The Fiche Room Read online

  “We play in small bars around Elkridge, Savage, and Laurel. If you ever want to come hear us, just tell the bouncers that you know me and you’ll get in for free.”

  “Thanks, that’s nice of you to offer.” Then, itching for more info, I asked, “How long have you been doing that for?”

  “Long enough time to know playing music is what I love to do.” He left Tatiana on her beanbag chair and joined me on the couch. “Goldie tells me that you’re an artist?”

  I shook my head up and down, surprised to hear someone actually call me an artist. “I just doodle.”

  “Tatiana showed me a bunch of sketches you drew. They’re really good.”

  A smile blossomed on my face. “Thanks.”

  “Do you sell your work?”

  His ridiculous question caught me by surprise. “God, no! I’m not there, yet.”

  “Not there, yet? What are you waiting for?”

  “Well, it’s not easy to make a living as an artist. I’m trying.”

  “I know I don’t look like the type, but I visit art museums all the time and collect pieces. You should promote your work at a museum. Start out at those starving artist showings.”

  I couldn’t hide my pride. Under that rough exterior, he knew how to massage a girl’s ego.

  Tatiana jumped on his lap, pooling her strawberry colored skirt around her legs as she got settled. “Tia says she didn’t even go to school for art.”

  “Oh, really?” He directed the question to her earnest eyes.

  “I learned everything from reading books and studying other art.”

  He lunged forward on the couch, shifting Tatiana to his other knee. “Even more talented than I suspected, then. Maybe I could contract you out for a job I want done?”

  I blushed. No one, besides Tatiana and Goldie, ever paid this type of attention to my work before. My dad and Colin both thought it was a silly fascination, never understanding my passion for it, never even asking to see any of my art. They had no idea what work I was capable of creating.

  “What kind of a job?”

  “I have this view overlooking my terrace that I always thought would look nice painted. I live on the Patuxent River and so the backdrop is a wooded scene with all my birdhouses and even a small tree house I built for my son, Cliff. How much would it cost me to have you draw that scene for me?”

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “Completely.” He lifted Tatiana off his lap and she hopped on one foot over to her beanbag.

  I never charged anyone for my artwork. I couldn’t name a price. “I can’t charge you.”

  “Five-hundred?” he asked.

  My mouth dropped open. “No, I could never charge you that. I’m an amateur, Charlie.”

  “I’ve seen your work. You’re not an amateur.”

  In the dim-lighted living room, his face softened.

  Goldie ducked her head around the kitchen corner, “Em, you are staying for dinner, right?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and consented with a smile. “Sure, why not?”

  “Do you want to see if Colin is brave enough to come over and visit with us too?”

  Anyone that observed Goldie and Colin could see that they didn’t get along. No way would I invite him over for dinner. Colin wouldn’t give Charlie the time of day. I could just hear his condescending, judgmental comments. I could never picture Colin discussing nine irons and Wall Street with him.

  “He’s busy tonight. I’m flying solo,” I said, then turned back to Charlie to talk about this drawing he wanted me to create.

  ****

  The next morning when I entered the fiche room, I shot straight to the back. I couldn’t wait to get started on a sketch. I sat at the table towards the back of the room, facing the door, with a pile of old files in front of me to hide my work. I opened to a fresh page and began drawing. I sketched some roses. As I shaded the pedals with a hue of pink, I thought about the bright pink house in Annapolis, the one from the café window’s view. Stopping mid-sketch, I turned to a fresh page and began drawing the house, with its scalloped trim and sharp roof pitch. I recreated the home just as I remembered it, charming and welcoming.

  I imagined Haley sitting in the café, viewing the house. I opened to another new page and started to draw Haley at the same café table where we sat that day sipping coffee. I sketched her big smile and the dimple on her right cheek. Then, I penciled in her big, expressive seaweed-colored eyes and wavy hair falling in soft layers on her shoulders. Next, I drew the locket that hung around her neck, just as I remembered it, heart-shaped with a smooth surface and diamond-cut edges. I added the silhouette of her shoulders and collar bone line.

  A defined collar bone on a woman was so sexy. Haley’s was definitely well-defined.

  I stared at her sketch. She looked pretty and just as I remembered her.

  With my finger, I traced her cheek bone, then moved down to her neckline and finally to her collar bone. I could smell her perfume, clean and refreshing. I imagined how soft her flesh would feel. I closed my eyes to drink in the flutters, the quivers, the wetness between my legs.

  I slammed the book shut.

  I jumped up, shoved the sketchbook back into my bag and sprang to the door.

  I needed to take a walk, get out of the fiche room, grab a cup of coffee at the cafeteria, something, anything to feel normal.

  I set off, barreling down the hall to get that coffee; I smiled at every guy that passed me. And, as though they’d be able to sense the short, erotic ride I ended only moments earlier, I avoided all eye contact with every woman.

  I was not normal.

  How could I be normal? These weird bouts popped up a lot. But, not like this. Haley was real, not some fantasy in a magazine.

  My head whirled in a tailspin from this one.

  I started liking girls when I was in eighth grade. I developed my first real crush on a girl named Alison. She sat diagonally in front of mine. She had shapely calves and well-defined arms and would wear these tight t-shirts that enhanced her developing breasts. I would stare at her, admiring her eloquent profile as the teacher droned on about algebraic formulas. Then, she caught me staring. I could never meet her eye again. I fought the urge to stare at another girl since.

  I had a definite affinity to females. I couldn’t deny the attraction. In movies, watching two women kiss left me wanting in on the action. On the flip side, watching a woman and man kiss, left me wanting to take a popcorn break.

  I thought about going to a gay club one night, kissing a woman, and getting this whole thing out of my system before the wedding. I wanted to experience kissing, nibbling, and pleasing a girl. I thought about this all the time. I could just imagine the horror I’d cause if my dad, Goldie, or Colin knew about this inner secret. So, instead of experimenting, I did what I always did when these thoughts crossed my mind, I denied them.

  I wanted to covet this wholesome image just as much for them as I did for myself.

  ****

  Within a few minutes, coffee in hand, senses back in check, I returned to the fiche room vowing to stay focused on work all day.

  I checked the slot for new requests. One stared me in the face. In big red lettering, Shawn Esposito scribbled, URGENT, at the top of page with a frowning smiley face.

  I headed straight to the microfiche file cabinets for the daily reports dating back to five years prior. The drawer for the earliest ones I needed was located on the bottom, which meant I had to kneel on the dirty floor while I fished out the packets. Bent over the drawer, I began my ordeal.

  Then the telephone rang—two short rings melded together—which meant it was an internal call. Climbing to my feet, I ran over to answer it.

  “Research Room,” I said.

  “Did you read my e-mail, yet?” Colin asked.

  This was the first contact I’d had with him since our date Saturday night. “Good morning to you, too.”

  “Well, did you?”

  “I haven’t got
ten around to even opening my inbox yet.”

  “I sent a request down to you that needs top priority. I have an angry client threatening to send his lawyers after me because he claims we were wrong with his balance sheets for the past two years. I worked this case and am confident I didn’t screw up anything. I need to see his history anyway.”

  “I’ll log in right away.”

  “How long do you think this will take?” he asked, softening his tone.

  “Is half an hour okay?”

  “I’ll come down and get it,” he said. “Love you, sweetheart.”

  I went to my computer and logged into e-mail. Fifteen new messages. I clicked on the button to check new messages and deleted the daily newsletter, the morning meeting notes, the announcement for recent merges, and then Haley’s name popped up on the next one.

  My heart flip-flopped. I leapt from my seat, paced the floor. Haley had emailed me. Was she just as intrigued about me, too? Maybe she had mistook my being nice for flirting? I stopped in front of the computer and stared at her name on screen.

  I was a teenager again, goofy and giddy, acting completely ridiculous.

  Vying for control, I skipped her message. I continued my search for Colin instead. After printing his request and retrieving the appropriate microfiche, I settled into research mode, scanning for history details on John Peterman Jr.’s balance sheets. As I scanned financial details, Haley’s unopened e-mail continued to tease me. The longer I resisted reading the message, the more curious I became.

  I had to read her e-mail.

  I surrendered and opened the message, releasing her words onto my screen.

  “Just checking in to see how you’re doing. I enjoyed having coffee with you the other day. Maybe next time I’m in town we can grab dinner? I’m actually coming back to Maryland in two weeks to seal that contract. Looks like I succeeded at entertaining that client. I think what clinched it was opening with the story of my mid-morning fender-bender. My boss was happy and I was too, seeing I still have a job and even earned a few brownie points. Anyway, I hope we can “bump into” each other again in two weeks.”

  The last sentence, sitting three-dimensional above the rest, set my heart racing, making me realize that maybe I really did have something to be concerned about.

  Chapter 3

  Colin stood in the fiche room glaring at the history statements I had printed for him just minutes before. Shaking his head side to side, he scratched the red blotches that sprouted up all over his freshly-shaven neck and face.

  I ran my hand along his forearm. “Why are you so worried?”

  He studied my face, “There’s a big mess.”

  “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  Dark circles pulled at his eyes. Frown lines formed along his forehead. “Come here,” he said, pulling me into a tight hug.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He squeezed me tighter. “I may have calculated Peterman’s statements wrong, cutting the guy’s profits by over twenty-five thousand dollars. I can’t find the money trail anywhere.”

  I forced myself free and stepped back. “How did that happen?”

  He looked out the window at the runners in the park across the firm’s front yard, avoiding my stare. Proficiency was part of his inherent makeup. He didn’t know how to screw up.

  “There’s tremendous pressure, Em. I’m trying to impress your father, trying to gain credibility amongst my peers, and I’m trying to do this at the same time that I’m carrying a heavier client load than ever before.”

  He could always handle pressure. That was the one trait I adored about him, the one trait I wished more than anything else I possessed. How could he screw up what came so natural to him? “It’s not like you to overlook something this important.”

  He swung back at me. “I’m not telling you this so you can make me feel worse.”

  I clutched his hand. “I’m sure this was just an oversight. This can be fixed. We’ll get through it together.”

  He never cowered under pressure. But with each second that passed, his lips trembled and I guessed that this miscalculation scared him more than he led even himself to believe. Just when I expected him to recant the helplessness of the past few minutes, he surprised me and continued to confess his troubles. “I’m not sure how your dad is going to react. I don’t want him to find out.”

  If he weren’t engaged to me, my dad might’ve fired him on the spot. A twenty-five thousand dollar mistake at Hill Financial would not slide by unnoticed for just any employee. As his daughter’s future husband though, my dad would work it out. He would make the situation disappear. We were both aware though that a piece of my dad’s respect for him would disappear along with it; respect that Colin labored to earn and aspired to keep sacred. Under all his expensive clothes and fine jewelry, I could tell, that at that moment, Colin felt about as secure as a clumsy person on a tightrope.

  I swallowed my unease. “Everything will work out. Remember, you’re marrying Emma Hill—the boss’s daughter.”

  His strong fingers wrapped around my wrist. “Promise me that you won’t say anything to him until I figure this out myself?”

  “This is a big deal. Don’t you think he should know about it?”

  “No, he doesn’t need to know.” His fingers caressed the skin along my arm. “I just want a chance to straighten this out on my own.”

  “Why did you tell me, then? You know I don’t like to keep things from him.”

  “I told you because I need your help in researching into this more. You know these machines and microfiche better than anyone. I need you to find out where that money went to.”

  And so a moment of magic finally appeared. He saw purpose in my work. He needed me. As swift as a brush stroking canvas, I switched gears from fiche girl to trusted partner. “I’m sure there’s a trail for it. There always is. I’ll get started on this right away.”

  He cradled his tamed hands onto my shoulder and gazed into my eyes. “I love you so much, Em.”

  “My father better not get into trouble over this.”

  In his customary way, he kissed the tip of my nose, my left eyelid, and then finally my right one. “You have my word. Everything will turn out just fine.”

  Everything always turned out fine when it came to him.

  ****

  Once he left, I reread Haley’s email again. Her carefree attitude spilled over into her words. I could picture her bouncing her fingers on the keyboard just as she bounced on air when she walked.

  What a curiously refreshing woman.

  A dinner with her would be quite a treat. Could I control myself? Should I even consider it? What if we hit it off? But, really, how could I not go? The dinner would be a harmless get-together.

  I settled on yes. I was going.

  I typed my response, setting my words free.

  “I enjoyed having coffee with you, too. And I would love to have dinner when you are back in town. I’ll take you to a local favorite. Oh, and congratulations on keeping that job of yours, though I seriously doubt you needed to cash in on any brownie points! I’m looking forward to having dinner. Emma.”

  Without hesitating, I clicked SEND and returned to my research, struggling to keep a big smile from taking over my entire face.

  ****

  Like most frustrated people, I experienced most of the sexually-charged scenes in my life vicariously through characters in books, movies, or television. I’d yet to experience mind-blowing sex with Colin or anyone for that matter.

  When I first met him, he courted me with late phone calls, fancy dinner dates, and surprise visits at my dormitory. He was the good-looking, impressive guy on my arm; someone I could be proud to take home and show off to my dad. I won my dad’s respect and approval just being with him.

  I lost my virginity with him. When he rolled off of me my first time, I wanted it to be my last. Something went wrong because I didn’t feel any of those things my friends spoke about, the
gasping for breath, the bucking, the great sprint towards that moment of euphoria. None of that.

  During our college days, he’d sneak into my room nearly every night to have sex. Each time I hoped I’d feel that intoxicating pleasure everyone talked about. I never did. I yearned to experience an orgasm, but it never happened. Not with him, anyway.

  I learned early on how to create bliss for myself. In the quiet depths of my candlelit bath, I would relax and sink into satisfaction as I explored my own body. I’d fantasize about the soft lips of a woman caressing my nipples, circling them with her tongue until they hardened. I imagined the warm breath against my skin as this mystery woman traveled ever-so delicately down my tummy to my navel, teasing as she nipped my skin, hovering over the area only inches from where pleasure waited.

  When Colin wanted to be physical, I’d close my eyes, try my best to ignore the rough facial hair that scratched at my skin, and imagine I was caressing a beautiful, soft, gentle woman. When I would kiss his chest, I would imagine I was sucking on a woman’s nipple. My secret fantasy would send my fingers clawing and my back arching. Then, snuffed out by guilt, the joy would fizzle right before entering the depths of intoxication.

  Our intimate needs didn’t match. He showered me with affection and I withdrew from it. He loved holding my hand when driving in the car or when walking through the mall and I searched for any reason to claim my hand back, like a scratch or a fake sneeze. Holding hands with him was as comfortable as suffocating.

  But, Colin offered companionship; someone I could go to the movies with, eat out with, spend holidays with, and feel normal with, in the sense of having a boyfriend. I could envision having a family with him and living at the end of a cul-de-sac. I’d be on the PTA and Colin would coach our kid’s soccer games.

  I had a great friend in him despite our bickering, which occurred more frequently with the stress of the wedding.

  The big problem for me - I lacked the silly fun that came with the friendships of girls. Sure, I had Goldie, but she was more the discerning type. We’d been friends since we were ten-years-old. I could trust her. She was the friend I turned to when I needed firm ground, a wake-up call, a reality check.