A Lady in Waiting 6

She never even pretended to sleep that night. There had been enough sleepless nights in her life that she knew how to make the most of it. Three books, dozens of articles and some links to associates left her with a bigger, but still confused picture. Staring into her morning coffee cup, she knew her biggest problem was de-tangling what was plainly her own romantic fascination with her boundless intellectual curiosity. All the reading only made it worse, her feelings more tightly bound into a single twisted braid. All she knew was the relentless drive to keep poking at it.
This was no schoolgirl fascination. Indeed, it was of such a different quality she almost didn’t realize the romantic edge to her feelings until Sam’s offhand comment about it. Sam’s piercing insight was like that, and she had come to rely on it not long after first taking the assignment to work in this awful place. She mustered her cynicism just long enough to tell herself this was at least the best entertainment she’d ever had so far in her dreary life, and would make this place memorable even if it all turned out to be nothing.
She tried once more to find some place on this earth where she knew her feet didn’t feel somehow disconnected from the ground. At the lowest level, she readily admitted if Rod simply asked, she would disrobe for him in a heartbeat. Not that there would be much to see. She was rather skinny, with only a healthy muscle tone to offer. Her face had been described as “mousy” and that was probably fair enough. She seldom cut her hair, which made her a spare minority among the women there. Almost all of them had cut theirs into various fashionable styles, but she had always resisted having anything to do with their habits. They were all rather pretty and shapely. Whatever they got from their competitive flaunting, she wanted no part of it. Their chatter showed they took romantic disappointment as a given, that the whole thing was simply having a good time when it was possible. They were in love with romance, not men. All of the flirts had at least one recurrent romping partner among the various men who worked there, plus a selection of the dashing visiting officials and so forth who passed through at irregular intervals. If that was all there was, she’d rather die an old maid.
Still, some part of her had always believed something better must be out there somewhere. Maybe she missed her cue somewhere along the way before reaching this point, but it never seemed quite right. Something in her couldn’t settle for half-way okay on the vain hope it would get better. Her career path had shown her far too many marriages built in convenience alone, dreary lives with joys far too few and too brief.
So here she was, suddenly willing to give as much or as little as a man would take just to be near him some part of his day.
After a perfunctory workout and shower, still wide awake with eyes just short of bloodshot, she broke her routine and actually went into the dining hall to sit down and eat. She normally carried breakfast to her office, but needed a break from the routine to see if she could shake something loose. And yes, perhaps she could catch Rod on his irregular routine.
She was staring across the open hall and nearly died when Rod came up and asked if he could join her. After the initial start, she couldn’t remember to say, “Yes.” He apologized for interrupting her reverie, but sat down anyway, as if it didn’t matter. Somehow, it wasn’t the least bit rude, but reassuring.
He waved absently at the chorus of greeting from the flirts, without even the slightest hint of a smile until he turned to face Becky. Totally at ease as usual, he asked absently if she’d had a chance to read any of his stuff.
She found her voice and a measure of smile. Some shred of her professional demeanor rushed forward to save the moment, allowing her to carefully drawl, “Probably more than I should have, since I neglected some paperwork.” Some part of her wanted to gush, to cry for mercy and beg at his feet for some kind of release from the chaos of colliding galaxies in her head, and wondered if any of it were visible to him.
“I confess some of it was a horrendous struggle to write. Many sleepless nights pounding my mind, hoping for some way to put such things into words. It’s funny how writing like that brings both peace and serious doubts. It felt good to get the weight off my chest, yet sometimes it surprises me anyone can stand to read it.”
Her professional composure ran away screaming in terror. She put her hand over her mouth; the chewing of food slowed dramatically. Perhaps her eyes said more than even she knew.
“Most people don’t get it. Of those who do, most find it no more than mildly entertaining. I write because I can’t shut up. But for those few who seem to get it, who tell me they find something useful in it, I’m always very grateful. There’s nothing like offering someone — anyone — something that sets them free. For just a tiny few of us in this world, we sense there has to be something more, something no one else can or will see.”
He paused for a moment, took a bite, chewed a bit, then washed it down with coffee. She more or less copied his action. Then he continued, “If you read much at all, I’m really flattered.”
She managed to smile slowly and almost spoke when the flirty trio interrupted.
“Hey, Rod. Do you know anything about cars?”
She decided to take advantage of this noisome interference and regain some composure. Rob basically put them off, but it took awhile. Becky found amusement at herself for daring to believe he was trying to get rid of them so he could be alone with her. As they walked away, he leaned forward and spoke in a comical conspiratorial manner. “How many sexual predators like that will I have to deal with here?”
Becky almost wet herself laughing behind her fragile reserve and he didn’t seem to expect a serious answer.
“Most of them are too young for me. I would have almost nothing in common with them.” She didn’t tell him they were almost her age, deciding it didn’t matter. He continued, “It has nothing to do with actual chronological age, but they act like silly schoolgirls.”