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me, young man,” she said.
    Taking the door with a hand, he held it while
she walked out. The fragrance of recently cut flowers left too long
in the sun assaulted his senses.
    “That’s so nice of you. Nice to see a man
with polite manners,” she said, her breath worse than the
flowers.
    “It’s my pleasure, ma’am.” Then when the lady
was several feet from him, he muttered, “Hag.”
    Inside, the flowers and bad breath were
replaced by the scent of furniture polish, lemon-scented at that,
and a light dose of cinnamon air freshener. Singly, the smells
would possibly be pleasant. Together, they were not much to speak
of.
    The reception area was modernly decorated.
Cheap but attractive, it could be the waiting area in any such
office all across the country. Nothing stood out; nothing spoke of
uniqueness. The reception desk was wide and high, and Jerry stepped
right up to it. Seated at the desk, working at a keyboard, was a
middle-aged pudgy woman who thought that platinum blonde was a hair
color that truly befitted her. Unfortunately, Jerry would have to
disagree. There were ugly women, and then there was this.
    “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice
seemingly coming out her nose.
    “Yes, Derek Hallmark. I have an appointment
with Ms. Vaughn.”
    “One second,” she said. She reached for the
phone, pressed a button, and spoke quickly. After she hung up she
said, “If you’ll have a seat, she’ll be with you in a minute.”
    “What if I stand?”
    “Excuse me?”
    Okay, Jerry thought, she’s hard on the eyes
and has no sense of humor. Either she lives a lonely life or she’s
a dyke. Either way, she probably doesn’t get invited to many
parties.
    “Never mind,” he said and sauntered over to a
small sofa, found an outdated issue of Newsweek, and settled in.
After about fifteen minutes a tall, and very attractive—it wouldn’t
take much compared to Blondie—woman whose only flaw, as far as
Jerry could tell, was that she dressed a bit too fashionably for
her surroundings. When she called his name, he noticed that she had
a delectable Southern Belle accent. Made you think of apple pie,
wide blade fans, and ladies in old fashioned dresses.
    He smiled, tossed his magazine aside and
followed her through the doorway.
    “Sorry if I kept you, Mister Hallmark.”
    “Please, Derek, the mister part makes me feel
old.”
    “Okay…Derek…I hope you’ll accept my
apology.”
    “To apologize, Miss Vaughn, you’d have to
have done something wrong first. You were taking care of business.
Nothing in the world wrong with that. Personally, I like to see a
businesswoman stay on the top of her game.”
    Despite the corniness of the remark, Jerry
saw the woman smile. And woman was stretching the word. Vaughn had
to be in her mid-twenties. That or she’d apparently stumbled on the
Fountain of Youth.
    “Well, thanks. And by the way, call me
Carrie.”
    They arrived at her office—Jerry saw this by
the placard next to the door. Jerry took the opportunity to extend
his hand. “Nice to meet you, Carrie.” The girl looked at him for a
moment, gave another smile and took his hand into her own. Her palm
was warm, silky, a stark contrast to his own. Her cheeks were
tinged with red. Everything was going according to plan. So far,
that is.
    “Please, come in.”
    Jerry took in the office in one sweeping
glance as he stepped over the threshold. The fact that her name was
not associated with the business was not the only indication that
Carrie was the low person on the totem pole. The small, cubed space
was only slightly larger than a storage closet, and Jerry had seen
bigger windows on tree houses.
    Taking her seat behind a cheap desk, Carrie
began shuffling manila folders. “Okay, Mister…I mean…Derek. I
didn’t get a chance to ask you on the phone, but what exactly are
you looking for.”
    Jerry tried to appear as if he were
considering this. In fact, he was performing from a script that he
had truly labored over.