Native Son, by Garrett Stinson

Native Son

by Garrett Stinson

one

"Got any plans for tonight?"

Alice grimaced. Why should she even bother? What was the point?

"No, nothing tonight."

"Aren't you seeing Brad anymore?"

Lucy, just stop it, Alice thought hard at her friend, to no avail. "No, we're not seeing each other any more."

"Oh? How come? I thought he was sort of cute."

Only because you set us up, dear girl. "No, nothing clicked between us." Next time set me up with the creature from the black lagoon or something.

"Oh, darn. I really hoped to two of you would hit it off."

Why, so you could win your 'I saved an ugly old maid' merit badge? "I know. If was very nice of you to try though. I guess he just wasn't the one." Yeah, and he can join the other four-point-six million in the club.

"Well, I'll see if I can think of anyone else. Have a nice weekend. See you on Monday."

"All right. 'Bye."

Lucy left to go home to her husband and two children and would probably not even think about the trials and tribulations – or the lack thereof – of her cubicle-mate. Alice did not begrudge the girl her success in romance but just wished she could have a small fraction of that luck for herself.

She returned all the pens from her desk to the tray in her top drawer and pulled the dustcover onto her keyboard. Looking around for a final check to make sure everything was in its place, she grabbed the sweater from its wall hook and wended her way through the aisles of cubicles to the front door.

She passed the ladies room on her way out. Most of the co-workers stopped in to freshen ip before hitting the street.

Alice did not bother. She was not meeting anyone after work and she knew her face well enough. She had pledged to stop worrying over it – except, of course, in the morning when applying her make-up for the day.

Not that she had a bad looking face, not ugly by any means, but not really attractive either. The sort of face people called 'plain', even if her name did not happen to be the rhyming 'Jane'. And her name! Not Alyssa, not Alix, not Alexa, Alexandra, Alexia… not even Alicia, just plain old Alice. And not the pretty Alice in Wonderland as in the Disney cartoons, but the rather strained looking Alice in the original books.

Strained was a close description of her appearance, but that could be only because it was the end of the workweek and they had been audited this week. Still, the bags under her eyes had been growing annually and should be large enough to pack everything in when she retired. And the lines! Her mother was sixty and didn't have as many lines on her face, her forehead, her eyes – her 'laugh' lines! What a laugh that was, as if anyone could find it even vaguely amusing.

She sighed and plunged outside. Again she made the promise not to look in a mirror all weekend. If only she could follow through on that this weekend. She was so tired of the pain.

The parking lot was mostly empty. At least she had avoided the power ballet of cars inching their way forward to see who could escape the earliest. But – damn! – the parking lot attendant was Reggie. At least when there was a crowd she could get by without talking to him but on these days he would have her idling there for a time while he talked. Maybe she should just drive on through; that wooden barrier could not do that much damage to her car, could it?

As she approached the exit, she thought of another strategy.

"Hey, Alice." His feet came down off the counter and he came half out the little door. "Long time no see. You never returned my call, you know."

"Oh, you called?"

"Yeah. It was a couple of weeks ago. Thought you might want to go out again." He looked to make sure there were no cars lining up behind her and settled back on his chair. "You doin' anything this weekend?"

"Yes, actually, my mother is going into surgery tonight in Boston and I said I would come up and stay with father. He gets so stressed."

"Oh, bummer." He sat up straighter. "I'm really sorry to hear about your mom. What's the problem anyway?"

She pointed ahead. "The problem is I can't get to the airport with this in my way."

"Oh, yeah, sorry." He punched the button and the gate came up. "Give my best to your mom." His words trailed to nothingness as she sped away.

Thank goodness, she thought. When he had asked her out, she knew he was younger than her, but thought maybe a younger man was what she needed. Maybe so, just not this younger man. He had only one thing on his mind and the only reason he had asked her out was… well, she must have 'looked desperate'. That may be true, but not desperate for sex. She had spent the entire evening trying to keep his hands in his own pants. And she was not nearly desperate enough for a rematch.

Soon she was out of downtown and on the expressway. She imagined being in a convertible, top down rather than just the windows alone, breezing along with the wind blowing her hair. Though the windows were all down, her imagination could not summon any sort of breeze as she inched along in the Friday evening traffic jam.

Men, relationships, love, romance. All these things seemed to be something she was to be denied as well as the thing she wanted most: children. And not just to have them but to have a partner with whom to raise them. None of that unwed single mother stuff would do for her. She wanted the entire package.

"Your problem is of a poor self-image," the therapist had told her. And they had worked and worked on the issue without any resolve.

After two years, Alice had grown impatient. She had talked about everything under the sun but was no closer to solving her problem, or rather the problem the therapist said she had.

"How much longer, do you think, before we can get to the root of this problem?"

"Alice, you cannot rush these things. Digging can take a lot of time. We might have to work at it for twenty years before we work you through it."

And that was the last she saw of the therapist. All right for the therapist to talk of twenty years, but by then it would be too late for Alice to raise her family. Menopause would have destroyed her chances and the therapist did not seem to grasp that simple bit of arithmetic.

So she had dismissed the two years as wasted and the drain on her savings account had been written off to experience. Instead, she had turned to other resources. If that what you could call those romance novels she read avidly, dog-earing pages with insightful passages, underlining meaningful paragraphs.

Jeez! she thought. Who else reads those pulp novels like they were textbooks? Anyone? Anyone!? And though the novels and the romantic films she rented by the bushel proved to bring some solace – as did the trip to the sex toy store Lucy had recommended – nothing gave her what she needed.

The traffic finally began to ease up and she could flow more smoothly to her apartment in Jersey although even that fact did not bring any solace. There was no one there waiting for her. Not even a pet!

two

"Have a good weekend?"

Alice fumed and tried her best to smile at Lucy. "Yes, I did."

"Oh…" Lucy grinned maliciously, "you got lucky, huh?"

"In a manner of speaking." Yeah, a weekend without Brad was really lucky.

Lucy clapped her hands quietly and leaned back in her steno chair. "I'm so happy for you. About time you started having a little fun in life."

"Thank you." Alice turned to her desk, removing the keyboard cover, thinking she had really made her friend's day. Lucy would be getting that gold star later today for helping save an old maid from a fate worse than loneliness.

Soon the annoyance faded as she got into her rhythm, typing, researching, making the usual follow-up phone calls. The routine did its magic and she was drawn away from her worries and small petty personal problems.

A glance at the clock caught her by surprise. It was almost lunchtime and the Radiger accounts had to be delivered upstairs. She penciled in a final note and hefted the pile off her desk.

"Here you go, Lucy. Here's today's group."

"What do you mean?" Lucy turned around with a calendar in her hand. "Its your turn, silly."

"Oh, bother!" How could she have lost track? "All right." She stood with the files. "And what have you got?" Her shoulders slumped when she saw the size of the files Lucy was pivoting her direction. "All those?"

"Yes." A pause and sheepish grin. "Sorry."

"Oh, well. Thems the breaks." She maneuvered her pile to receive Lucy's on top and headed for the door. It was uncomfortable to carry and too unwieldy to try and reposition it while moving. She just hoped she could time the door right so it would be opened.

As she rounded the corner, her spirits sank again. And the door was not the push bar variety, it had a handle you had to push down. She slowed a little, hoping someone would appear to open the door for her. No one appeared on her side nor, as evident through the glass, or on the other side. She sighed and fumbled the files to one side to free a hand to push down on the handle.

She pushed and it was not enough. Bending her knees slightly, she felt the latch clear, and turned to push it open with her rump. Then she twisted around to proceed along the corridor…

And crashed headlong into someone. Why didn't they get there a minute sooner to open the door for her instead of tripping her when the door was finally open?

That thought flashed through her mind as her hands grasped to maintain control of the files. But the effort was futile; the files cascaded like cards off a deck,, out of her arms and across the floor.

She stood there, helpless, wanting to scream an expletive. That or simply disappear. And then the shakes started. How was she going to put all this back in order?!

A flash of anger rose in her. Who could have been running down the corridor without looking where they were going? Her frustration would be greatly alleviated by lashing out at the poor office boy who caused this catastrophe. She turned and opened her mouth…

And squeaked.

"I am so very sorry, miss. I should have been watching where I was going rather than answering my phone." He bent to retrieve the phone – now in several pieces – and stayed on his knees. "I seem to have made quite a mess of all your hard work. And you probably worked most of the morning on this preparation." He began gathering up the files, carefully scooping them up in the order they fell, to try and preserve some order amid the confusion.

Again she squeaked, too entranced to even try and stop. Watching his shoulders, she imagined them without the suit coat on. And she was certain they were broad, even a suit cannot add that kind of bulk. His hair was dark brown – almost black – and cut perfectly, the skin lightly tanned, his motions assured and yet so graceful.

His profile was delicate but chiseled. It reminded her of the Superman character in the films. But this was the Clark Kent alter ego, but without the glasses. As though he was rushing to don his superhero suit when he collided with her.

She came out of her stupor and got down on the floor next to him. No need to make him pick up the mess all by himself. Besides, in the closeness she could feel his presence and capture his aroma a little clearer.

"It's not all your fault," she said, piling up the files, "I should have watched where I was going."

"No, you don't have to. The door was opening, and I should have been watching." He gathered up the last of the files and stood with them, reaching out his other hand to help her up. His grip was firm, his skin smooth. She practically swooned as he raised her to her feet.

She started to reach for the files. He pulled them away from her hands. "No, I feel obligated to carry them for you since I have delayed you so unnecessarily." His smile was warm and – she was astonished to think – genuine. "Which way?"

"Uh, I… uh, down this way." She pointed down the hall and he strode in step with her. Was he a dancer? Small talk, she that, talk to him, stupid! "I haven't seen you here before? Are you a new employee?"

He chuckled and it was warm water running over silver pebbles. "No, I'm just here on business." He laughed aloud. "Silly me. This is a place of business, so of course I would be here on business."

He's nervous, she thought. And the thought thrilled her.

She wanted to walk slower, preserve and prolong this moment, this feeling. But Frank's office was not that far down the hall. She opened the door for her knight in shining armor and he carried the load in and set it on Rachel's desk.

"Thank you." Rachel looked quizzically from Alice to the stranger and back to Alice, who smiled and nodded as she turned to go.

He opened the door for her. "Sorry for the mishap. I hope your work does not suffer from my clumsiness."

"I sure it is all right. It's only files, nothing life or death, you know." She smiled.

"You are very kind." He followed her out into the hall. "You should smile more often. It is a lovely smile."

She beamed. Was he blushing? "Thank you." They were back at her office and he opened the door for her. "Thank you again." She raised her hand. "I am Alice Briggs."

The blush increased. "Pleased to meet you." He laughed. "Well, perhaps not the best way to meet someone, but I'm glad it happened. I'm Stephen Radcliffe." He shook her hand. "Perhaps next time, I won't have to knock you down." He smiled again and left.

It might have been a half hour before she melted back to her desk. Had he actually said he had been glad it happened? Stephen Radcliffe. How could she possibly see him again? Could she arrange to bump into him somewhere else?

If only she knew something more about him.

Lucy was not there to tell about her encounter. That's right, it was lunchtime. Maybe by the time Lucy returned she would be able to get her smile under control. As it was it was almost painful.

Had it been that long since she smiled?