What You See (5 page)

The room began to fill with the aroma of flowers blowing in
the wind, and I had thoughts of lying in a hammock between two trees on a lazy
summer afternoon. Where was I? I was lost in the mist of clouds my mind lapsed
into when I started daydreaming or wandering off into another part of the
world. I couldn’t help but find this man intoxicating. He was a head taller
than I, and outweighed me by fifty pounds. Obviously he exercised regularly
because his body was firm and muscular. His brown hair was short and curly, and
his eyes were the shade of sapphires. He wore the uniform of a tan shirt and
brown pants. Each time he moved, I could hear the creak of his leather belt
that held a gun and a police radio. The only thing missing was a nightstick.
Through the living room window, I noticed a brown and yellow police cruiser
parked underneath the large Poplar tree in the middle of the yard. The tree
stood along the semi-circular driveway, which I thought was the best thing
since parking garages.

“I’m sorry you can’t stay for dinner,” I said. “Maybe you can
come some other time.” I was utterly disappointed and wanted to detain him just
a little while longer. “Did you say your last name is James? Are you any
relation to Mr. James who lived here?”

“As a matter-of-fact, I am. Toby’s my cousin. His father and
my dad were brothers. Sad to say, they both have passed away, but my mom’s
alive and kicking, and lives in Ruckersville.” He smiled an even more seductive
smile. I don’t think he realized how sexy he was at that very moment. “I live
up
South River Road
about a mile and a half from here.
I’m sorry, but I really have to be going. I have to be at work in thirty
minutes. It sure was nice to meet you folks, and I hope we can get together for
dinner real soon.”

Dad walked him to the door; with me following behind like a
little puppy.

“How about coming to dinner Saturday night? Say, maybe
six o’clock
? That is, if you don’t have to work,” Dad asked.
“Here, let me give you our phone number. If something happens and you can’t
make it, just give us a call. If you can make it, then we’ll see you Saturday.”

Cole turned to Dad as they walked down the front porch steps
and replied, “It sounds good to me. I’ll be here. I’m off every other weekend
and this just so happens to be my weekend off, unless one of the guys calls in
sick. There’s a bug going around. It must be that pre-summer thing.” He removed
a small pad and pen from his shirt pocked and began writing. “Here’s my home
phone number, cell, and pager numbers, and the number of the police station. If
you ever need to reach me, you’ll find me at one of these numbers.” He tore the
piece of paper from his notepad and handed it to Dad.

I stood there staring at him. I felt like one of those mannequins
you see in a store window with my hands all stretched out, trying to look as if
I had style and grace, while pleading, “Hey, over here, look at me!”

Why is it, you spend your entire life, subconsciously, or
maybe in your dreams, wondering what it’s going to be like when you meet Mr.
Right, and when you do, you’re so dumb struck, you don’t even realize it? Or,
maybe you do, and it’s too scary to think about. I felt as if I had just peed
on myself while everyone stood by and watched. I waved good-bye to Cole and
walked into the house.

Suddenly, I felt twinges in parts of my body that I didn’t
even know existed. It has been a long time since I’ve had sex or even thought
about it. Do you forget how, if you don’t practice? The last time I had sex or
even entertained ideas of a romantic relationship was four months ago when I
was dating Matt Whitefield. The sex was rapturously exotic, but the romance was
missing. At first, our relationship was filled with romance. He wined and dined
me and said things to boost my ego, but after just a few short weeks, the
romance was replaced with nothing but sex. He stopped taking me out, and
eventually, only came over when he wanted to sleep with me. It didn’t take long
to figure that one out. I hated giving up the good sex, but I wanted more out
of a relationship. I wasn’t looking for a husband—just someone who would be
good company.

This was my chance to make a fresh start. My brief encounter
with Cole was enough for me to realize that I wanted to get to know him better.
I told myself this time things would be different. I wouldn’t jump into
something before thinking long and hard about it, especially someone’s bed.

I couldn’t get Cole out of my mind. All through dinner I
fantasized about going out with him. Every time my folks tried to have a
conversation with me, I had to jolt myself back to reality. Maybe it was my
hormones or endorphins kicking into overdrive, but whatever the case, I was
swimming in a sea of lust, romance and dreams, planning my next move. I had to
be careful. I didn’t want to blow my first relationship, if that’s what it was
going to be.

Friday morning, I was startled out of a restful sleep, full
of sexual and emotional dreams about Cole, by Athena jumping on the bed and
licking my face. This had become her usual morning ritual. I think dogs have
this thing about their tongues. They have to put it everywhere and touch
everything with it. I find it difficult to deal with them licking their butts
and then trying to lick my face. It’s too nasty to think about.

I got out of bed and went downstairs with the intention of
putting food in Athena’s bowl, but someone had beaten me to it. A note was
lying on the bar from Mom, saying she and Dad went to the grocery store in town.

I fixed a cup of coffee and walked over to the bay window in
the dining area. The sky was gray against the green trees and a yard bursting
with the color of spring. Small raindrops had begun to fall as I sat down at
the table. I read the newspaper, scanning the want ads. I needed a job. If I
couldn’t find one in the paper, I’d have to go to the unemployment office for
help. I had a good feeling about this place and the opportunities it offered.
Was this because I had a different outlook on things since I’d met Cole? It’s
amazing how your attitude can change so suddenly. This time last week, I
thought my life was going into the crapper, and it probably was, but now, I had
found myself a man, lived in a great house, and would eventually find a good
job. I was so happy.

I searched the want ads until I had decided it was hopeless.
Every job I came across was either something I couldn’t do, or wouldn’t do. I
guess Athena could sense my frustration because she came over and lay down
under the table beside my feet. I reached down and patted her head.

“Not to worry, girl. We’re going to do fine. We have each
other and a good home. How lucky can we get?” She started that licking thing
again as I slipped back to the spot in my fantasies where Cole and I were
relishing each other. Our first embrace was followed by our first kiss, and
right then and there, I knew I was hooked. My mind had shifted into a realm of
confusion and emotional make-believe, brought on by a lifelong need to have
someone to love. I gathered my wits and continued my job search, trying to put
Cole out of my head. I was just about to give up, when an ad caught my eye: Help
Wanted. Office girl. Billy Blackhawk Investigations.
200 Greenbriar Road
,
Charlottesville
. No phone calls.

The ad was appealing. I can do this, I told myself. I hope the
job hasn’t been taken. I bet working for a private eye could be exciting. Yet,
deep in the back of my mind, I kept remembering that old saying... Be careful
of what you wish for...

I
tore the ad out of the paper
and hurried upstairs to shower. I didn’t want to waste any time, however,
choosing something to wear might take a while. My selection of clothes was
pitiful. I had a jeans skirt and jacket outfit, one black skirt I could wear
with different blouses, and two dresses that should’ve gone into the trash
years ago. I had one pair of black high heels and the Reeboks that I wore most
of the time. I definitely needed to buy some new clothes. I gave up and pulled
my newest pair of jeans out of the dresser and went back to the closet to get my
white silk blouse. The blouse was tapered and short to the waist with short
sleeves. Maybe it would dress up the jeans a little.

I had just finished taking a shower when I heard the
beep-beep of the door alarm that goes off when someone opens either one of the
three different entrance doors to the house. Good, Mom and Dad must be back
from the store. I was wondering whether I was going to have to leave Athena in
the house, or put her outside when I left, but now I wouldn’t have to worry
about her. If I left her outside and she took off into the hills and never came
back, I’d feel terrible. Dressed in a towel, I went to the hallway and called
out, “Is that you guys?”

“Yes,” Mom replied. “We went to the IGA to get some
groceries.”

I heard them downstairs rustling paper bags and talking to
each other, and the familiar click, click of Athena’s toenails scraping the
hardwood floors. An occasional bark echoed up the stairwell. Mom must have
bought her a treat, and she wanted it now!

“I found a job in the paper I want to check out,” I shouted.
“I’ll be down as soon as I get dressed and tell you all about it.”

I got dressed and applied a little mascara and blush. I’m not
much for wearing a whole lot of make up because I can’t stand the feel of all
that junk on my face. I’d rather be plain than have to take a putty knife to my
face to get the layers of crusted foundation removed. I don’t wear lipstick
because it makes my lips look like a prune covered with paint.

After quickly checking my computer to see if I was still connected,
or if I had fallen into a dark hole somewhere in the bowels of hillbilly hell,
I grabbed my purse and car keys and went downstairs.

Mom and Dad were putting away groceries. Athena was laid up
in a corner chewing on one of those fake bones made out of rawhide. Somebody
loved that dog besides me.

Not wanting to go into any long, drawn out conversation, I
said, “I found a secretarial job in
Charlottesville
, but I need to find out how to get there. Do you have any
idea how to get to
Greenbriar
Road
?”

Dad walked over to a kitchen drawer, retrieved a telephone
book and said, “The telephone directory has maps of the city. I’m sure we can
find the street you’re looking for.”

We scanned the pages until we found
Greenbriar Road
. It was off Route 29, which meant I
had to take a right at the stoplight in Ruckersville and go down for about five
or six miles. That didn’t concern me. What did concern me was trying to figure
out how to get to the main road to Ruckersville. I’m not the best when it comes
to following directions, and I would be dealing with small, curvy back roads
that lead into different crevices and dead ends. The one thing I remember from
my association with my new beer-drinking, gun-toting friends was to stay away
from a place called Bacon Hollow. That was good enough advice for me.

Assured of my ability to find what I was looking for, I said
good-bye and headed out. It was still raining outside, so I grabbed a piece of
the newspaper to cover my still damp hair, and then ran to my car. The minute I
slid into the seat, I crumbled the newspaper and threw it down on the
floorboard. Crap. I was going to look like a drowned puppy when I got there.
The minute I started the car, the windows fogged up. Give me a break! It was
warm in the car and it was raining outside... does that equal fog? Needless to
say, that didn’t last long. I turned on my defroster and the cloudiness
cleared. However, once the car had been running for a few seconds, I heard a
weird, thumping noise. On our drive here for the big move, I had passed a car
on the interstate to keep up with Mom and Dad, and that was the first time I
noticed the engine making a noise. It was the same now, only louder.

“Car... don’t freak out on me!” I mumbled to myself. I didn’t
know what was wrong, but I knew that noise wasn’t a good sign.

I put the car in drive and headed to the end of the driveway.
I made the right-hand turn and followed the road to the concrete bridge. By
then, my old Chevy sounded like it was beating the drums to some tribal dance
ritual. Actually, it wasn’t that bad, but the noise was getting louder, and to
me, that was a sure sign something was not right.

Should I turn around and go get my folks’ van, or should I
take my chances in a place I wasn’t familiar? As soon as I crossed the bridge,
I made a U-turn and went back home.

Back on the road again, I managed to make it all the way to
Charlottesville
without a hitch. I memorized all the
landmarks, and checked out the scenery for future references. I wanted to see
all the beautiful trees and mountains. I was finally getting a chance to soak
up the magic this place held for my parents. There must be something special
about this area. People come from all over the
United States
to visit the Luray Caverns,
Skyline Drive
,
Blue
Ridge Parkway
, and to
ski at the Massanutten and Wintergreen Ski Resorts. Also,
Charlottesville
is the home of the
University
of
Virginia Cavaliers
, which is one of the finest basketball teams in the
country, as far as I’m concerned. I try not to miss one of their games on
television. But baseball is my true passion. I love the Atlanta Braves. I even
have a Braves’ jersey—one of the few expensive purchases I allowed myself. I do
have my little idiosyncrasies.

Forty minutes after I left the house, I reached
Greenbriar Road
. I wasn’t sure whether to take a
left or a right at the light, so I flipped a coin in my head, and since I was
in the right-hand lane, right won out. Shortly, on the right side of the
street, I saw the number 214—a Quick Stop gas station mini-mart, and next to it
was 212—a McDonald’s. This led me to believe I was going in the right
direction. After passing several business establishments, I came to a
two-story, brick building with the number 200 on the front. The parking lot was
big enough to hold six or seven cars, but there was only one there, and it
looked pretty rough. The car was a faded green Mercury sedan that had to be at
least twenty years old. I hoped this wasn’t any indication of the boss’
clientele, or worse, belong to the boss. I guess I’m just the pot calling the
kettle black. Even so, I was out to make a living. On the left side of the
building was a driveway.

It was still raining. I scanned the inside of the van hoping
to find an umbrella, but no such luck. Contemplating how I was going to get
inside the building without getting soaked, I sat there and looked around.
Maybe I should take some time and look this place over before I get out of the
van. The building itself reminded me of a warehouse because of the size, but
the red brick on it was clean and looked new. There weren’t any windows in
front, just two glass doors with Billy Blackhawk Investigations written in
three-inch, cursive letters on the left door. From what I could see through the
doors, the office looked like one big open space with a desk in the middle.
Behind the desk were two offices, separated by a hallway down the middle.
Straining to see through the rain, I could tell the desk was a large, heavily
carved mahogany piece of furniture. I appreciate real furniture... not the junk
you put together in ten-easy-steps, and then turn into a sponge if you get the
least bit of water on it.

With my spirits lifted a little, I jumped out of the van and
ran to the door. Once inside, I shook the water off onto a slate foyer the size
of a small bedroom, and was immediately and pleasantly surprised. The beep-beep
of the alarm system sounded. The desk was indeed a fine piece of furniture,
uncluttered with the usual paperwork normally scattered everywhere. On top of
the desk sat a computer, telephone, and various office supplies. To my right
was a set of double windows with a pair of burgundy leather, Queen Anne chairs.
A large rubber tree plant separated the two chairs. To the left of the room was
the same arrangement of chairs and plant, but instead of a rubber tree, the
large plant was a schefflera. Both of the plants were so healthy looking; I was
beginning to wonder if they were real. The carpet was a dark gray Berber pile
with specks of burgundy. The walls were painted a light shade of gray and all
the wood trim and doors were stained a deep, walnut shade. Someone had
impeccable taste. I wished I’d been a bit more selective in the clothes I’d
chosen to wear for this job hunt. I felt like a waif going to dine at the
Captain’s table on a luxury liner. I thought about turning around and heading
to the nearest clothing store, when the door on the left opened and a man
appeared. He was not just an ordinary man, either.

Now I understood where the name Blackhawk originated. This
man was obviously of Native American descent. He was huge—six-three possibly,
and at least two hundred and ten pounds. Are all the men around here that big?
He had long, shiny black hair, pulled back in a ponytail that went down the
middle of his back. His skin was dark, and under his reading glasses, a pair of
brown eyes focused on me. He was dressed in a well-tailored, black suit with a
gray and red-striped tie. I thought the ponytail and suit were a strange
combination. I guessed him to be about forty, or forty-five years old.

“Hello, may I help you?” his husky voice greeted me.

I held out my hand to him and said, “Hello, my name’s Jesse
Watson. I’m here to see about the job you had advertised in the paper. I hope
I’m not too late. I just moved here a few days ago, and I didn’t know how long
the ad had been running. I’d like to apologize for the way I’m dressed, but I
still haven’t finished unpacking.” I lied and continued to ramble. “This is the
type of work I usually do. I don’t mean work for a private eye... but the office
part of it.” I was falling all over myself. Later, I would realize my reason
for acting like this was because he was such a big man, and the fact that he
was Indian intimidated me. I don’t think I’ve known but one Indian, and I
didn’t know her that well. He didn’t scare me—I just felt tiny and limp.
Perhaps it had something to do with the lie I’d just told.

He reached out his hand and took mine in his, shaking it
firmly, but not hard. Looking me directly in the eyes, he stated
matter-of-factly, “Take a deep breath, Miss Watson. The job’s still open. My
name’s Billy Blackhawk and I own this agency. I’ve talked to a few people so
far, but I haven’t found the right person yet.”

All the anxiety and nervousness I had amassed in the last
hour or so seemed to slip away. He was a large man, but he also was gentle. He
made me feel calm and safe. I felt bad about telling him a lie. I had to clear
that up immediately.

“I lied about the clothes thing. I’ve finished unpacking and
the truth is I don’t have many clothes. I have enough to get by, but I can tell
from my surroundings, I did a poor job of dressing for this interview. I mean,
this isn’t Taco Bell. Please don’t hold that against me. Next time I promise I
won’t be an embarrassment to you because of the way I dress.”

He released my hand and replied, “I like that in a person. I
like someone who will feel guilt when they have told a lie, but one must learn
how to control that guilt. You must be strong and firm about your beliefs and
learn how to channel them for your own good. You must never follow the paths
that others will try to send you.” He motioned for me to sit in the chair
behind the lobby desk.

I didn’t know if he was preaching the word of God to me, or
if this was some Indian thing, but I did as he instructed. I sat in the chair.

It felt nice. The chair was one of those computer chairs with
armrests, only the cushioning was thicker, and the fabric was the same color of
burgundy as the rest of the furnishings. There was a heavy, clear plastic mat
underneath. I rolled the chair around on the mat and decided I could get used
to this. God, I hope this guy isn’t some weirdo.

Looking up at a man the size of a bear made me feel small. I
think he sensed it, too. He walked into his office, returned with a small chair
and sat down at the corner of the desk.

“I’m looking for someone to run the front desk, take calls,
do all the paperwork that needs to be done, make coffee when the pot is empty,
and help me keep things cleaned up when it gets dirty. We don’t have a cleaning
service. I can’t seem to justify paying someone a hundred dollars a week to
come in two times and vacuum. Also, you have to know how to use a computer,” he
stated. “You tell me how much of this you can do.”

“I can do all of the above, and I’ll even dust. I know my
fair share of computer, but I can’t go in there and draw a butterfly, not yet
anyway.”