A Short Red Leather Skirt

and a short red leather jacket to match. That’s what she wore as she entered the New Orleans. I had been sitting with Tessa and Sam, yakking, laughing, sipping a local brew and enjoying the zydeco. À propos of nothing, it was Tessa I had originally had some interest in, but that was before I knew that Sam was headed in her direction. Sam and I shared office space and, well, a good smoke as the saying goes. Less than two years later I would perform Tessa and Sam’s wedding ceremony and they remain, to this day, happily married.

I do not remember her name. She was tall. That and her almost-platinum blonde hair garnered her more than a few second looks. I cannot remember her face, only an aura that was what – closed, cold, nervous, unapproachable? She was Tessa’s friend and Tessa thought we should meet. Another blind date.

At least I had some support on this one. But the yakking and laughing temporarily gave way to a stilted question and answer session. I felt like a dentist trying to extract a painful molar sans anesthesia. There was so much strangeness during that period of my life that this seemed just one more surreal experience that I could blog about later in life. Thankfully, good beer and good company prevailed and soon Sam, Tessa and I were yakking and laughing as SRLS smiled and nodded. The seafood etouffee was excellent (as always).

After dinner we took a stroll around Pioneer Square, before piling into Tessa’s Subaru for a drive to the Famous Pacific Dessert Company. Each table had a box of Baby Boomer Trivial Pursuit cards, and I proceeded to quiz the three of them since I literally knew all the answers. That was when it became apparent that I was running with the wrong crowd, a frog among tadpoles. How can you have a meaningful relationship with someone who doesn’t share any of the trivia of your youth? Paul McCartney was in a band before Wings? I resolved then and there never again to date anyone more than 12 years younger than me.

Dessert was over and, thankfully, I lived in the opposite direction so they dropped me at my car and Tessa and Sam would drive SRLS home. I cheerfully proclaimed the evening to be “fun” and told SRLS that it was nice getting to know her. I scrupulously avoided any mention of “we’ll have to do this again.” Being a guy, I figured that mine was the next move, and that was a move I was not going to make. SRLS was not my type, but more importantly I did not need any additional work to do.

Imagine my surprise when the phone in my office rang two days later and SRLS was on the other end of the line. It seems she had great time the other night and wondered if I wanted to get together. I hate to disappoint people, even people I don’t care that much about; it’s one of my many character flaws. So we agreed to meet for a movie and dinner the next weekend. Movies are great, especially with someone who is not easy to talk to. I still can’t remember her name but the movie was Cyrano de Bergerac starring Gérard Depardieu. We had dinner at Duke’s, my regular hangout. I notified the staff earlier that day so whenever there was a lull in our conversation, someone would come and sit down to chit chat.

What I learned about SRLS was that she was just coming off a long-term relationship that ended badly and that she was finding it difficult to trust men. Smart lady. I would have told her that I had no interest in a relationship, and just wanted a little company. But she made the last call putting the ball in my court and I knew I would never call her.



It seems that after I left our mutual employer, Adelle paid a lawyer to draft a new Will and other estate planning documents that superseded the ones I had drafted for her, gratis. The new documents gave me total control of her estate and directed any interested parties (i.e. medical examiners) to contact me in the event anything happened to her. Now I had a funeral to plan, an estate to probate, a mother to contact and a lengthy murder trial ahead of me. Not to mention that blood-soaked mattress.

And now, back to our story

Let’s see, where was I? Oh, right: dead assistant, bloody mattress, dark night, killer still on loose.

To be more accurate, Adelle was no longer my assistant before she died. I had left our common employer almost 23 months earlier. Unlike most of the other faithful subordinates who, over the years have declared to me, “when you leave this place, I’m resigning,” Adelle was good to her word. She had started her own business, based out of her home aka scene of the crime.

How to describe Adelle? She was maybe 5’5” brown hair, brown eyes, caps in front with a slight overbite. She wore a skirt suit with hose and matching pumps everyday; I stood in her closet looking at those dozens of outfits that would soon be sold or given to charity. She had curves, the kind that Dashiell Hammett could describe so well, but which have never done much for me. She had a hard edge, and smoked as only a European or Fullerton resident can. Finally, and it may be uncharitable, were the sporadic episodes of halitosis. The smoking, combined with the kava she continuously drank (and, I suspect, less than complete attention to dental hygiene) made her breath potent enough to bring tears to your eyes even as she sat on the other side of your desk. Fortunately, these episodes were not a daily occurrence; it is easier to fire someone than to have the personal hygiene discussion.

Rereading this description, I see that you might get the impression that she was not attractive. To the contrary, I think many men found her attractive - there certainly appeared to be many men in her life. Now she was dead. As I wandered through the house I noticed it was dark, even with every light turned on, lots of dark wood and carpeting. Most of the walls were festooned with kiddy art, drawn by her son and not unlike the colorful items that decorate cubicles everywhere.

“I Love Mommy.”

“Happy Mother’s Day.”

Well, I thought, there won’t be any more of those. I tried to remember the name of the last guy who lived with Adelle. After I left our common employer we kept in touch, but not frequently. There was almost always a guy living with her. She would go out on Friday nights to drink and dance, bring some guy home and he would stay for six months. Pizza cartons and beer bottles littered the family room. A late model import sat in the garage - totaled.

I found the liquor cabinet, which appeared untouched and full of exotic liqueurs from Europe. I thought I needed a drink, or at least deserved one. I grabbed a bottle of Bols Advocaat but, I wrongly assumed, the eggs had gone bad. I later discovered that there are two varieties of Advocaat: a more liquid "export" version found in the U.S. and the "thick" Advocaat which is sold mostly on the Dutch market and eaten with a spoon. Not the time to be drinking, I thought, best to keep your wits about you.

I would have had that drink if I had known that this was not to be a one time event. Adelle’s son had done this. A decade later, the son of yet another of my employees would also commit a cold blooded murder.

Not far from where I stood, an elderly man, a man I knew, was committing unspeakable wrongs on the people who trusted him the most.

Tom and Betsy and Patrick

The problem with using a blog to recount a lengthy episode in one's life is that the day to day commentary gets pushed aside. There ought to be two columns, one for the history lesson du jour and one for everything else.

This week our coffee triumvirate was breached. The three of us, on many occasions, have passed Patrick on our way to or from coffee. He goes to the same Starbucks we do, he works in the same suite of offices and for the same person. But we have never invited him to join us. Perhaps Tom and/or Betsy felt that inviting a new member to our coffee run would be a betrayal of the trust and solidarity that we have constructed among ourselves. Or, maybe they are like me and the thought never crossed their minds.

This week Patrick invited himself. He stopped by my office at half an hour before the appointed time and asked if it was time for coffee. I told him the correct time and, with a smile, suggested he join us. When the time arrived, Patrick was at Betsy's desk, ready to go. It was a sunny day so we eschewed the through-building shortcuts and used the sidewalk the whole way. I was vividly reminded of many walks to Joelle's Java with Bob and Linda and Charlie, fellow employees at my former employer. We went to Joelle's because they liked the place, even though I thought the coffee was sub-par. There was a daily trivia question - a correct answer got you a hole in your "buy 10 get one free" punch card. Between us, Bob and I could always come up with the answer. I miss those guys.

Patrick's presence changes the group dynamic and he still has to learn some of our coffee team etiquette. We will have to see how it goes.