Underneath It All. Nancy Warren
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Darren asked politely, waiting to be bored.
“Computer programming.”
His boredom disappeared. “No kidding, that’s my line of work.”
The two were soon deep in conversation, engaged in the instant bonding of two people who share the same passion. Finally, the man introduced himself as Harvey Shield. He said, “I’m surprised we haven’t met before. Who do you work for?”
“I just moved to Seattle.”
The blinking eyes surveyed him sharply for a few moments. Taking another sip of beer, he said, “You seem pretty knowledgeable, where’d you go to school?”
“MIT.”
“Ever have a Professor Elliot?”
“Old Nellie? Sure. He was a mean old boot, but he sure knew operating systems.”
Harvey Shield nodded. “Had a habit of failing more students than he passed.” He took another drink of his beer. “How’d you do?”
Darren returned the scrutiny. The man beside him had contacts in the computer industry. Now was not the time for false modesty. He grinned. “Top of the class.”
Harvey grinned back. “So was I, fifteen years ago.” He sighed, as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Listen, I need another programmer on my team. We’re falling behind on a big job. I don’t have time for ads in the paper and interviews. How’d you like to come work for us for a while on contract?”
Darren blinked. He hadn’t intended to look for a job, but one week of spending 24/7 with only a computer for company had him convinced that a longer stint of that was not healthy. Besides, with no other distractions, he thought about his downstairs neighbor far too often. A job in his industry would get him out of the house, give him other like-minded types to connect with, and the extra money meant he could stay in Seattle as long as he needed. He already had his own company set up, with a separate tax ID, so his paychecks wouldn’t even have his name on them.
He was very glad he’d chosen this particular night, and this particular bar. “Harvey,” he said extending his hand, “you have yourself a deal.”
Darren walked back home in an entirely different mood. He had a job. Dean Edgar had snagged it all on his own without any help from the Kaiser name. And he had freedom like he’d never had in his life with months stretching ahead to work on his project. To succeed or fail on his own terms.
He was whistling softly when he got back to the duplex. He had to pass Kate’s door to get to the stairway that led up to his own apartment. She had a motionsensitive light hooked up that almost blinded him when it shone full on his glasses.
As he dropped his head in reaction, he had the unpleasant but now familiar experience of seeing his own newsprint-grainy face grinning up from the bottom of the recycling bin.
With a muttered curse he leaned down and snatched the paper up. Please, let them not have figured out he was in Seattle.
“Can’t afford your own copy?” He jumped at the sound of Kate’s voice from behind him. She sounded half amused, half exasperated.
Fighting the urge to hide the wretched thing behind his back, he flipped the paper inside out to hide his picture. “Sorry, I…ah…forgot to buy today’s. Just wanted to check the sports scores.”
The shock of seeing himself in the Seattle-Post Intelligencer made him unusually clumsy and suddenly a cascade of newsprint hit the ground. His grinning face mocked him from dead center. He stomped his sneaker square on his own face, and squatted, grabbing what he could and scrunching the paper back in the recycling bin.
Kate dropped down beside him. “Here’s the Lifestyle section.” She looked up at him and with a shake of her head thrust the section back in the bin. She picked up another bundle, and he could see she’d retrieved the fashion page. She didn’t say a word, just gave a secret little smile and shoved it on top of the Lifestyle section.
“It’s okay. I can manage,” He sounded desperate. He felt desperate; pretty soon he was going to have to move his foot.
She was so close, her hair kept swinging against his shoulder, gleaming chestnut and ruby when she moved. No wonder she worked in a beauty salon, she was a walking advertisement for her profession. She even smelled like a beauty salon: like tropical fruit and exotic lotions. How was he supposed to think straight?
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