The Swan of Tuonela - 2. Duet - 1

Twenty minutes later, Phillip sat at the light, waiting to pull across the street and into his building’s parking lot. After three mugs of coffee, his mood was much improved, and he was singing along loudly with Hall and Oates the radio.

He checked the car clock as he watched the cross traffic turn at the corner and head down the entrance ramp to the freeway. The digits had just flipped: 9:20. When the light finally changed, he crossed the street, pulled into the driveway and swerved around the speed bumps as he accelerated down the hill. He drove into the garage, up three levels, and into a slot against the far wall. Jumping out of the car, he sprinted toward the garage elevator. 9:25 - just in time (arriving after 9:30 was considered being late). As he rushed through the lobby, he waved at the receptionist and just managed to catch the elevator and punch the button for the fifth floor. When the doors opened, he exited, turned left and took the lesser occupied hallway to get to his office just in case anyone was watching people’s comings and goings. His office faced west and so was still dark in the morning and Phillip liked it that way. He sat down at his desk and logged onto his computer. A quick perusal of his email determined that no one else in the company was demanding an immediate response, so he grabbed his coffee cup and walked down the hall to the break room.

As he leaned on the counter and drummed his fingers, waiting on the coffee machine (Why don’t people start a new pot when they empty the last? God, I’ll never understand that, he thought), he heard the click of heels on the tile floor. He turned around and saw Chloe entering. He looked at her and she looked at him and once again, The Eyebrow rose.

“OK, let’s see,” she said glancing first at her watch and then at him. “It’s 9:42. You’re hanging over the coffee machine…” She honed in like a bloodhound, her hunting instinct now hot. “Your eyes are bloodshot; you missed a spot shaving. Oh, and by the way, your socks don’t match,” she said victoriously, completing her visual survey. She leaned against the table and produced something more smirk than smile. “I suspect there’s a story here. And I suspect it’s embarrassing.”

Phillip turned and watched the coffee drain into the carafe as he considered his options, which were basically to attempt a lie or just tell the truth. He decided the truth would be easier and that a series of quick, rapid statements would be the best way to get the whole interrogation over quickly and with as little pain and humiliation as possible. He planned his riposte as he filled his cup and added creamer. When sufficiently ready, he turned around. She tilted her head. He began.

“OK…, yes. I did.”

“No, I don’t remember his name.”

“No, I don’t remember what he does.”

“No, I don’t remember where he lives.”

“Yes, he was very cute.”

“Yes, I gave him my number.”

“And, yes, I hope he will call me…,” he continued. “Although I don’t think I made much of an impression.” He finished and took a sip from his cup as he waited for the verdict.

Chloe was silent, pursing her mouth and considering. Phillip waited, wondering why he kept doing this to himself. Chloe withheld judgment a moment more and then smiled. “Good,” she said, placated. “I suspected as much. Now that that’s out of the way, do you remember that we have a meeting in an hour with the AR product manager? He wants to see what we’re proposing for the new customer class.” Chloe and Phillip were working on customer training materials for the upcoming release of the company’s accounts receivable software.

“Oh, crap. Crap! No, I forgot,” Phillip bit on the side of his lip and concentrated. “But I have been thinking about it. I’ve got some notes written up somewhere. I’d better go see if I can throw them into something presentable.” She nodded and he topped off his cup and they left the break room, brainstorming as they strode down the hall to their neighboring offices.

“And Chloe…,” Phillip wheedled as they came to her office door. “I feel like shit today. Can you run the meeting?”

Chloe stood in her doorway, smiling primly. “Of course I can,” she said and then added “I always do. But in return, you owe me the entire story of last night over the lunch that you’re going to buy me today.”

Phillip considered only for a moment. “OK, that’s a fair trade.”

                                                                   *   *   *   *

It was a little after 12:30 when Chloe pulled into the parking lot in front of their favorite barbeque place. They both ordered their usual. Phillip paid for his and Chloe’s lunches, and they walked away from the cash register and looked for a booth. After setting his food down, Phillip went to get butter, pickles, and extra sauce for them both. When he returned, Chloe was waiting for him, chin in hand, tapping her finger against her mouth. He sat down, opened his napkin, and took a sip of his iced tea while considering how to start the conversation. But when he looked up, Chloe was watching the news on the TV screens in the restaurant.

“What is it?” Phillip asked.

“Oh Jesus, just some other stupid idiocy that Reagan has come out with,” she said. “I swear that man’s going to get us into a nuclear war yet.”

“Well, if he does, we can always go out with a squirt of veggies,” Phillip offered, picking up a plastic catsup bottle.

Chloe looked back from the TV to Phillip. “So?”.

“So, what?”

“So what about this guy from last night?”

“So what about him?” Phillip said, taking a bite of his potato salad.

Chloe leaned over the table, holding her fork up by the handle like a fencer with an epee.

“Phillip…,” she said, peering at him over the top of her glasses. “I’ve told you this before. You don’t do coy well. You have never done coy well. And you know you couldn’t keep a secret if your life depended on it, especially when it’s one you’re dying to talk about.” She paused but when he didn’t respond, she continued. “So to recap – first, the all things that you don’t remember from last night,” she said (emphasizing the word “don’t”). “Let’s see… A - where he lives, B - what he does…” she cocked her head from side to side each time she emphasized a new point.

“You know, there’s really no need for sarcasm…” Phillip interrupted to point out.

“…not to mention what his name is.” She finished with a triumphant flourish of her fork and sat back, quite pleased with herself.

“I’m always bad with names,” Phillip said defensively. “You know that.”

“Not remembering the name of the person you talked to for five minutes at a cocktail party last week is one thing; not remembering the name of your amour from the previous night is just tawdry.”

“Yes, and thank you so much, Miss Manners.” Phillip said, angling his head and looking away while he searched for some excuse. “And anyway, I had a lot to drink.”

“I dare say,” Chloe commented. She tried to look judgmental but couldn’t, so she gave up and leaned in closer. “But now to the important things.” She grinned. “Tall, short? Dark hair, light hair? Stocky, slender?”

Phillip thought for a minute. “Tall…taller than me anyway. Auburn hair. Neither stocky nor slender particularly, more what’s called euphemistically a ‘gymnast’s build’ in the ads...”

“’The ads’?” Chloe blinked in mock shock. “Phillip Dunham, since when have you been trolling personal ads?”

“I haven’t been,” Phillip defended himself. “Well… not exactly,” he added. “I’ve just been reading some. You know I’ll read a cereal box if it’s in front of me.” He stopped and looked around, searching. “There. See the guy in the third booth from the door with the red tie?”

Chloe turned and looked in the direction he was pointing.

“Well, if you squint a little and imagine him with darker hair. There’s a resemblance.”

Chloe stared, considered, and then nodded and turned back to face Phillip. “OK. So anything else?” she asked, anxious to be in on the conspiracy.

“Um…” Phillip bit his lip for a minute and thought, concentrating. “He drives a really nice blue truck…,” he offered.

Chloe rolled her eyes and buttered her roll.

                                                            *  *  * 

Wednesday afternoon progressed as Wednesday afternoons always did. Slowly. Phillip was balancing two manuals on his lap and trying to incorporate their contents into a coherent paragraph. He stopped and looked up from his desk and out the window. It was four in the afternoon and the traffic was already beginning to build up. He stared at the cars on the interstate down below as they crawled away from him into the brown haze in the distance. When the song on the radio changed, he jerked in surprise and glanced over at his phone, while tapping his fingers on the desk beside his keyboard. He looked back at his monitor, reread a couple of paragraphs, frowned, and corrected a typo. He stood up and gave the phone another quick glance as he turned and walked out the door to get another cup of coffee. On his way back to his office, he stopped in Chloe’s doorway.

“So how’s it going?”

“It’s not,” she said with irritation. “I’m trying to write up this lab, and the system keeps crashing on me.” She swiveled around in her chair to face him, and planted her feet on the floor. “How can I teach someone how to do something when I’m not even able do it myself,” she asked, not really expecting an answer. Phillip nodded in sympathy and looked out the window. Chloe turned back to her computer.

“So, any news?” she asked, looking at her monitor and typing. “Any phone calls?”

“Nope, none yet.”

“Well it’s only been a couple of days.”

“Yeah. Only a couple of days…”

Phillip returned to his office and sat down. He took a sip from his cup, set it on the desk, and turned to his monitor, determined to get some work done. But after reading the same paragraph three times in a row, he gave up, reached over, picked up the phone and dialed his number. When the answering machine picked up, he punched in the code to check for messages.

“Four. Thirty. Eight. P. M. You have no new messages” the voice chirped.

“And thank you too.” Phillip muttered into the receiver. He hung up the phone and looked out the window. “You have no new messages,” he said, parodying the recording. “That’s just great.”