She looked surprised and said, "I'll drive you home."
I turned to my father and said, "Dad, if you'll let me borrow your car I'll bring it back at the time you specify and take you home. That way, Arrow won't have to waste her time driving me."
The argument about not wasting Arrow's time appealed to him. Of course my time didn't matter. He said, "Be back here at six. I want to get to bed early tonight."
"May I borrow your keys?" I asked Arrow. "I'll transfer my suitcase to my father's car and return the keys to John."
She took them out of her handbag and handed them to me, reluctantly, I thought. As I turned to leave the cubicle I spotted the picture of me with my two younger sisters, sitting on my father's credenza. We were laughing at something.
I walked around the corner to John's desk. He was eating one of those big sloppy cheeseburgers that's supposed to get all over you before you can call yourself a man-or woman-but he had set up a network of paper napkins to catch the drips. My mouth watered and reminded me that it was after 1 p.m. and I hadn't eaten lunch yet.
"Ah, the prodigal son returns," John said when he saw me.
"I need an expense form," I said, hoping to keep our conversation short.
He wiped his fingers, fastidiously, pulled a form out of a drawer of his desk and handed it to me, saying, "I'm on an email list of hot young bods who want to get together. If you'd like to join I can give you the info."
"Maybe some other time. Is there a telephone I can use?"
He pointed to a phone in an empty cubicle. It was too close to him. If he heard me making a date with a woman it might damage his self-image. I didn't want to be responsible for that.
I remembered a pay phone we had passed on our way in from the parking lot. Sometimes Esther, my friend at the Emerge organization, ate a late lunch. If traffic wasn't bad, I could make it to her office in about 30 minutes.
"Thanks," I said. "I've decided I don't need the phone."
"Then I'll see you around if you don't turn square."
"I'll be back in two minutes to return Arrow's keys." I held them up.
"Ah, Arrow," John sighed. "She's so scrumptious that sometimes I wish I were straight."
Chapter 8 ESTHER
The one-story Emerge building wasn't large, but it was conspicuous because of its orange color. Parking is at a premium in Santa Monica, but one of the metered spots in front was open so I pulled in there.
I put a quarter in the slot, even though I only expected to be five minutes, because the risk of getting a ticket costing a hundred times that much wasn't worth it. Not that I hadn't taken the risk in the past. I had been cured because I had received a $25 ticket at a meter near the Trader Joe's Market in Redondo Beach after years of saying "It won't happen to me."
I went inside and said hi to the young man at the desk, a former client. He was now well dressed, well groomed and articulate. Several of the current clients were using the telephones provided to aid them in job searches. There were both men and women; on any day they represented a cross-section of the many ethnic groups that have found their way to Southern California.
The dress of the clients ranged from hip to homeless, with most nearer the lower end of the scale, and I had once helped a client who carried a duffle bag and a strong aroma with him. The bag probably contained all his possessions, in spite of the fact that clients were supposed to have at least a shelter to stay at and not be on the streets.
I walked on to the computer area, which was my specialty. I'm sure I inherited my computer aptitude from my father, although I would never tell him that. I recognized one of the clients who was working on a resume because I had helped him the previous week, a man by the name of Pat Wong.
I went over to him and said, "Hi, Pat, is the computer behaving itself today?"
"Hi, Karl, everything is fine. Take a look at what I've done."
He picked up a copy of his resume from the laser printer, which was shared by several computers, and handed it to me. I glanced over it. It was well laid out, using Microsoft Word. Pat had prepared a functional resume, not showing dates of employment, because, like many of the clients, he had a big gap in his employment record. His gap was five years; he had been in prison, convicted of dealing drugs.
"Looks good," I said, handing it back. "That ought to get you in the door."
"It already has, thanks to your help, and Ted who helped me write it. I have an interview tomorrow."
"Congratulations! And good luck."
"Thanks."
Pat wanted to be an airport shuttle driver. I wondered whether a company would take a chance on him since the job involved handling money and required dependability. I hoped so.
I went on back to the area where Esther hung out. I said hello to her three female staff members as I walked through, and poked my head into her office. She was on the phone, as usual, but she smiled and waved me in. I sat down on an extra chair and looked at the pictures of her four-year-old son, Emilio. She shared custody of him with her former husband. There were also several drawings by him on her corkboard. The rest of the office showed the clutter of a creative mind.
Esther hung up the phone and stood up. I also stood and we hugged briefly.
She said, "I'm glad you came. It gives me an excuse to get away from the office for a while and I'm famished."
She gave some instructions to her staff and then we walked back through the building and out the front door.
When she saw the Mercedes she said, "You know, Karl, for someone with no visible means of support, you sure drive fancy cars. If I didn't know better I'd suspect you were a car thief."
"I didn't want to tell you before," I said, opening the door for her. "I was afraid it would prejudice you against me."
The small cafe near Wilshire Boulevard served tasty sandwiches, some with natural ingredients, whatever that means. They must be good because they were expensive.
I paid for our lunches. Esther was always willing to pay her share, and even mine, but I felt guilty taking her money because she was providing half the support for a son and I had no dependents and few expenses.
We sat outside at a small metal table, protected from the Los Angeles weather by transparent glass shields. The breeze was usually cool near the beach but the Santa Ana winds had warmed up the air to the point where we would have been comfortable out in the open, even with our thin California blood.
Esther wore a long skirt, with a slit up the side that revealed flashes of her shapely legs as she moved. When she was concentrating on something she had a habit of playing with her skirt, sometimes pulling it up above her knees, which was more enticing than if she'd been wearing a mini.
Her long hair was auburn, not uncommon for someone of Hispanic origin, as I'd discovered, and she even had some freckles. Her smile would melt asbestos.
I sipped iced tea and watched her expressive face while we waited for our sandwiches.
She caught me looking at her and said, "Why so quiet today, Karl? Your job is to amuse me and keep my mind off work."
"Sorry," I said. "But allow me one question. Is everything falling into place for the big event Saturday?"
The annual fundraiser was expected to bring in several hundred thousand dollars. The planning for it fell on the shoulders of Esther and her staff.
"It's a circus. If I'm not good company it's because I was up until six this morning writing descriptions for the silent auction. The computer was giving me fits."
"Did you get any sleep at all?"
"I went home and caught a couple of hours before I came back in."
It seemed that everybody had gotten less sleep than I had. I said, "And I thought I had problems. You should have called me to help with the computer." Of course I had been in San Francisco.