"Okay pal, friend of mine, tell me the story," Michael said.
"Aww...."
"I'm sorry! It was out of your mind, wasn't it? And I reminded you."
"No, not really. But why should I bring us both down?"
"My idea is to bring you up!"
"The only way you could make me utterly and unbelievably happy is not in the cards. You're way out of my league, you made that perfectly clear to me with your interest in that incredible beauty with the strange name."
"I guess you mean Sage."
"I guess I do. I guess you do too."
"We're supposed to be talking about you, Millie!"
"Me. I'm so boring.
Sooo
boring. No wonder nobody loves me, cherishes me. I know, you care about me, but...."
"Why are you so awful about yourself?"
"I'd love to be able to say I'm gorgeous and wonderful and a really good catch. But facts is facts. I'm not. And so, I get toyed with. Do you remember the man I was dancing with at Anthony's party?"
"Which one?! You were swamped."
"However it may have seemed to you, I began with this guy and ended up with this guy. I thought he was wonderful. Of course, I'm not used to men doting on me the way he did."
"Michael, your pizza is ready," an intercom blared.
"Hold that thought, Millie," Michael stood. "I'll be right back." He soon returned carrying a gigantic pizza, warm bread aroma enveloping them in their cozy booth.
"Sustenance!" Without ceremony, Michael pulled cheese-dripping slices of pizza onto plates for Millie and himself. "Continue – so you're not used to men behaving like this still nameless man...."
"Bill. Bill-the-louse. Yeah. He's attractive, but in a sort-of untrustworthy way. You say to yourself, is this guy actually slimy, or are his eyes just deep-set and he can't help that? Turns out, both points are true. He's Sage's attorney and he was only friendly to me because he saw me hanging around with her. He thought I was a personal friend of hers."
"He
said
that?"
"Pretty much. After he'd taken me out to dinner a couple times he started in on me about when I was going to see her and I said I didn't know. After a couple of other... ahm, social events, he continued nagging me about her. I finally told him I hardly knew her. Then he got mean, and quite frankly, really weird." Millie shuddered. "He never even called me after that."
Michael shook his head, consternation furrowing his brow. Something deeply troubled him, something beyond even what Millie just told him. "This gives me a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. Clearly the best part of your story is the fact that you got rid of him."
Millie nodded, while sadness continued to cloud her pixie features. "I know you're right. But I got so involved so fast. He just doted on me. Or so it seemed. And then to realize that all he said and all he did was simply flat-out lies – how can anyone be so
entirely
deceitful? How can a person live with themselves, knowing they've hurt someone else like that?"
"I imagine, my dear little Millie, that he has no clue that he's hurt you. He sounds almost sociopathic. You know, they type of person incapable of empathy – good at getting people to do what he wants, but cannot even grasp the notion that they may have thoughts, feelings and desires of their own."
Millie nodded. "Yes, Michael, exactly. It's as if you know him. Well, he just ought to be struck mute so he can't do that anymore, that's what I think."
"Sounds like the perfect punishment. I can't shake how dark the mental image of this guy is to me. I wonder why Sage has such a questionable character for an attorney?"
"Yeah. I wondered too. She seems nice and honest, so why would she employ someone really shifty? And she's smart, wouldn't she know he's a crook? Maybe I'm not being fair," Millie took a second piece of pizza. "Maybe he's okay as an attorney, but lousy in a relationship. But my instincts say, 'this guy is trouble.' "
"I'm going with your instincts," Michael said leaning back. "When it comes to women's instincts, I stand in awe. You know you're better off without this guy, Millie, so cut your losses, take your heart back, and move on."
"If only my instincts would kick in sooner! Except for with you Michael. The moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were good-hearted. I've never been wrong about that. Like today, I needed someone to talk with, to help me get back in focus,
so
much
. And here you are, calling me up, making me exercise, feeding me."
"That's what friends are for, my little pizza eater," Michael said, giving her a wink.
Chapter 8
Sage thrashed through Aunt Vicky's massive walnut desk, trying to sort out the paperwork she'd need for the impeding appointment with Bill Rattnor, wondering which part of the chore she hated more – finding out how much
more
I'm in debt Aunt Vicky's estate was, or having to be alone with Bill Rattnor, whom she viscerally disliked. And, she knew, that feeling was clearly mutual.
"What
is
your bookkeeping system, Aunt Vicky? Oriental carpets under 'P,' along with alcohol, cars and horses." She found a cover sheet in the middle of the file. All that was on it were the words: "Miscellaneous Pleasures."
"Ah! I get it, 'P' is for pleasure." She stuffed the documents regarding carpets, alcohol, cars and horses under the cover sheet and returned the file to its place when the front door chimes reverberated through the house.
"
Ish!
There he is." She stepped into a pair of heels, then let Bill in and led him to Victoria's office. She had the fleeting thought that one did not invite the vampire into one's home.
"How are you, Sage?" he asked in a sinuous, too-familiar voice as they walked down the hall.
She could feel his dark eyes on her while she moved to sit behind the desk. "Please, Mr. Rattnor, have a seat. I've been well, thank you."
"That's good." He continued to stare at her. "You were fairly out of sorts."
Sage closed her eyes and gathered herself. Everything that came out of this man's mouth and his whole entire
presence
crawled under her skin and laid little eggs of revulsion.
"Out of sorts, Mr. Rattnor? I didn't have the flu...."
"Sorry," he said, sounding more insincere than ever, "I always seem to express myself poorly when I'm around you. You're such a stickler for words. Your Aunt Victoria never seemed to care what I said, as long as I did my job."
You don't like me, I don't like you, Sage thought. So let's get on with business and get this over with. She slid open the desk drawer and pulled out the file that she'd compiled. "I've been going through files." She noted him shift uneasily out of the corner of her eye. As she thumbed through the paper work, she continued, "and, although Aunt Vicky had an unorthodox method of filing, I've gotten the gist of it. What I'm getting at is, there are several things I cannot find any trace of at all. For example," she turned her attention back to Rattnor, matching him stare for stare. "I can't find a single trace of the Petrol-Fill papers. Not anything."
Bill shrank ever so slightly from her gaze. Maybe, she thought, I can get the upper hand with this snake.
But the snake quickly hooded his eyes, and stared her down. "Don't worry your pretty blonde tresses about such things," he all but hissed. "Why would you bother with this stuff? You've got better things to do. Places to go, things to see, men to go out with."
Sage's ire rose. "Mr. Rattnor, let's make some things clear. First of all, your are not to discuss my personal life. Secondly, I concern myself with issues that are, indeed, my business, whether you approve or not. And thirdly, I can't spend time or money going places, doing things, when I daily receive information about how all the businesses in my aunt's estate are hemorrhaging money. Money that I cannot trace. It's your job to fully apprise me, the executor of her will, of any operation I choose to investigate."
She lowered to voice to clarify her resolve. "If you cannot do what you are paid to do, you will be replaced."
Bill Rattnor stood, braced his knuckles on the edge of the desk and leaned toward Sage. There was something like a smile pasted across his mouth, but his eyes were cold, flat steel. "Little girl, I have no time to teach you, simply because you have whims, how to understand your aunt's business. I've plenty enough to do trying to salvage what I can from her frivolous and selfish life style...."
With that, Sage rose as well, and, in her heels, dominated him. She stood straight, arms at her sides, her anger a deadly calm. "Mr. Rattnor, you are never, under any circumstance, to refer to my Aunt in any remotely negative terms within my hearing. Victoria's life-style was her business. Additionally, I am not, by any stretch of the definition, a little girl.
"You will not patronize me. You will treat me with respect. You will perform your services as I see fit." She folded her arms, half a gnat's breath from firing him. "You have one of two courses of action. You can sit, and we'll continue this appointment, or you can find your own way to the door for the last and final time."
Bill Rattnor picked up his briefcase and left. Sage listened to the angry click of his heels across the foyer marble, winced when the heavy door slammed.
She stood, unmoving for a few moments, still believing he'd return. But he didn't and she slowly sank into the chair. What had just happened? She felt she'd won some kind of psychic battle, but feared she'd begun a war.
Why would there be a war? What was Rattnor's problem? Could it be that spending time with her clarifying the books really angered him? Although Aunt Vicky's accounts and business were extensive, he was on exclusive contract with her, which made him now exclusively Sage's attorney. She was his boss. He was her employee. Why did he appear to not understand that?
She returned to the files, vexed and confused. What to do now? The overwhelming muddle of Aunt Vicky's filing just about did her in.
Half-an-hour later the phone rang. It was Bill's secretary. "One moment please, Miss Elgin, Mr. Rattnor wishes to speak with you."
Bill came on the line. "Sage! Glad you're still there," his said in his saccharin, metallic voice. "Are you calmed down now?"
"Me?!" Sage asked, amazed.
"Now don't get excited again. I just wanted to call and smooth things out. You want to look at the Petrol-Fill files. I have them. I'll come over Friday to go over it with you."
"How about right now?" Sage answered.
"Sage, you forfeited your appointment time with me today by suggesting I leave. You have a life of leisure. I have a life of work. I'm booked until Friday."
"Mr. Rattnor, I don't need you present in order to look at
my
files. I'll be over directly to look at them myself."
"The files are in a safe, Sage. The whole world isn't set up just for your whimsy."
"Make copies, have them delivered. I'll expect them no later than tomorrow afternoon."
Sage hung up. Bill Rattnor really hated her, deeply. And in some sense that she couldn't understand, he hated her beyond herself. She didn't know
what
the hate was or
why
it was, but it left her quivering even after she walked out of Aunt Vicky's office in an effort to get away from his horrible steel-cold presence.
....................................................................
* * *
However, Sage was surprised when a package containing copies of the Petrol-Fill files was delivered the next morning. She took the package into the kitchen, made herself tea and began to spread out the files' contents on the kitchen counter. They were in terrible chronological disarray and Sage's tea grew cold as she tried to put it in order. Receipts and notes from different times had been photo-copied together on the same sheets of paper, some documents had been reduced so much they were nearly impossible to read. She got out scissors and cut apart the unrelated documents, continuing to put them in chronological order.
She put everything into the best order she could, made some fresh tea and began to study the documents in earnest. The more she looked, the more holes she saw. There was every indication that Petrol-Fill functioned in the green, but the bottom-line numbers were frighteningly in the red. A chill ran through her as an unavoidable conclusion rose.
She must be wrong!
She moved away from the strewn papers to clear her head, reminding herself that she had no background in business. She didn't understand what she was looking at. On the other hand, she was not stupid. It was clear that something was profoundly amiss with the Petrol-fill files. In addition to hating her, Sage realized that Bill Rattnor must think she was a blithering idiot.
She topped up her tea and meandered out to the flower garden, pacing over the neglected black crushed-rock paths, deep in thought. Leaves and debris overtook the walks, the flowers had grown wild and unchecked or were dead stalks or were choked with ivy. The hedges had fallen into complete disarray, like school boys without hair cuts.
Poor neglected garden, Sage thought, sitting on an ornate Victorian black wrought iron bench. It had been such a show place, she thought, and now it's a... hide place. She sipped her tea and looked around at the bleak unhappy garden, thought about the Petrol-Fill files, thought about the garden.
She stood up and strode into the house. Twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans, an old shirt, work boots and gloves, she carried hoses and garden tools into the flower garden. She would capture two birds with one chore – work on the garden and think about the Petrol-Fill files – and improve both.
She pruned and clipped and watered and raked and cleared until mid-afternoon. Then she gathered the garden tools, drug the six trash bags she'd filled to the trash and put the tools away, feeling invigorated. A garden was a good thing to tend!
She took a long hot bath, pulled on her favorite peach-colored silk outfit and began again to look at the papers strewn over the kitchen counters. It had come to her, as she worked in the flower garden, that the largest incongruities were near Aunt Vicky's death. And her study confirmed it.