In between a number of phone calls, several questions entered her mind. She wondered why he preferred Lennie instead of Larry. Why did he have one dimple instead of two? Where did he work? Did he get his good looks from his mother or his father? Or could he be a perfect blend of both? Was he required to wear nice suits to work? Or was he a man of brawn and stature no matter what he wore? She hesitated to answer the next telephone call as another question loomed over her.
Was he married?
Randall Osborne, executive editor of The Nation’s News, stood in the middle of the office and made an unexpected announcement. “I want each department editor in the conference room.”
As soon as everyone jammed inside, Randall began his tirade. “Listen up! We need meaningful stories, and soon. I heard moments ago that The State’s Chronicle is shutting down. As you know, the economy is in a slow recovery and many companies have held on as long as they could. Whether the economy fully recovers this year or next, news will always sell. I need each of you to ruffle whatever feathers you have to. Just bring me news! I want something fresh. Something no one else has. I don’t want our paper being the next one on the chopping block. You have families, right? Mortgages to pay?” Everyone nodded. “Then get it done people. We’re not going to make news by standing around. Let’s get to it!”
As soon as Sherelle returned to her desk, she sifted through files for story ideas sent to her over the past three months. Then she shoved several files in her bag and hoped she'd run across several interesting stories worth pursuing before she went to sleep tonight.
At the end of the day, she left the office much later than she'd planned. Hopes of seeing Lennie faded. After boarding the train, she slumped in a seat and kicked off her shoes. Sherelle pulled her toes forward then squeezed her sore heel. She tried to remember the last time she went to the spa. Wished she had time to spend a half hour to not only soak her feet but also get a facial. After Randall’s speech today, it didn’t seem possible that she would have time for such luxuries. And the thought of getting eight hours of sleep any time soon was preposterous. Even if she had time to sleep she’d only toss and turn all night. The hardwood floor took a toll on her body. Once again Sherelle vowed to get a bed. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
“Hello.”
Sherelle smiled so wide she was too embarrassed to look at him.
“Mind if I sit down?” Lennie asked.
Sherelle lowered her foot to the floor and tried, but failed, to contain her excitement. “Please,” she said, inching closer to the window, hugging her handbag as though it might protect her. From what? She wasn't quite sure.
“Here, let me do that.” Sherelle’s quizzical frown prompted Lennie to grab her ankle and place her leg across his knee. His thumbs penetrated deep into her sole then he worked his fingers to her toes and heel then back again.
At first Sherelle flinched from the pain then she moaned and leaned her head back. “Oh, that feels good. Thank you. Thank you.”
“You look tired.”
“When I get home, I’m going straight to bed,” she said, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I won’t even order take-out. I just hope I can get in and out of the shower without passing out on the floor.”
“It’s that bad, huh?”
“Afraid so.”
“Tell you what, why don’t we pretend tonight is Saturday and I prepare dinner.”
Sherelle pulled away and straightened in her seat. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that. Surely you don’t think I said all that to get you to prepare my dinner, do you?”
“Is that what you’re doing? You’ve got a lot of nerve!” Lennie pressed his fist against his lips to conceal an incorrigible smile.
“I am so sorry. Honest, I wasn’t trying to swindle you out of a meal.”
No longer able to suppress his amusement, Lennie laughed. By the time he gathered himself, Sherelle’s beautiful skin paled to that of boiled hamburger meat. Her sullen expression transformed her pretty amber eyes into the semblance of tidal waves. Lennie felt swallowed up by those eyes, yet he’d imprecate a curse on the first man who offered him a rope. And if he wasn't afraid of scaring her off, he'd pry her pursed lips apart with a kiss.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. You sounded so serious.”
Sherelle looked at his delightful dancing eyes. She shook her head, made a fist, and tapped him on the arm. “That wasn’t fair.”
“You need to know I’d never think you’d swindle me out of anything.” Together they laughed. “So, how about it? Let me cook for you,” he pleaded.
“Nope. We can wait until Saturday. I do this all the time. I just had a rough day that’s all. I always get through it.”
“All the more reason for me to do the cooking. If you’re more comfortable with me coming to your place, I can. Or I can drop dinner off. Either way, you won’t have to worry with dinner tonight. You can eat then go straight to sleep.”
“You’re sweet, but I think I’ll pass.” She crinkled her nose.
“What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll bite?”
His dreamy eyes made her feel warm. Effortless, his dimple deepened whether he smiled or not. It fascinated her how his shrewd, clean-shaven jawline commanded attention. If she dare touch the cleft in his chin with her fingertip, she felt certain it’d fit perfect.
“I know you won’t bite, ” she said, a bashful smile emerging. “I just feel you should have other things to do than deal with my madness. I’ve been too preoccupied with work and I need to stop and take better care of myself.” Sherelle sighed and tightened her arms around her handbag then stared out the window. “And if I don’t take time to shop for a bed, I’ll end up with back pain,” she mumbled as if speaking to the tinted glass.
Lennie eyed her reflection in the window. “You mean to tell me you don’t have a mattress and box spring? Did I hear you right? For six months, you’ve slept on the floor?” Lennie bumped Sherelle’s arm. “You—don’t—have a bed?”
Sherelle cowered in her seat and winced as she looked into Lennie’s eyes. “No,” she whispered. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”
“I’m glad you did. Instead of dinner Saturday, I think we need to do lunch and spend the rest of the afternoon getting you a bed.”
“You have a truck?” Sherelle sat straight.
“Not exactly, but furniture stores deliver. If not, the hardware stores have trucks we can rent.”
“I didn’t know hardware stores rented trucks.”
Lennie laughed. “What do you say? Dinner?”
“On Saturday?”
“Tonight. Let me prepare dinner tonight. On Saturday we’ll have lunch at eleven-thirty then shop for a bed. Sounds good?”
“Major— I’m sorry. Larry. Wait.” Sherelle cocked her head. “Isn’t Larry short for Laurence?”
“I have six brothers. One is named Larry. My brothers started calling me Lennie before I could walk. And it stuck.”
“Six? ” Sherelle stretched her eyes. “Brothers?” Sherelle pushed against the seat. “Wow!”
“Yep. Six.”
“If you don't mind my asking, where are you in the food chain?”
“I’m the last one,” he said with a smile.
“You’re the baby? But you don’t have the characteristics of a younger child.”
“And what does that mean?” Lennie choked with laughter.
“I babysat as a teenager. It always seemed to me that the youngest child was the one who caused the most trouble. You’re nothing like that.”
“Thank you!” With prayerful hands, Lennie looked toward the ceiling. “I’d hate to know what that looks like.”
“Believe me, you don’t want to know. I could tell you horror stories. The whining, crying, and the tricks they play not only on you, but also on their parents. I’m glad I never lived in any of those homes. What chaos. Whew!” Sherelle waved a dismissive hand. “I want you to know
I appreciate your offer to cook. I seem to be more indebted to you every time I see you.”
“If you want to look at it that way, that’s on you. I’d like to think I’m helping out an old friend.”
“If my dad were here he’d have a fit knowing I slept on the floor. Momma would be horrified.”
“So you haven’t told them.”
“Are you kidding? They’d show up unannounced if they knew. Matter of fact, I’d enter my apartment and find my bed made, dinner cooked, and I’d have a kitchen filled with groceries. And they’d demand I take a day off from work. No, I promise you, Eric and Charlotte Lindsey have no idea.”
The train stopped.
“My place or yours?” Lennie asked.
“Lennie, I don’t know—”
He gently lifted her hand and placed it on his arm and guided her left toward his apartment. “My place it is.”
# # #
Sherelle thought she’d see a typical bachelor’s pad with clothes scattered on the floor, a messy bathroom, a half-filled refrigerator, and boxes of all sorts stacked in the front room. But the first thing she noticed—an apartment twice the size of hers and, dare she admit it, much cleaner. He had a full refrigerator, clean countertops, a nice dinner table set as if he expected guests at any moment. Soft beige china trimmed in gold sat in the middle of red chargers, complemented by silver and gold flatware. Rose colored goblets accented the table. Napkins with marbled shades of dark rose and ruby red lay atop plates.
Photographs of toddlers, teenaged boys, graduation ceremonies, and weddings hung on walls and dressed coffee tables. A large distinguished, basilic portrait of two people hung above the fireplace.
“Your mother and father?” Sherelle asked.
“Yes.”
“I love the headdress.”
“She's from Nigeria.”
Nigeria? “Hmm.” Sherelle took a closer look at the portraits and decided that Lennie indeed looked more like his father.
Sherelle sat on the couch, prim and proper—her knees pressed together and her hands in her lap—until Lennie insisted she relax. Too tired to argue, Sherelle curled her legs under her, rounded her shoulders, and allowed a well of hair to hide her face. Within moments Sherelle’s eyelids glued together.
Lennie moved around the kitchen as quiet as possible while he prepared the meal. He grilled three chicken breasts then made a chicken salad filled with lettuce, spinach, green olives, tomatoes, onion, snow peas, walnuts, apples, mandarin oranges, and dried cranberries. While crescent rolls heated in the oven, he woke Sherelle.
“Dinner’s ready. You can freshen up in the bathroom if you like.”
Sherelle stretched her arms and yawned. “Thank you.”
A left turn landed her in a dim-lit spare bedroom where everything inside resembled an espionage scene in a movie. She looked over her shoulder and watched as Lennie opened and closed cabinet doors. Assured Lennie hadn’t seen her at the wrong door, her curiosity pulled her farther into the room where she noticed a dark computer screen. Powerless to resist, she moved the mouse and watched as “CIA” scrolled across the monitor. Startled, she stepped back. Though curious about what Lennie did for a living, she never expected he worked for the CIA.
Sherelle looked around and saw a gun holster dangling from a hat rack. A drafting table with a lamp shining on several sheets of paper caught her attention. Pink, green, and yellow tabbies stuck out from their edges. Three paperweights anchored corners of a map. Circled in a heavy red marker—Europe.
She started to leave, but stillness inside the apartment kept her feet firmly planted. She rubbed her dank hands along her thighs and contemplated what to do. Then she heard something slide on a rack and a dull thump sounded. Perhaps Lennie had closed the oven door. She grabbed her hair and kept it tucked behind her back as she leaned forward for a closer look at things on the table. A black Sharpie. A compass. A clear plastic ruler. A cell phone charging in its cradle. Sherelle read the bold print on several documents scattered on the table: Top Secret. Concentration Camp. Soldiers infiltrated at 0700. One agent down. Main target on the move. Order – ASSASSINATE. She started to move the papers to see what was underneath, but she pulled her hand back. What if Lennie found out she'd been in his office? Instead, she opened the desk drawer and saw the remains of a mangled airline ticket and a conference brochure.
“Are you okay in there?”
Sherelle flinched and stood at attention. After a second or two, she closed the drawer then peeked out the door. It relieved her to see Lennie standing at the sink with his back facing her. She slipped out and went into the room across the hall. Upon locking the bathroom door, she squeezed her shaky hands together then splashed water on her face. Her reflection in the mirror didn't come close to revealing the woman she once knew. A wave of fear ran through her. Had she meant to snoop? A definite mistake, but her lingering unequivocally deliberate. What gave her the right? And who was this person looking back at her? Where was her integrity? Sherelle couldn’t quite grasp where she got the nerve to impose on Lennie’s privacy. She snapped her eyes together. “Shame on you, Sherelle. Shame on you.”
She held her breath for a moment then emerged from the bathroom to find Lennie pouring green tea in their glasses. Onions permeated the room. Sherelle pressed her abdomen as hunger pained her. Or was it fear?
Lennie pulled Sherelle’s chair from the table as she approached.
“Thank you,” Sherelle said.
“No problem.”
“This looks nice.”
“I failed to ask if you had any allergies.”
“I’m allergic to burlap,” she teased, wishing they’d laugh out loud so she’d relieve the stress building inside her.
“So, you didn’t like my scarf of choice?”
“Not particularly.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
Disturbed by his response, Sherelle realized the joke didn’t have the effect she’d hoped. Instead of relieving her stress, she had inadvertently added to it. “Let’s hope there’s never a ‘next time.’”
“No plans to return to Cairo?”
“Can we change the subject?”
“You brought it up.”
“I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
“After we’re done, let me know when you’re ready and I’ll walk you home.”
“I appreciate that. You know I’ve never strolled through the streets of Washington at night. I never expected August evenings to be so mild this year. This wouldn’t be a bad night for a walk.” She reached for her glass and spilled the iced tea. “I’m so sorry.” Embarrassed, Sherelle moved away from the table.
“Here, let me.” Lennie raised Sherelle’s plate and cleaned the spill.
When she sat down again, her hand hit the lip of her bowl and tumbled her salad to the floor. “Goodness! What’s wrong with me tonight?” After seeing those papers in Lennie’s office, she wanted to skip dinner and go home. Then what? Would she get on the phone with one of her contacts? If so, what would she tell him? Sherelle tried to reason with herself. She didn’t know the depth of her find. She couldn’t even tell her contact where the assassination would take place. No, she would stay put. She needed a nice engaging conversation with the opposite sex, not concentrate on another story to publish. But at the same time, she couldn’t get Randall Osborne’s voice out of her head or quash the sudden need to investigate the Europe assassination.
Lennie touched her arm. “It’s okay. There’s more. I think you’re just tired,” he said as he went to the refrigerator. “Once you get a good night’s sleep, you’ll be fine.”
“You’re right.” Sherelle bit her lip and tried to remain calm as she watched Lennie’s every move. He didn’t have the typical characteristics of an assassin. But what did she know? Though he seemed to have muscles of steel, in this setting, she realized, Lennie looked more like a business executive than a member of the Army Special Forces. But
not once had she questioned his fitness in Cairo. Neither did she think he’d hesitate to shoot to kill. She remembered how he handled his gun and, in spite of his injuries, how he’d placed her over his shoulder and carried her inside the military helicopter.
What made him tick?
Sherelle dug into her salad and at every opportunity concentrated on the beautiful waves in his hair, the even color of his skin. His lips moved with ease. The English language flowed from him like an orchestrated ballet as he enunciated each word with precision. No slang. No fluff—with a hint of something foreign mixed in.
“Are you listening?”
“I’m sorry.” Sherelle shook her head. “My mind was somewhere else.”
“I said you shouldn’t walk the D.C. streets alone. We have our share of crazies out there.”
Sherelle wiped her mouth and reached for the iced tea, careful not to spill it.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You really do seem to be somewhere else.”
“I’m just tired. More than I thought.”
“How’s the salad?”
“Good.” Sherelle sat straight to relieve tension in her back. To combat her nerves and get Europe off her mind, she tried to think of something to say, but Lennie interrupted her thoughts.
“Why don’t you want to talk about Cairo?”
Sherelle swallowed then paused and mused over the question before ignoring it. “Who are the teenage boys in the photographs?”
“My brothers.”
“I like the idea that your mother had some of the pictures done in black and white. You have a nice family. Is everyone married?”
“Three aren’t. If you weren’t working so much, what would you do for fun?”
Sherelle pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “Go horseback riding. As a young girl, I showed horses for the 4-H Club. It didn’t last long.”
“Why did you give it up?”
“I had to concentrate on my education. What do you like to do?”
“Motorcycles are my thing. I was really into them as a teenager.” Lennie laughed. “One day when my dad found out I raced on the weekend and hardheads were placing bets, he made me sell my bike. I was sixteen at the time. I didn’t get on a bike for almost six years after that.” Lennie looked at Sherelle’s empty plate. “Want more salad?”