fanciful hero of her liking.
They parked the van on the nearly deserted downtown street and unloaded the log. Carrying it down the hall of the Genesis Building, they met the night watchman. As congenially and off the cuff as if the enormous log were only a toothpick he’d been picking his teeth with, Rick nodded to the curious old man, asked, “Hey, how’s it going?” and marched on past without so much as a snicker.
After they’d gotten into the ancient elevator and propped the ungainly log in the corner, between them, they turned around to see the gates closing on the night watchman’s suspicious face.
Allison and Rick looked at each other and crumpled against the sides of the elevator in laughter.
“He’s probably still standing there with his tonsils showing,” she managed at last.
“This is probably the most intrigue he’s had since he got the job. We’ll keep him wondering for months what we did with a log this size on the sixth floor of a downtown office building.”
They were still in stitches as they lugged the clunky log down the hall and into the studio, stumbling under its weight, which was far more appreciable the farther they went. When they’d deposited it inside, near the sandbags, Rick dropped down heavily on it, puffing.
“When I took this modeling job, I had no idea what else it would entail.”
“Listen . . . thanks. I realize now I’d never have been able to do it alone.”
“Any time.”
The room grew quiet. Somewhere in the hall the elevator reverberated as it moved in the silent building.
“Probably the night watchman coming up to see what those two crazy people are up to,” suggested Rick.
“I’ll explain to him someday.”
Rick clamped his hands to his knees and lunged to his feet.
“Well, I’ve got an appointment on a log with Vivien Zucchini Thursday night. I’d better get home and get my beauty rest.”
Allison led the way to the door, switched out the lights, locked up, and walked with Rick to the elevator. The night watchman was standing there again, studying them with a curious look on his face.
As the cage was cutting him off from view, Rick waved two fingers at him. “G’night.”
Unable to resist, Allison did the same.
“He has the master key. How much you wanna bet he goes into the studio and figures it all out?”
There seemed little more to say. Allison felt a strange reluctance to leave Rick. He walked her to the van and opened her door again.
“Well, thanks for the ride,” he said.
“Same to you.” She smiled.
He grinned, slammed the door, gave a good-bye salute, and sent Allison on her way wondering again where his hidden flaw was. Surely it would show up soon. The man was too good to be true.
Chapter
FOUR
T HE following day Allison had an argument with a stubborn fool at the Anderson Lumberyard who refused to deliver a partial pallet of bricks because its value was under fifty dollars. When she explained her situation, he became even more belligerent, his raspy voice taking on an insolent tone. “Lady, we don’t deliver bricks to no sixth floor of no office building. If we can’t unload ’em with a forklift, we don’t unload ’em at all. You want your bricks up there, you carry ’em up yourself!”
“But—”
The dead wire told her she was talking to nobody. She slammed the receiver down and kicked the cornerof her desk, angered as she so often was by things beyond her control.
The phone rang and without thinking she jerked it to her ear and bawled into the mouthpiece, “Yaa, hullo!”
A few seconds of surprised silence passed, then a man’s voice said, “Oh, I must have the wrong number.”
Realizing how rudely she’d answered, she clutched the phone and put on a far more congenial voice. “No . . . wait, sorry, this is Photo Images. What can I do for you?”
“Ms. Scott?”
“Yes, who . . . oh God, is this Rick Lang?”
“You guessed it. Caught you being nasty on the phone again.”
She sank
They parked the van on the nearly deserted downtown street and unloaded the log. Carrying it down the hall of the Genesis Building, they met the night watchman. As congenially and off the cuff as if the enormous log were only a toothpick he’d been picking his teeth with, Rick nodded to the curious old man, asked, “Hey, how’s it going?” and marched on past without so much as a snicker.
After they’d gotten into the ancient elevator and propped the ungainly log in the corner, between them, they turned around to see the gates closing on the night watchman’s suspicious face.
Allison and Rick looked at each other and crumpled against the sides of the elevator in laughter.
“He’s probably still standing there with his tonsils showing,” she managed at last.
“This is probably the most intrigue he’s had since he got the job. We’ll keep him wondering for months what we did with a log this size on the sixth floor of a downtown office building.”
They were still in stitches as they lugged the clunky log down the hall and into the studio, stumbling under its weight, which was far more appreciable the farther they went. When they’d deposited it inside, near the sandbags, Rick dropped down heavily on it, puffing.
“When I took this modeling job, I had no idea what else it would entail.”
“Listen . . . thanks. I realize now I’d never have been able to do it alone.”
“Any time.”
The room grew quiet. Somewhere in the hall the elevator reverberated as it moved in the silent building.
“Probably the night watchman coming up to see what those two crazy people are up to,” suggested Rick.
“I’ll explain to him someday.”
Rick clamped his hands to his knees and lunged to his feet.
“Well, I’ve got an appointment on a log with Vivien Zucchini Thursday night. I’d better get home and get my beauty rest.”
Allison led the way to the door, switched out the lights, locked up, and walked with Rick to the elevator. The night watchman was standing there again, studying them with a curious look on his face.
As the cage was cutting him off from view, Rick waved two fingers at him. “G’night.”
Unable to resist, Allison did the same.
“He has the master key. How much you wanna bet he goes into the studio and figures it all out?”
There seemed little more to say. Allison felt a strange reluctance to leave Rick. He walked her to the van and opened her door again.
“Well, thanks for the ride,” he said.
“Same to you.” She smiled.
He grinned, slammed the door, gave a good-bye salute, and sent Allison on her way wondering again where his hidden flaw was. Surely it would show up soon. The man was too good to be true.
Chapter
FOUR
T HE following day Allison had an argument with a stubborn fool at the Anderson Lumberyard who refused to deliver a partial pallet of bricks because its value was under fifty dollars. When she explained her situation, he became even more belligerent, his raspy voice taking on an insolent tone. “Lady, we don’t deliver bricks to no sixth floor of no office building. If we can’t unload ’em with a forklift, we don’t unload ’em at all. You want your bricks up there, you carry ’em up yourself!”
“But—”
The dead wire told her she was talking to nobody. She slammed the receiver down and kicked the cornerof her desk, angered as she so often was by things beyond her control.
The phone rang and without thinking she jerked it to her ear and bawled into the mouthpiece, “Yaa, hullo!”
A few seconds of surprised silence passed, then a man’s voice said, “Oh, I must have the wrong number.”
Realizing how rudely she’d answered, she clutched the phone and put on a far more congenial voice. “No . . . wait, sorry, this is Photo Images. What can I do for you?”
“Ms. Scott?”
“Yes, who . . . oh God, is this Rick Lang?”
“You guessed it. Caught you being nasty on the phone again.”
She sank
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