Lost and Found. Jane Sigaloff
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deprivation. You’re the one who felt the need to set an alarm.’
Ali performed her most serious stretch while whistling ‘New York, New York’. It was like watching some freaks’ talent show.
‘And no one asked you to unpack for me.’ Maybe she was rechargeable. A couple of hours plugged into the mains and good as new. Now she was practically bouncing on the spot.
‘It was a pleasure. Love you too.’
The door closed—and opened again almost immediately. What now?
‘Hey, Daddy Warbucks, the Times and the Journal. I want you fully up to speed by the time I get back.’
The thud of broadsheet on carpet preceded the click of the room door and, relieved to finally be alone, Ben exhaled as he closed his eyes and fleetingly imagined himself on the treadmill. He could always go down and surprise her. Just a couple more seconds.
One of the things he loved most about living in England was the fact that everyone he knew talked about going to the gym whilst in the pub and, with the exception of January, they didn’t quite get there. As long as you paid your membership and could theoretically go and work out instead of hitting a bar, you actually felt fitter. And anyway, he always walked up escalators. Well, if he wasn’t carrying heavy bags…
Suddenly dimly aware that he was on the verge of his deepest sleep yet, Ben jerked awake. Sitting up far too fast, a wave of numbing pins and needles swept up his body as he stared at the alarm clock. It had only been a few minutes. Reaching for the remote he allowed himself a quick pre-shower television moment while his body came to terms with the fact that sleeping opportunities were over for the day.
He surfed fast and purposefully. If his career wasn’t going to be spiritually rewarding or making a difference, it could at least be paying better. He needed to be thinking format. Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? He did. Such a simple idea. Just sadly not his.
Flicking between MTV and VH1, now he was awake he needed sustenance—even if the only growing he was doing these days was outwards. Leaning over, he tried the bedside drawer—Manhattan Super Pages and a pristine Holy Bible. In a single movement he rolled over to the other side of the bed. Nothing. Forcing himself into the vertical position, he padded across to the desk and checked the drawers.
Bingo. 1 x folder containing everything you would ever want to know about the hotel and its environs, including the extensive Room Service menu, and 1 x nondescript black hardback book. Moments later breakfast for two was on order and Ben was back in the horizontal position. But with the MTV channels on a simultaneous ad break, cartoons and infomercials on almost every channel that wasn’t showing the news, and Ali’s glossy magazines proving to be totally resistible, Ben opened the black book at a random page.
‘If anyone calls from The Carlyle put them through immediately…’
Please. Mel mouthed the word silently as she rolled her eyes at no one in particular from her desk outside Sam’s office.
‘…and I need those file notes typed up as soon as you’ve got a moment.’
‘Will do.’
Sam dialled the next number without even looking at the keypad.
‘Good afternoon, Greenberg Brownstein. EJ Rutherford’s office.’
‘Hi, is she there?’ Sam took another sip of her cranberry juice on the off chance that her nausea might be attributable to dehydration rather than the projection of what just might be in a no holds barred, worst-case scenario. Never before had she wanted to be able to turn back time. Where were Michael J. Fox and his customised DeLorean when she needed them?
‘Who’s calling?’ Standard screening procedure and a success-related perk. When your firm charges you out at nearly four hundred pounds an hour you get a full-time secretary-shaped filter to allow you to select who you speak to.
‘Sam Washington.’
She was through in a nanosecond.
‘Hi, darling. How was NYC? I haven’t been home for way too long.’ EJ kicked her shoes off under her desk, rubbed her tired feet against her ten-denier encased calves and swivelled in her chair to face the window. Blue sky and cold golden sunshine mocked her from the other side of the enormous double-glazed pane that was designed never to open. There might as well have been bars on it. She deserved a break.
‘Not bad.’ Who was she kidding? Sam glanced around the sanctuary of her office. Two hundred and seventy-five square feet of personal space. Almost a direct reflection of the percentage of her life spent at work. Not to mention the millions she’d made for the partners. She definitely needed some sleep and a holiday. Unless she was having a quarter life crisis. In which case she was expecting to live one hundred and sixteen years… Maybe taking golf lessons wasn’t such a stupid idea after all?
‘Did you bring me a Tootsie Roll?’ EJ Rutherford, top corporate lawyer, reduced to seven-year-old child complete with whiny voice at the prospect of her favourite candy.
‘No.’
‘What? Hey, you’re kidding, right?’
‘Sorry—I forgot. Mad rush at the airport. Plus I had Richard with me.’ See, she could do normal. Just another day at the office. And the hotel hadn’t called, so at this precise moment nothing was officially lost, merely missing in action.
EJ regrouped quickly and remained as optimistic as she could under the circumstances. ‘Raisinets?’ The silence spoke for itself. ‘Reese’s Pieces?’
‘You can buy them here.’
‘But they don’t taste the same. Did you say Richard was with you?’
‘They are exactly the same… Yup, he just turned up out of the blue for the meeting.’
‘Jeez. That man has a nerve. You’ve got to hand it to him—he sure is persistent.’
‘I don’t have to hand him anything.’
‘Hey, easy, tiger.’
‘Sorry, it’s been a long week.’
‘So…’ EJ sounded like a child bracing herself for disappointment. ‘Did you bring me anything at all?’
Sam exhaled. This she could handle. ‘I might have copy of W in my computer case…’
‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
‘…and a bag or two of Reese’s.’
‘Awesome. Yay. Thanks, darling. You’re the best. I love presents.’
‘They’re one hundred and five per cent fat.’
‘Just because you don’t like peanut butter…’
It was a valid point.
‘Anyway, they taste of home to me.’
‘Give me a fruit & nut any day. You guys have a lot to learn about chocolate and biscuits. I mean, Chips Ahoy? What’s that all about?’
‘They’re cookies.’
‘You are so pedantic.’
‘Look who’s talking…’ EJ trailed off, distracted by a man skilfully pasting a new twenty-four-sheet poster onto the advertising hoarding visible from her window. He was making it look very easy.
‘Anyway, how’s things? Good week?’
‘Just another takeover at the office. Still, at least the weekend is looking pretty safe—although I’m still standing by for final instructions from an American fund on an acquisition. Fancy a bit of supper tomorrow? It feels like ages since we last actually saw each other.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ The more distractions the better.
‘Excellent.’