Looking for Another Friend

by 

Diana Walker and Reagan Kavanagh

Disclaimer:  This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned.  No copyright infringement on the original work is intended.  Copyright Diana Walker and Reagan Kavanagh 2005.

Summer 2002

DIANA

It’s funny the way that people meet and become great friends, close enough to become like sisters, isn’t it?  Sometimes they’re born into the same family, and sometimes you just find them.  Reagan and I've been close friends for years, well for a few years anyway.  We check in once or twice a week, hang out together, kick each other's butts when appropriate, spend holidays together (if it's a holiday all we have to decide is which of our houses we're using on that occasion), and lend a hand on house repairs if it’s a four-handed job.

It all started because I sent Reags a late-night e-mail after reading something she'd written.  Of course, I keep claiming she doesn’t remember it; she claims she does.  The jury’s still out on which of us is right. Now it’s something we laugh about.  I was sitting here around two in the morning, still surfing when the incoming mail alert chimed.  I went over to Outlook to see who the hell was e-mailing me at this time of the morning. Surprise!  It was Reags!

It would appear that we frequented a couple of the same Russell Crowe boards.  I read a long ass rant in the Off Topic area of one of them in which she had written a response to a person who had slammed the military.  Reagan's response was reasoned, yet critical.  She made reference to the Harmon Rabb character in the TV show JAG, and how all military officers were not that falsely heroic, but most were honourable and heroic in his or her own way.  She sounded like she had worked with the military; later I found out she’d been in the military.  I’ve worked with a lot of Harmon Rabbs.  OK, not all were that good looking, but put a man in uniform and he automatically gets ten points on the looks scale and ten points on the capable scale. I gave her an 'atta girl' for defending some very neat guys.  I really wasn’t expecting an answer until sometime the following day, if I got one at all.  It just didn’t occur to me that someone else would be up as late as I was.  The fact that she was became my first insight into the woman who would become the sister I never had.  I didn’t know why I was surprised, but it suddenly seemed reasonable for her to be a night owl like I am sometimes.  I liked her writing style; she liked Russell Crowe.  She also seemed to have a wide variety of interests if her comments in Off Topic were representative.  Why wouldn’t we have other things in common?

We didn’t talk anymore until the Sail Those Same Oceans DVD came out.  I’d picked up a couple of extra copies – just in case – because I was trying to work my way into the world of Russell Crowe fandom, and it never hurts to be able to lend a hand.  As much as I love that song, I figured I’d wear one DVD out in time and wanted a backup.  A few weeks later while perusing the message boards, I spotted a post by Reags; she was looking for a copy of the DVD because in the small town where she lived, she’d not been able to find one.  She wanted to know if anyone had an extra copy they would be willing to sell her.  I e-mailed her (sometimes I get lucky and save the right things) and told her I had a copy, saying that I would drop it in the mail if she would send me her address.  She did, and when I saw where she lived, I not only laughed out loud, I cackled.

My next e-mail was succinct.  “Crap, it will be easier if I just drive over and give it to you in person!” Hassling with the post office is not something I enjoy.  We lived about 45 miles apart which, in the Dallas area, is just not all that far.  They don’t call it “Big D” for nothing.  That was on a Friday.  We made arrangements for me to make the trip to her place the next afternoon.  I told her I would bring the Margaritas, and she said she would be waiting.  On the drive over, it dawned on me that I knew nothing about this woman, aside from the facts that she stayed up late and blasted online idiots on a fairly routine basis; what if she was mental?

REAGAN

I’ll always remember the first e-mail I had from Diana, because it was the first ‘fan’ letter I’d ever received in response to something I’d written.  Until I blasted that idiot on one of the boards, literally everything I’d written had been either technical or academic in nature, and often both.  What I didn’t know at the time of that first e-mail was that Dee would become the closest female friend I’d ever had.

Now she was on her way to my house and as I awaited her arrival, I had a sobering thought.  God!  What if she was one of those rabid, frothing at the mouth Russell Crowe fans?  I would die.  Still, she was in transit, and I couldn’t stop the hands of time now.  I mentally girded my loins and waited for the doorbell to ring.  I didn’t have to wait long …within 15 minutes of that thought, my dogs were raising Hell, and I knew she was here.  I peeked out through the peephole.  She was wearing a green shirt and carpenter shorts and appeared harmless enough; razor-sharp wit isn’t apparent from looking at someone.  I opened the door.

“Diana?  She nodded, and I stood back to let her into the house.  My dogs were all over her immediately, and when she handed me the DVD and turned her attention to them and ignored me, I knew this was a woman I was going to like.  Five minutes later and after me handing her a hand towel to wipe off the puppy slobber, we were in the kitchen mixing Margaritas and talking as if we’d known each other all our lives.

DIANA

Standing on my front porch before driving to Reags’ house, I went through a mental checklist to be sure I had everything - Margarita mix, Tequila, cigarettes, DVD.  Yes, I’ll admit it.  I wanted to make a good impression on this woman.  So sue me!

A random thought occurred to me as I was driving over to Reags’ place.  I don’t know this woman; was ‘she’ even a woman?  I had no idea.  After all, you can be anyone you like in the confines of cyberspace.  No one knew where I was going.  What if I ended up as a statistic in some grisly murder?  Well, hell, she lives in the Dallas area.  People who live around Dallas adhere to a certain standard of conduct, don’t they?

I arrived at her house, and as I approached her front door, I heard dogs barking.  Okay, she had dogs; she couldn’t be all bad, right?  Anyone who had dogs had to be a nice person, right?  I have two of my own, the Labrador, Holly, and the Basenji, Okie.  I rang the doorbell with no small degree of trepidation, and when she opened the door, I shoved the DVD at her with both hands, just in case I needed to beat a hasty retreat, but first I took a good, hard look at her.  She was a bit taller than me with long blonde hair.  Oh, Christ!  She wore make-up!  She’s a prissy belle, and I don’t get on well with prissy females.  Of course, who was I kidding?  I was in full dress make-up that day, too.  It’s always important to make a good first impression because you sure as hell won’t have a second chance.  Trust me when I tell you that appearances – on both sides - can be deceiving.

I don’t know if it was early childhood or professional experience that taught us the first impression lesson, but we both had learned it.  We both had put best foot forward that day.  We got over that quickly; neither one of us gave a damn about makeup.  We were more the hurry up and get going types.  No muss, no fuss. There were much more important things to do in the world than fuss about make-up once the basic appearance needs were met.  In my case, horses see clean clothing as the appropriate slobber rag.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to get grass tinted horse snot out of cotton?

Reags stepped back to let me into the house, and the dogs were all over me, as if I’d bathed myself with fried chicken that morning instead of soap.  Or maybe they were smelling my dogs and horses.  I had to admit, they were beautiful dogs.  Golden Retrievers, three of them.  Okay, I know when I’m whipped.  I just sat in the floor and let them lick me, tails flying as fast as their tongues, and within moments, we were both laughing our asses off.  Reags snorted.

“Welcome to my humble abode.”

I cackled back.  I wish my laugh ‘glistened,’ but it doesn’t; I cackle when I’m really tickled.  Hey, that cackle had kept a manufacturing plant afloat when by all rights we should have been bankrupt.  Company consolidations are not a pretty thing.  Much later, as I was leaving the company, I found out the guys in the factory could hear the plant manager and me laughing and figured if we were laughing, things were OK.

Reags went to get me a hand towel so that I could wipe off the puppy drool and offered me her hand to stand.  Firm grip, now that’s a good thing.  So far, so good.  We headed to her kitchen, and she got out her blender to make the Margaritas.  I, being a very practical sort, had the tub of mix that makes itself a slush in the freezer.

“We don’t need the blender.  These will be ready in a bit,” I said trying to be helpful.  Actually, it was self preservation at work.  I didn’t want to wash the blender.  Since I was on best behavior, of course, I would have to at least offer to wash.

With a patience that I would not have had, Reags politely said, “That’s in a bit.  We need Margaritas NOW.” Ah, a woman after my own heart.  And she did not call me a fuckwit.  I was grateful.

After the second or third Margarita, we started comparing our respective childhoods.  Might as well start at the beginning; another trait we share.  Considering that she had grown up in deep South Texas and I in Southern California, we had an amazing amount in common.  Both only daughters, both born late in our parents’ marriages, judgmental and emotionally absent fathers, both of us having spent years trying to prove ourselves to our fathers.  Reags got lucky, though.  Her mom was warm and giving, whereas mine had tag-teamed with Dad.

As a child, Reags had out-tom-boyed me, and I thought I had that title.  After the fourth or fifth Margarita, I started asking about her writing and wondered how long she had been writing, which naturally lead into a discussion of Russell Crowe.  Until then, his name hadn’t even come up and that, ostensibly, was the reason I was there.  She’s a university professor and until message boards, all her writing had been purely research-oriented and totally academic.  We were even then; the only writing I had done was white papers, executive summaries and business proposals with multiple graphs and spreadsheets.  It dawned on me; that was why I didn’t have to explain my vocabulary to her.  My dad had always said that I preferred using a five-dollar word when a fifty-cent word would have worked just as well.

“Well, hell, he paid for the education that gave me the five-dollar words,” I blurted out, and we both laughed again.  We both knew exactly what I meant, and the hurt that one simple statement included.

We started comparing work histories and how sick we both were of the politics our career paths included, hers in the academic realm and mine in corporate America.  By now, we were finishing sentences for each other, and I knew I hadn’t done that in years.  Turned out, she hadn’t either.  Well, I had, but I’d finished them incorrectly for the man I had been seeing.  Maybe the differences in chromosomes got in the way.  After the comparison of work histories, it was time to move on to the good shit - sex - which naturally lead back to "Mr. Sex on Legs," Russell Crowe.  The man just seemed to weave in and out of our conversation, without ever really being the topic.  He was simply a good shorthand to use, and we both understood the analogies by using him and his antics as the point of reference.

I have a confession here.  Sometime late in the afternoon, we’d made a run to the liquor store close to her house and bought more Tequila and Margarita mix.  To say that we were in our cups may have been the understatement of the century.  Listen up, campers.  Do not drink and drive.  If we'd only had someone to send or the liquor store delivered, we wouldn't have been forced into such a stupid action.  I’m still trying to figure out why the cop at the door of the liquor store didn’t arrest us on the spot as we weaved our way in and back out of the store.

I had gotten to Reags’ house at one in the afternoon.  The next time I looked at the clock on her fireplace mantle it was half past midnight.  So much for beating a hasty retreat.  We looked at each other and then she spoke.

“So, are we going to watch this DVD or not?”  I cackled again.

“Hell, yes!”  We were more than well looped enough to really enjoy it.

She turned on the TV and the DVD player, and we popped it in.  She was a goner and I could tell, but it wasn’t just Mr. Sex-on-Legs that had her attention.  Turns out that she was a blue-water sailor from way back, and was totally caught up in the ship.  This was a woman with more than one interest in life, and I liked that a lot.

It had been so long since I’d had a close woman friend who really understood me and, somehow, I felt intuitively that we were going to be good friends.  It seemed she was the yin to my yang.  We have many similarities, while still being totally different women.  I’ve never been more right in my life.

REAGAN

I couldn’t believe how late it had gotten while Diana was here.  We had been talking for twelve hours, and I don’t think either of us had gotten bored once.  That’s a rare occurrence for me.  You see, I have a confession to make here.  I’m easily attracted to a variety of people, men and women, but more often than not, once I’ve talked to them for a while, my attention wanders.  It just seems that most people can’t hold my interest for very long because many of them are one-dimensional.  Diana was a horse of another colour. Halfway through the afternoon, when I’d called her Diana, she put up one hand and stopped me.

“Diana is fine for people I’m not sure of.  I’d really like it if you called me Dee.”  I grinned at her.

“Works for me.”  Sometime during the afternoon or evening, she started calling me Reags, and that’s how it’s been ever since.  Usually, I hate nicknames, but coming from her, it seemed right.

After the DVD concluded, Dee decided it was time to head home.  I walked her to her car and before she got in, I gave her a hug.  She looked at me as if I’d suddenly grown another head, and I realised this was a woman who was not that accustomed to a physical display of affection.  Well, if she was going to be round me very much, she’d best get accustomed to it.  I told her to e-mail me when she got home.  It was a long drive, and we’d both had a lot to drink …I just didn’t have to drive home.  She balked at the e-mail bit, but when I told her I just wanted to know that she’d made it safely, she finally agreed.  About an hour after she left, I got the promised e-mail, shut down my computer and wandered off to bed.

Surprisingly when I awoke the next morning – late, I’ll admit – I didn’t have the mother of all hangovers, though I certainly deserved it.  I can’t remember the last time I’d had that much to drink or had been drinking that steadily for that long.  I laughed to myself while I stood in the shower and wondered how Dee had survived the night.  Depending on how she had fared, I might have found a partner in crime.  When I got out of the shower, I heard the chime of incoming IM.  It was from Dee.

D: Hey, there! Did you survive the night?  (I laughed.)

R: Survived just fine, wonder of wonders!  You?

D: I should feel like the living dead, but I don’t.

R: Want to try this again next weekend?

D: Works for me!

R: Great!  See you next weekend …Friday or Saturday?  I don’t teach on Fridays, so I’m home all day.  Oh, hell.  Come over both days if you like.  Sunday is out, though, as I have an exam to write then.

D: See you on Friday …around noon?

R: See you then!

I logged off and started writing an exam.  I was teaching summer session, and that means an exam every bloody week.

DIANA

We didn’t become best mates right away.  I had found a woman I liked, one I felt I could trust.  But you never know with people.  If you aren’t good enough for your parents, how can you be good enough for anyone else?  Except maybe yourself, and sometimes that’s doubtful.

I don’t trust many people.  On the job training you might say.  But to be honest, I learned that wariness early in life.

I’ve been in Human Resources all my professional life.  It’s a fine line to walk between supporting management decisions and dealing with the people whose lives will be impacted by those decisions.  My reserve has served me well in those situations.  Oh, I can seem really involved but I always hold a reserve, a little bit of myself, back.  If you get too close to people, you’ll disappoint them.  The best way to handle people is to be pretty standoffish.  On the other hand, it isn’t the best way to insure close, caring relationships.

I’m used to people coming and going in my life.  When I was little, I had several friends who moved away from the neighborhood.  Later, when I left jobs, I rarely stayed in touch with ex co-workers and it’s no big deal anymore.  Keep the relationship shallow.  Talk about deep subjects but not deep feelings.  Try not to disappoint anyone.  Don't expect anything from anyone.

But with Reags, I had hung in there.  It didn't seem to bother her that I was currently unemployed and enjoying it.  I’d worked long and hard in my career, made some good investments and was living my life for a change.  ‘My life’ consisted of caring for my horses and dogs.  Now that was a motley crew and may not sound like much to someone else, but they mean the world to me.  The dogs were rescues – Holly, the Labrador with her leaps of joy, and Okie, the perpetually willing to be pissed off Basenji.  Rabbit, my Leopard Appaloosa horse, had been purchased to be my eventing horse.  That never happened because he got hurt six months after I bought him.  Now he’s in his mid twenties and functions as walking lawn ornamentation.  He was sure something in his prime.  The big mare, Pretty Woman, stands 19 hands tall; it’s a very good thing she adores people and is sweet natured.  It’s bad enough that she doesn’t pay attention to where her feet are when being groomed; her groom is responsible for that.  Since leaving the organized work force, I’ve taken on several other horses for friends who have yet to recognize that work is not the only purpose in life.  Jack is my competition mount who is stabled at my coach's farm.  I marvel at how I kept it all going when I was working long, horrendous hours.

I was starting to get restless; this was the longest I had been unemployed in my entire life.  The 'Friday at Reags' institution was keeping me sane.  Totally uncharacteristically for me, I’d called one of my old work buddies to catch up on things.

“Tom, what's shaking in the wonderful world of defense contracting?  Budgets get cut again?”

“Good to hear from you, Dee!  Still enjoying living your life?  One of these days I’m going to get this place whipped into shape and be able to play golf on Fridays.  May take me longer though without you here watching my back.  Want to do me a favor?”

“For you I’d do anything.  Who do you want me to kill?”

“DoD is looking for someone with your skills.  Do you know anyone who might be interested?  Or might you be interested?”

“Which skill set?  My ability to take abuse?  My ability to function on no sleep?  My ability to turn on a dime and give you back change?”

“I already said I was sorry for all that.  How many times are you going to bring it up?”  Tom laughed knowing we had been in the same boat putting in new HR and payroll software systems and changing over the retirement plan to the successor company's in six months.  All that and still I was laid off; I'd even assisted technology in outsourcing my job.  I told you corporate consolidations were a bitch.

“They need someone who can see trends in a spreadsheet, has the ability to talk to anyone about anything and can keep their mouth shut until the briefing.”

“Uh oh, they want someone to go undercover at Enron?”

“Not quite, but close.  Remember Captain Bigelow?  He's gotten the go ahead for on site research at defense contractors.  He approached me, but the kids are more important now.  I dragged them around long enough while I was in the service.“

Research.  That was the word Tom and I had come up with during some long conversations we had about the defense contractor scandals.  There are so many clean, hard working companies out there that it angered both of us to have those bad apples ruin us all.  Realistically, they do exist, but they’re in the minority.

“I might be interested.  Would I be a contractor?  Whose payroll would I be on?  How many layers of cover would I have?  How long would I have to be gone?  How much freedom do I have to operate?”

“Hold on, hold on.  I wasn't interested enough to ask.  Call Bigelow.  He can answer your questions.  When I turned him down cold, he asked what you were doing.  I think you have a lock on it.”

“Tom, coming from anyone but you I'd be insulted that I’m second choice.  With your military background, of course, you would be first choice.”

“He dialed your direct number first; it rolled to me.  Neither of us thought you'd be interested.  He’ll be glad you called to check up on me.  Particularly if you call him.”

"I'm not promising anything, Tom, but I will call him.  Say 'Hi' to Sara and the kids.  I'll let you know how it turns out.”

*

A chance phone call to catch up with an old friend, and I’m back in the corporate wars again.  This time I’ll be answering to a Naval captain and to each company's own HR guy.  I’ve increased the politics by a factor of eight.  Captain Bigelow promises I won't have to deal with the political bull either in or out of the company.  I choose to believe this promise even though both Biggie and I both know the politics exploded exponentially.

The way Biggie has it set up, sometimes I'll go in as the new Human Resources person and sometimes as a consultant to write job descriptions.  He envisions the longest I'll be gone from home will be six weeks, sooner if I get busy and get the information he needs to either clear the company or condemn them.  Right now he has a backlog of four companies he wants me to get into as I sit here shaking my head.  But it does sound like fun.  I needed to let Reags know I was going to be out of town for a while.

D: I won't be there on Friday.

R: Why not?  Some guy sweep you off your feet?

D: Would you believe the whole military?

R: Yeah, I would.  It would take the whole military to shake you out of your happy, bucolic life.

D: No, not a man.  I’m happy as a clam being single.  But I am gainfully employed again.  I have to be on a plane tomorrow to DC for the initial briefing.

R: Beltway raider recruiting?

D: Argh!  You know I hate recruiting and interviewing.  Consulting for the Pentagon.

R: Consulting on what?

D: HR stuff at different companies.  An old working buddy got me the gig.  Corporate wars, here I come again.  Downside is I won't be able to campaign Jack at horse shows this year.  Apparently I'll be traveling a lot.  I’ll check in when I can.

R: Well, don't let the bastards get you down.  Have a good time.

Thank God I already knew about her affiliation with the FBI.  Otherwise, I wouldn't have told her as much as I did.  She knew enough already and that enough meant not asking me any questions she already knew I wouldn’t answer.  Maybe someday I can tell her more.

*

On my first assignment for Biggie I went to a communications company.  The building was a 1950's model with one long hallway running the length of the building and side corridors going to individual departments.  No windows so the squabble couldn't be about an employee not getting a window office.  Everything was painted a dull beige.

I was striding down the long central hall reading a memo, heading to engineering for a staff meeting.  Since I won't be riding for a while, I try to keep the feeling of being on a horse by varying my walk.  Right then I was mimicking Jack's extended walk.  Multi tasking.  Sometimes it’s not a good thing.

Ask the guy I ran smack into.  Solid as a rock.  So solid I bounced off him.  He’s wearing an unescorted visitor badge.  At least I won't have to haul him to Security.  Nice suit; much better than the guys who work here.  I don't particularly care for the color, but it is a nice suit.  I hate heathery brown suits.  Reminds me of an ex.

I know I’m at fault.  I was reading and practicing riding.

I start apologizing profusely as I kneel, pulling together my vellums for my presentation at the meeting.  “I am so sorry.  Are you OK?  I'm relatively new here and forgot about the corridor you came out of.”

He managed to get out, “I'm fine,” as he hurried off.

My next “Sorry” was said to his retreating back; pity he was already mostly around the corner.  I didn't even get to see his build.  The only thing I knew was that he was solid as a rock.  I hadn't even seen his face.  Oh well, so much for meeting a nice guy in the work place.  I couldn't even bowl one over.

The communications company was a quick trip.  The Pentagon hot line tip had alleged that Engineering was discriminating against female engineers regarding wages.  Why the allegation hadn't gone to EEOC none of us knew.  But to maintain confidence in the anonymous tip line, it had to be checked out.  Also, this company had some other allegations including security at the same time.  All the allegations had probably come from the same person, but they all had to be checked out.

I had literally rubbed my hands together; I was so delighted to do this work.  A few queries to the HR data base for raw data, a stroll through personnel files and I had my extract built.  No matter how I ran the variables, the female engineers were right up there with the males based on experience and education. Absolutely no evidence of a trend.

*

D: I'm back.

R: How'd it go?

D: Interesting.  Almost met a guy.

R: That IS interesting.  The libido coming back?

D: It never was really gone.  Just napping.

R: What's this ‘almost met a guy?’

D: I ran into him in the hallway - literally.  Dropped all my briefing materials and never even got to see what he looked like.  I do know he has a heather brown suit, so not military.

R: Well, DoD’s a small world.  Maybe you’ll run into him again some day.  Pun intended.

D: Next time I see a heather brown suit, I’ll be on my best behavior.

R: Come over on Friday.

D: That sounds like I’ll be grading papers with you.  Yes, thank you for noticing; that was a whine.

R: I'll make chicken salad.

D: In that case, I take back my whine.  See you Friday.

*

I’d determined that nothing the tip had said was true.  It almost took longer to build the briefing for the Admiral, Biggie's boss, than it did to research the case.  I wanted to be sure this was a good first impression.  After all, Biggie's program could rise and fall on what I had to say.  I'd decided to drag my navy blue suit out of hiatus.  It looked nice on me but not flashy.  I’d add flashy with the lime green suit blouse that would show a total of six square inches at the top of the coat.  

I’ve been in front of boards of directors doing presentations but never an Admiral.  I decided that I'd treat the Admiral as I would a CEO of a private firm.  That's the ticket.  I could always imagine him in his underwear if necessary.

There were eight people seated around the conference table in the briefing room.  Besides the Admiral and Capt. Bigelow, there wasn't much brass showing.  A couple of Lieutenants, aides to the Admiral and the Captain, I supposed.  The rest of us were civilians.  Once again, I was the only woman in the room.  I’ve gotten used to that over the years.  As I finished the survey of the table, I saw a flash of a suit coat sleeve out of the corner of my eye.  It sure looked like the suit I had run into at the communications company.  How could I forget that heather brown?  It would make sense.  Maybe there was someone else in there at the same time I was.

As much as I’d love to rave about the high tech conference equipment at the Pentagon, I can't.  Biggie had been very precise about the briefing materials I was to prepare.  Overheads with copies for the participants. Standard for a defense briefing.  Engineers and military like having the same presentation they’re seeing on the screen in their hands.  They may make notes on the papers in their hands, but the presentation papers get taken up and shredded after the meeting.  It seems a little unproductive to me, but while I work well with engineers and the military, in some things I just don't have their mind set.  I once mentioned that to Reags and – of course – the shrink (did I ever mention that she’s a psychologist?) told me that writing things down facilitated their getting into long-term memory.

Since my investigation was the smallest, I got to go first.  I explained the methodology, showed the statistics, gave the conclusion, and I was done.  I didn't even have to stand up to turn my overheads; a yeoman did it for me. So much for the lime green drawing attention to me as the speaker; no one got to see me.  I couldn't even make eye contact with one whole corner of the table.  You got it.  The corner that the suit man was occupying.  However, I could see the Admiral, and that was all that counted.  He seemed pleased with my presentation.

As I relaxed back in my chair, I checked the bit of sleeve I could see.  Yep, it definitely was the suit I had run into at the communications company.  Now if I could only surreptitiously see the guy's face.  The only way I was going to see him was if I made a complete twist and lean.  When you’re the only woman in a meeting, you just don't do that.  He hadn't said a word; yet, the others in the room seemed to be paying some deference to him, all except the Admiral, that is.  Great, all the people in the room know who suit man is.  All the men.  They don't need to know; I do.  I rather like the notion of knowing who I maim by my inattention.

After the Accounting review, the Admiral called a 10-minute break.  Captain Bigelow walked to me, effectively blocking my entire view of the suit man.

“Diana, thank you.  You gave the Admiral exactly what he needed and not a drop more.  He values efficiency.”

“My pleasure, Captain.”  I’m nothing if not discreet in a business setting.  Biggie is OK for his office; since I'm civilian, I may not need to salute him, but some sense of formality must be maintained in public.  Naval Captains are not known for their senses of humor.  I sure wasn't going to ask him to introduce me to suit man.  That would trash my professional reputation.

“We’ll be going into some classified data next.  Your clearance hasn't been reactivated yet so ....”

“Can your aide escort me out then?”  I know when I have been dismissed.

And I still haven't seen the face of suit man.

NOTES

Return to Ongoing Stories