefully, would be a white one, to break up the monotony. Looking up, she saw R.M. at the door, and went over to let him in. Gervase, running a quick errand upstairs, had told her he was coming.
“Afternoon, Mrs. James,” R.M. smiled, “and thank you. Are you the new Gervase?”
“He’s just gone upstairs. Would you come and sit with me while you are waiting?” she invited, indicating her chair. “I’m just here working on a hat for The Society.”
“I’m actually here waiting to meet a buyer, so yes I will join you.” he replied, taking a seat next to hers. “I have an appointment for a second showing on a unit upstairs – my single party.”
“Unfortunately, we may have another listing in here very soon but not one we want. Have you heard the dreadful news about the Cabots?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” he replied.
“Well, of course, we’ve only just heard ourselves. Our residents, John and Cathy Cabot, who own the Cathay Imports shop, went on a routine buying trip to the Orient and apparently they were on the plane that crashed there yesterday. All passengers are reported dead.”
“I did hear about the crash. And they were both passengers, you say?”
“So I understand. Gervase tells me that their son Sebastian will be here soon to handle their affairs. Their other son Matthew is also traveling in the east. He’s in the business too.” She paused. “It’s so awful. Such nice people. And such good neighbors to me. That’s where Gervase is at the moment, up taking care of their two cats.” Just then Gervase emerged from the elevator.
“Bon jour Gervase.” R.M. began, then stopped and said, “Well perhaps not so good. Mrs. James has just been telling me the news.”
“Very sobering news, yes. You don’t realize what a community we have here until something like this happens. Like losing family…why is it always the good ones, eh?” Then changing the subject he said, “I’ve been wanting to tell you that a man claiming to be a realtor tried to get in the building to pre-view a listing. I said there were no listings for him to see.”
“Odd.” replied R.M. “Any name?’
“I didn’t ask – and he didn’t say. Reddish hair though.”
“Hmnn. Well, I’m here to meet my buyers. They want another look at that unit. Usually a good sign.”
“Do people often keep you waiting like this?” asked Mrs. James, pulling out lengths of yarn from the depths of her workbag.
“Oh, this is nothing. Often I have to wait outside in the car and watch for them, especially where the parking is tricky. This is a more comfortable wait than I usually have. If they don’t show up, at least I’m warm, dry, and in good company.”
“What? People don’t come to an appointment they made with you?”
“It happens. I call it ‘getting stiffed’. So I always confirm by phone or e-mail the day before. Occasionally they still don’t show up, or call either.”
“But that’s so rude!” she exclaimed.
“But I always turn up, living in hope. Ah, here they are now, anyway. I’m off and running then.” he said, waving at his buyers through the glass. “Nice to chat, and sorry about your news.”
R.M opened the outside door to his buyers, and to Hans at the same time. Hans stopped to visit with Mrs. James and he too was informed about events. He had not personally known the Cabots, who had lived on her floor, as well as Mrs. James had, but it was shocking news. It seemed as though their association was in for some rocky times, what with this loss and the proposed building next door. He was glad he was only the treasurer and not totally responsible for shoring up morale amongst the residents.
So, when he was offered a trip out of town by one of the glossy magazines to which he regularly contributed articles, to cover a convention, ‘Accounting Then and Now’, he readily agreed, even though he suspected he was a last minute substitute or alternate. A change of pace was way overdue, even if it was only with a bunch of accountants, and in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan.
Maybe, he considered, he would just call Peter before he went out of town and mention that he was still in circulation and going to a ‘high-powered’ convention. After he got back, would Peter like to come over and hear about the trip, perhaps make them one of his delicious suppers? Maybe he could contrive to open a cupboard and ask Peter about the missing stuff. Anyway, he would have more time, while he was away, to think of a good way to handle this problem.
When he rang Peter’s number, he got the answering machine. Surprise, surprise.
“Listen Peter; remember I told you I was hoping to get out of town for a few days? I’ll be going to a convention next weekend and be home Monday afternoon. Wondering if you’d come over to see me – how about Monday night? Got something I’d like to talk with you about. Let me know. Bye…” he trailed off, reluctant to say any more, worried that he’d said too much already.
*
“I’ve got some news for you Rusty”. Peter bent his head close to the perspiring Rusty, who was laboring above his chosen instrument of exercise torture.
“Whaa,” panted Rusty, not even looking up.
“We can go over to that building next weekend,” he crooned, sing-song-like, “anytime you want.”
“Yeah?” Rusty’s head came up this time and his pace slowed.
“I can pick you up… drive us over there.” he drawled.
“Sunday, then – late.” Rusty gasped out.
“It’s a date then.” Peter declared, noticing that Rusty looked a bit peculiar as he’d said that. Perhaps, Peter decided, he was just pushing Rusty too hard, too fast.
“Take it easy, Rusty.” Peter advised. “Don’t overdo it all at once. Save some of your energy for other things. A nice swim and a soak, maybe.” he suggested as he turned away, wagging his finger. “Call me on Sunday. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Knowing that Hans was going to be away inspired Peter’s overactive imagination to play out some desirable scenarios. At first he’d been planning to offer Rusty a whole weekend together but that, he concluded, would be taking too much of a risk of being seen in the building. He didn’t want to be seen; some resident snoop who remembered him would likely squeal back to Hans. And besides, he wouldn’t have much time to clean up after an entire weekend there anyway, not with Hans back so soon afterward on Monday afternoon. So when Rusty chose Sunday night, that would be cutting it fine anyway. His hopes dimmed but he’d make the most of it, yes he would, with a chance like this.