We had to take a break during the morning to pose for a picture that was promised for a write-up in the next company newsletter. The writer was dutifully impressed by Angela’s history and efforts to improve herself, and by my, um, longevity. There was no media presence to worry about, as the company detailed a flack to intercept all inquiries and make sure no prospective customers were scared off by thoughts of gun-wielding bandits.
It was sobering to look at the young woman standing next to me and worry, not for the first time, what would happen to her if something happened to me. We were both single now, but I’d enjoyed 42 years of marriage — and effectively foreclosed that option for her. Any man who tried to enter into a relationship with Angela would be in for a real surprise; although between both jobs that possibility was remote.
A laughing Angela punched me in the shoulder. “Why so glum? Cheer up, Lloyd! Did you buy a lottery ticket while we’re still lucky?”
I was still feeling a touch morose when I clocked out at the end of the afternoon. My mood darkened when a young woman approached me just after I left the store. She was a looker, but I was already looking forward to Angel and didn’t need another disruption to my schedule. I hoped she wasn’t press; I’d already forgotten everything the company handler had told us about responding to queries.
“Are you Lloyd?” she asked, unexpectedly hesitant for whatever reason.
I was tempted to blow her off, but my parents had raised me not to lie. “Maybe,” was the best I could do.
“Lloyd? Can I talk to you about Angela?”
Drat. “No comment,” I mumbled, trying to look as forbidding as possible.
“What?” She looked confused.
“I said, ‘no comment.’ You have to talk to media relations if you want a story.”
The girl shook her head. “No, that wasn’t what I meant. You’re Angela’s friend Lloyd, right? I think she’s in trouble — can you help?”
“You have my attention,” I said, stopping abruptly.
She took a step or two more alone, before realizing I wasn’t there and doubling back. “Look, can we talk somewhere? Maybe get dinner?”
We ended up at Applebee’s. Or Chili’s. Or something; I don’t know, they were all the same to me. I ordered coffee and a burger; she, iced tea and some high-concept salad.
“Talk,” I suggested as soon as the waitress had left. “Start with your name.”
“Oh!” A comical look of dismay flitted across her face. “I’m sorry; I’m Rose. I’m Angela’s friend from high school, and now I live in the same building she does. I’ve heard so much about you, I forgot you might not know me.”
It sounded worse and worse the more I heard. I’d done a bit of a check a few years back when Angel was born, so to speak, but I’d neglected to consider Angela might reconnect with older acquaintances.
“I’m pleased to meet another friend of Angela’s,” I assured her. “I apologize for the rocky reception; I’m just a crotchety old man. Now — what’s happening with Angela?”
“I think she’s joined a cult,” Rose whispered, looking around us as if she suspected cultists might be lurking nearby.
That wasn’t what I’d expected to hear, but the good news was it sounded more like my problem rather than Angela’s problem. “Really?” I asked, aiming for a tone of curiosity rather than disbelief.
“You know she’s going to school in the evenings?” I nodded. “Well, I think she’s lying about it. Look, her birthday was last month, right?”
“Yes; the fifteenth, wasn’t it?” I asked. That was disingenuous; I knew it was. I had vivid memories of the wild party at Home Run where Angel had fucked 27 different guys — one for each year. She’d been a tousled, creamy mess when all of them, including two who’d earned their Home Run pins that night, finished with her. I’d been first, of course. I could feel myself stiffening slightly just thinking about it. Shaking off the distraction, I returned my focus to the girl sitting across from me. “Did something happen?”
“Yes! I mean, no!” Rose’s eyes sparked as my failure to dismiss her fears out of hand apparently buoyed her confidence. “Wait.” She took a breath. “Okay, I was going to surprise her and take her out for a little party, just the two of us, so I dropped by the University that evening. She wasn’t there at all!”
I already knew where she was going, but I couldn’t tell how much Rose knew and I needed time to think. I needed to do some damage control, at the very least. “Did she just skip class that night?” I asked, playing dumb, and started pushing. I want to help my friends alternated with I want to be discreet and I trust Lloyd.
“I don’t think so,” Rose reflected, unaware of the thoughts racing through my head. “I asked several of her classmates, and not one of them knew her — or recognized her when I described her. I mean, how likely is that?” I had to smile at her indignant outrage. “I don’t think she ever attended that class.”
“Could you just have gotten the wrong room?” I wondered. I hate nosy people.
She nodded. “I thought about that, too.” A trifle sheepishly, Rose admitted, “I started paying a lot closer attention to what she did. You remember that big flap with the electrical main at the end of the month?”
“The one where the worker accidentally blew the building transformer and blacked out the campus?” Something that colorful had made all the papers and news programs, of course; they’d had to cancel classes Friday and work all weekend to get the electricity working again.
“Exactly! Well, when I asked that weekend, she said she’d attended class as usual; she even made up details about the lecture. There was no way she could have been there. I know Angela lied to me about it!”
I stopped pushing and tried to work it out in my head. “I thought Angela didn’t have any classes on Friday,” I said slowly.
“She doesn’t,” Rose agreed. “That’s not my point. The power went out Thursday night. Right after dinner. Before her class. There was no way they could have held it, in the dark with no light or heat!”
Damn, what a sloppy mistake. I’d skimmed the news coverage and gotten the impression — obviously incorrect — it had happened later in the evening. The problem was, Angela didn’t believe she was lying, because the memory would be as clear as that of every other class she’d “attended” during the past two years, and Rose would never believe her friend hadn’t lied. “That seems pretty suspicious,” I belatedly commented after realizing Rose was waiting for my reaction.
“I thought so, too. So I’ve been trying to follow her.”
My blood froze, and then rethawed. If Rose had succeeded, she’d hardly be sitting here talking to me now, would she? I trust Lloyd. I’d do anything to help Angela.
“I didn’t have much luck,” Rose continued, unwittingly mirroring my thought. “There’s almost always this unmarked sedan that picks her up around the corner, and the few times I tried tailing it, I always lost it. All I know is that she goes somewhere in the direction of downtown.”
I made a mental note to ask the driver if he’d ever noticed anything — and if he had, why nobody had mentioned it to me.
Rose’s voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I even thought she might be moonlighting as a call girl,” she admitted with uncanny accuracy. She blushed faintly and added, “I sneaked a peek in her room once and she doesn’t seem to have any, you know, outfits.” I nodded, knowing Angel kept her wardrobe entirely at Home Run.
Throwing up her hands in exasperation, Rose concluded, “She’s too straight-laced for that, anyway; that much hasn’t changed. But there’s something not right about Angela, and I can’t figure out what it is. Please help me.”
There was an unhappy silence while the waitress returned with our food, and I pushed another round of I trust Lloyd and I’d do anything to help Angela at Rose for good measure.
“I want to help you, Rose,” I assured her when we were alone again. “I want to help Angela. But I need to think about this. Can I sleep on it, and contact you in a day or so? I promise not to leave you hanging.”
“Certainly,” she gushed, obviously relieved to have somebody she trusted helping her. “Let me give you my number!” Rose extracted a business card from her purse, scribbled a number on the back of it, and pushed it across the table to me. “That’s my private cell on the back, or you can call me at the office number if you need to.”
I tucked the card into a jacket pocket and we both addressed our meals in a more cheerful mood. Rose and I traded a few light-hearted Angela stories, and she was better company than I’d expected; it was easy to see why the two were friends. I was surprised to find myself tempted to fiddle more than I already had, but really, I knew next to nothing about this girl and I’d just had a refresher course on the perils of poor execution.
We parted later than I planned, and I headed home as fast as I could. I didn’t need dinner, but I’d have to pass on the music and study this evening to have a hope of staying on schedule. Luckily, it sounded like Angela unwittingly was a lecture ahead of where she should have been anyway; I made a mental note to have Danny’s contact at the University procure an updated lesson plan, if there was one.
As if to make up for the day, Home Run was a progressive disaster that night. I was late despite my best efforts, and Danny himself was cooling his heels inside the back entrance — never a good sign.
“Jesus, Lloyd, why don’t you answer your fucking phone?” he burst out the moment I made it inside the door.
“I’m too old to be a slave to a chunk of electronics,” I told him. “Where’s Angel?”
“Put that thought on hold, buddy. I need you to fix a problem first. We’ve got a situation in the gold suite that needs to be addressed ASAP.”
I felt frustrated and wanted my Angel. I’m sure Danny, who knew me pretty well, sensed it.
“Lloyd!” He braced my shoulders, forcing me to look him in the face. “Don’t worry about Angel; she’s fine. Look, I switched her and Crystal, and she’s in the lesbo lounge. You can’t break in on paying customers, okay? You’ll still be first in line when she gets out.”
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