15:27. She’d made it as far as the downtown section of the arterial 5 Freeway, a canyon formed by the busy office buildings either side. Traffic was already slowing to a crawl in the right lanes ahead of the 520 turn off. To the left, cars and trucks went by, tires sticky on the asphalt. But her lane had stopped. A curtain of the famous Seattle rain was crossing Lake Union. Soon, heavy raindrops turned the metal surfaces of the car into a timpani drum. Scarlet taillights spangled in the windshield. She flipped the wipers to FAST, sloshing a half-bucket of rainwater onto a neighboring car. Considerate!
Which reminded her: she reached for her iPhone and looked up Ray’s number.
“Hi, I have an appointment with Ray at four,” she told the cool-sounding executive assistant who answered. “I’m afraid I’m going to be late.”
There was a pause. “He doesn’t seem to have you on his calendar.”
“We arranged it by email over the weekend. It was meant to be just coffee.”
“Hold on,” the assistant said, and came right back on: “He’s actually in a meeting, which may run for a while.”
Natalie hesitated. “Well could you ask him to call me when he gets out?”
“I’ll let him know. He’s got your number?”
“Sure.” She gave it again.
The cars and trucks around her seemed to murmur imprecations now, back on gridlocked I-5. The rain intensified, sounding like a rice bowl being emptied. She ran her hands round the edge of the steering wheel. Had she got the dates mixed up? Picking up her iPhone again, she hurriedly accessed email:
Hi Ray,
Long time I know. I happen to be in town Monday at short notice and wondered if you’d like to grab coffee?...
Scrolling back up:
stranger! great to hear from you. sure, im around. what time will be you over on the darkside?
She hit REPLY:
Chaos on the 520 bridge. Just spoke with your e.a. – may need to resched. so sorry
Certainly they would need to resched: it was gone 4:30 by the time she exited the freeway, just a half-mile further on. Ray had not called her back and she was due to meet Stacey and Melinda at five. Cursing the traffic, her old town, corporate life and the twenty-first century in general, she made her way towards Seattle’s waterfront Public Market, parking in front. At least the fish throwers were happy, tossing their slippery catch for tourists. Water ran down from broken gutters in unbroken lines.
Stacey and Melinda still worked over on the Eastside, but lived in the more lively downtown corridor. The Alibi Room was a favorite of theirs: intimate, dark and hidden away. They liked the unpretentious northwest menu, they liked the slightly conspiratorial name itself, and they loved the bellinis.
The place never failed to bring back memories. It was where they ended up the night Natalie was promoted to first ever female head of security. It was where they celebrated the evening Melinda got engaged, and where they toasted Melinda a week later when she got un-engaged. It was where they went after Stacey learned of her mom’s illness. And it was where Melinda and Natalie could be found that other night she didn’t care to remember. Melinda Dayne was an old family friend from South Carolina. Stacey Stafford, from Tennessee, had been Natalie’s roommate through boarding school. She’d gone on to nearby Georgia Tech, been in Atlanta for the Olympics and – after the bombing there – had almost gone into security herself.
Natalie’s discomfort persisted as she thought about seeing them again. Originally, the plan had been to come up Saturday afternoon. They would have gone out as part of a bigger group, then headed off the next day to the Cascade Mountains. In all probability, they wouldn’t have left before noon on the Sunday, so Stacey and Melinda had arranged to take Monday off work. They would have stayed at a friend’s log cabin, thrown wood on the fire, drunk lots of wine, told jokes and done
Which reminded her: she reached for her iPhone and looked up Ray’s number.
“Hi, I have an appointment with Ray at four,” she told the cool-sounding executive assistant who answered. “I’m afraid I’m going to be late.”
There was a pause. “He doesn’t seem to have you on his calendar.”
“We arranged it by email over the weekend. It was meant to be just coffee.”
“Hold on,” the assistant said, and came right back on: “He’s actually in a meeting, which may run for a while.”
Natalie hesitated. “Well could you ask him to call me when he gets out?”
“I’ll let him know. He’s got your number?”
“Sure.” She gave it again.
The cars and trucks around her seemed to murmur imprecations now, back on gridlocked I-5. The rain intensified, sounding like a rice bowl being emptied. She ran her hands round the edge of the steering wheel. Had she got the dates mixed up? Picking up her iPhone again, she hurriedly accessed email:
Hi Ray,
Long time I know. I happen to be in town Monday at short notice and wondered if you’d like to grab coffee?...
Scrolling back up:
stranger! great to hear from you. sure, im around. what time will be you over on the darkside?
She hit REPLY:
Chaos on the 520 bridge. Just spoke with your e.a. – may need to resched. so sorry
Certainly they would need to resched: it was gone 4:30 by the time she exited the freeway, just a half-mile further on. Ray had not called her back and she was due to meet Stacey and Melinda at five. Cursing the traffic, her old town, corporate life and the twenty-first century in general, she made her way towards Seattle’s waterfront Public Market, parking in front. At least the fish throwers were happy, tossing their slippery catch for tourists. Water ran down from broken gutters in unbroken lines.
Stacey and Melinda still worked over on the Eastside, but lived in the more lively downtown corridor. The Alibi Room was a favorite of theirs: intimate, dark and hidden away. They liked the unpretentious northwest menu, they liked the slightly conspiratorial name itself, and they loved the bellinis.
The place never failed to bring back memories. It was where they ended up the night Natalie was promoted to first ever female head of security. It was where they celebrated the evening Melinda got engaged, and where they toasted Melinda a week later when she got un-engaged. It was where they went after Stacey learned of her mom’s illness. And it was where Melinda and Natalie could be found that other night she didn’t care to remember. Melinda Dayne was an old family friend from South Carolina. Stacey Stafford, from Tennessee, had been Natalie’s roommate through boarding school. She’d gone on to nearby Georgia Tech, been in Atlanta for the Olympics and – after the bombing there – had almost gone into security herself.
Natalie’s discomfort persisted as she thought about seeing them again. Originally, the plan had been to come up Saturday afternoon. They would have gone out as part of a bigger group, then headed off the next day to the Cascade Mountains. In all probability, they wouldn’t have left before noon on the Sunday, so Stacey and Melinda had arranged to take Monday off work. They would have stayed at a friend’s log cabin, thrown wood on the fire, drunk lots of wine, told jokes and done
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