I shrugged to show that it wasn’t important. I turned back down the way we came.

“I’ve got to get going,” I lied. “Thanks for the sparring match,” I added as I was walking away. I walked a few more yards, then couldn’t stop myself from glancing back. I caught sight of her disappearing around a bend in the path. The victorious lioness with her kitten.

These shoes were hurting my feet. It was time to go home and change.

When I got there, I kicked off my shoes and flung my gray suit in a heap on the floor. Hepplewhite, mistaking it for a new bed made just for her, snuggled in. I left her, even though I knew this was a dry-cleaning bill I couldn’t afford. I poured myself a drink and began listening to Beethoven’s Ninth. I put on headphones, turned the volume up, and sat thinking of things that I could have said. Beethoven’s Ninth is one of my favorite pieces of music and I don’t listen to it very often. I don’t ever want to get tired of it. It is a refuge, a place of solace. Soon, I stopped thinking and started listening to the music. I sat for a while even after it was over. When I finally got up, I noticed the light on my answering machine.

It was Danny.

“Kant’s categorical imperative,” was her message.

“Damn it, Danny, I’ve tried to call you,” I said to the machine. Not very hard, my little voice answered.

Kant’s second formulation of the categorical imperative, which is what I assume she was referring to, is, basically, to see people, including oneself, only as an end in themselves, never as the means to an end. Danny was hinting ever so subtly that I was coming up short in the means versus ends department, at least as far as our friendship was concerned. Perhaps there was a bit of truth in this. But not a truth I cared to ponder upon at the moment. I decided that I was out and didn’t get in until late and that I would deal with Danny’s phone call tomorrow.

By the time I called her on Saturday afternoon, she wasn’t there. At first, I thought I had called the wrong number because the voice on the answering machine wasn’t hers. It was Elly’s. I hadn’t realized that they had been living together long enough to be changing not just messages but voices on their machine. It also made me realize that any message I left for Danny would not be private.

“Hi, Danny, this is Michele. I called your office earlier, but you were out of town. Which formulation of the categorical imperative?” was the message that I left. I did owe her an apology, and I would give her one when I could talk to her personally. Perhaps Cordelia was right, perhaps we can find an excuse for anything.

Chapter 9

It was Monday morning again. But this was the last Monday morning that I would have to deal with bright and early, at least for a while.

Barbara and I had lunch together. She told me stories of Patrick’s play, with its missed cues and tottering scenery. Saturday had been spent watching Cissy’s (Melissa’s, formally) Little League team play. She made it sound like fun to be a single mom and have two kids.

My “This evening?” and her “Sure, why not?” were the only discussion we had about breaking into the locked file drawer.

The afternoon dragged slowly by. I wanted to go on an adventure, do something right, and impress at least one of the women in my life.

At last, four-fifty-one arrived and we were in the copy room by ourselves. I crumpled up a piece of paper, then ran it through the machine. It ate the paper and got indigestion.

“Oh, dear, the copy machine’s broken,” I said. Barbara started to giggle, then put her hand over her mouth to stop herself.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said, in an exaggerated Southern accent.

I started to laugh. Then forced myself not to. Our hands touched and we looked at each other for a moment. I thought about kissing her, but I backed away. Barbara was possibly going to be a very good friend. A much better friend than lover. I wanted to keep her around for a while, something I hadn’t been very good about doing with lovers. So I backed away. I think she caught it, but she didn’t say anything.

We waited until there were no more people sounds from the office. Barbara took a quick look around just to make sure. Then we headed to the file room. She punched in the combination. We didn’t turn on the light, since there were two windows out to the street; instead we used a flashlight. I wanted to do this quickly and get out of here.

I crouched down next to the file drawer, and Barbara held the flashlight on the lock. It took me a couple of minutes of fumbling before I could get the lock open. No alarms went off when it finally gave way. A good sign. We’d be out of here in five minutes.

I slowly slid the drawer open. There was a flicker of red light, then it was gone. Shit. A bad sign. We had tripped some electronic eye.

“Get out of here,” I said to Barbara. Better they find me than her. I grabbed the top notebook out of the drawer, stood up, and kicked the drawer shut.

“But hadn’t you better re-lock it?” Barbara asked.

“No, they already know.” Her eyes widened. “Electric eye,” I explained as we left the room. “Now, go, get out of here.”

“But I can’t leave you…” she started.

“Yes, you can. You’ve got two kids.”

She was beginning to look pale. I didn’t blame her. I wasn’t feeling great myself. We hurried back to our side of the office. Just as we got to the hallway, I heard the guard getting off the elevator.

“Get out of here. I’ll be okay,” I said again. Barbara nodded and headed for her desk. I ducked into the copy room because there was no other place to hide without running straight into the guard. I looked desperately around the room for a place to hide the notebook. If Ranson wanted it, she could find a way to come here and get it. I heard the guard in the hallway. He was talking to Barbara. Not good. I was hoping he would let her out since he knew her pretty well. But it didn’t sound like he was going to. Even worse, I heard the sound of a second guard’s voice. One to block the door and another to search.

Where to hide this? There were stacks of paper and two copy machines, one with a broken sign on it. Inspiration hit. I opened up the broken copy machine, exposing the inner workings. That’s where I put the notebook. I had to sit on the cover to shut it, doing an untold amount of damage. Then I closed up the copy machine and figured it was time to bluff my way out of this place.