By the Book (3 page)

He’d grown up in a man’s world, and while women had certainly topped the list of topics for conversation and were the ultimate prize on a Saturday night, they had remained—for him—bizarre, alien beings who were difficult to talk to, uncomfortable to be with, and hard to understand.

Except for this one ...

The first time he’d seen her, with all that dark red hair glinting sparks of copper in the afternoon sun, the bright white dress with the green trim, the long legs that looked as if they started somewhere near her neck—he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her.

She’d come out of the bank and stood holding the door open for an elderly couple coming out behind her, a frail-looking woman pushing a man in a wheelchair. The wheels had gotten stuck on the threshold. She hadn’t been able to make the woman grasp backing up to let her back in to help, and she hadn’t been able to get help from inside the bank. Jonah had thought about sprinting across the street to help her, but instead he’d watched her walk briskly down the street, turn the corner, and re-enter the bank from the rear—because soon she was gently talking the old woman into giving up control of the chair, tipping it back slightly to pass over the threshold, and pushing it out onto the sidewalk.

She could have left them there and considered her duty done. Instead, she’d made Jonah smile as he watched her wave the couple good-bye and then stand there watching them doubtfully. He’d seen the concern come to her face as they crawled at a snail’s pace toward their car; saw it scrunch up with fear and dread as the woman came incredibly close to ramming the man’s chair into a too-small space between a parking meter and a streetlight pole. He was completely enraptured by the time she sighed and rushed once more to their aid, helping first the old man then the old woman into their car, folding the wheelchair into the trunk, and standing on the curb with a furrowed brow as they drove away.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen someone go to so much trouble for someone else. The patience, the kindness, the concern. And he was pretty sure they weren’t relatives, as there had been no farewell kisses or hugs, just polite friendly smiles and an obvious mutual deference between them.

Since then he’d watched her working diligently, smiling and shaking hands respectfully with the people who came to see her, fetching coffee for some, always making an effort to put them at ease.

He liked her, liked the way she looked, but more, liked the way small kindnesses seemed second nature to her. He liked that she took her time and dealt with people slowly and gently and thoughtfully. He liked that she didn’t fiddle with her hair all day, or file her nails in her spare time. He liked the way her face lit up when she smiled, and he tried a thousand times to imagine what her laughter would sound like ... and her voice ... or a pleasured moan in the back of her throat. ...

In fact, the only thing he couldn’t like about her was that she was so unconscious of the world outside her window that she rarely looked in his direction. When she left the bank at six every evening, her long legs carried her with purposeful strides, in a hurry, and she never seemed to see him loitering around the parking lot, trying to catch her eye.

Then the gods had smiled on him twice in one day. First in the parking lot behind the bank, when he was so dumbstruck and awkward that the second time, when he caught her looking out the bank window and smiled at her, she leaned over her desk and pretended not to see him.

His sigh was a mixture of boredom and frustration—one of the most explosive mixtures known to man.

If
she
were a man, he’d know exactly how to proceed to engage her trust and win her friendship and loyalty. He was used to dealing with men, who were so uncomplicated, who took most things at face value. You didn’t have to bathe or shave or wear clean clothes to have a good time with them. Men were easy to understand. Women were as convoluted as feather collectors in hurricane country. They didn’t make any sense at all.

Restlessly his eyes wandered slowly over the wall across from where he stood at the register. The old black-and-white photographs in cheap black frames, hanging in an uneven line, were a constant reminder of why he’d come to Quincey in the first place.

A single disbelieving laugh broke loose in his chest. Why was he so surprised? Everything but the clocks seemed to be working against him in the queer little town. He was running a camera shop he knew nothing about. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t get a pretty woman to look his way to save his soul. He couldn’t even gloat in the face of the dying man he’d hated all his life.

Alter your life by altering your attitudes.

—William James

Success is ninety percent attitude. And attitude is the mind-set or outlook you have and project in regard to any given person, place, thing, or idea. Assume a mental position toward what you want. You deserve it. It’s yours. No one can do it better than you. It’s your destiny. Show your surprise if anyone thinks otherwise. ...

“I
’M SURPRISED BY YOUR
attitude, Ellen,” Joleen Powers said, smiling and nodding. The middle-aged office manager in pressed pleats and sensible shoes had also been surprised by her sudden request for a private conference moments before the bank closed for the day. At first leery, she realized that Ellen had come to her with good news rather than bad and was now considerably more relaxed. “I had no idea you were interested in learning Mary’s job. And like you say, there’s no one here more qualified than you. To tell you the truth, I just assumed you were content in Bonds and Trusts.” She laughed at herself. “I should have guessed you were more ambitious than that, and just too polite to say so. I’ve been meaning to tell you how well you’re doing in Customer Service, as well, and how much we appreciate you helping out there when you’re not busy. It takes a lot of patience. Not everyone can handle the patrons with such consistent courtesy. Even Mr. Bragg noticed how well you were working out in both departments, so I’m sure he’ll include you in any decisions he makes about—”

“Then maybe he won’t be amazed to hear that I want a raise too,” Ellen said, nervously firing off her statement too soon, her heart thumping away at a dizzying speed, her hands cold and clammy with sweat.
You deserve it. It’s yours.
The little green book with the bold white title weighed heavily in the pocket of her jacket as she watched the expression change on Joleen’s face.

“A raise? Well, of course, you’ll be making a little more in Loans if ... Her voice trailed off as Ellen began to shake her head.

“In my present position,” she said, stunned to hear the words squeeze by the lump of pure raw nerve in her throat, “I manage all of Trusts and Bonds and spend a great deal of time on customer service. Except for you and Mary, I’ve been here longer than anyone else. I haven’t taken a sick day in three years. I come in on my days off to fill in. I’m a good employee, Joleen. You know I am.”

“I’m not denying it, Ellen. I haven’t had or heard one complaint about you since the day you started here. It’s just that a raise right now—”

“A fifty-one-cents-an-hour raise,” someone using her mouth and body interjected. Truly, she felt possessed. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined herself saying such things.

Obviously this sort of behavior from her had never occurred in Joleen’s dreams either, as she frowned and looked somewhat perplexed.

“Fifty-one? Ellen, that’s a big jump. We don’t normally give raises in increments of more than two or three percent.”

“It’s not nearly as big a jump as my leaving and going to work at Quincey’s First Savings and Loan, or People’s Bank.” Hysterical laughter bubbled in her chest. Where were these words coming from? If she didn’t discover the source soon, and stop them, she’d talk herself out of a job altogether.

“Oh now, there’s no need for that,” Joleen said quickly. She stood and walked over to the filing cabinet. “I’m sure we can work this out. When was your last pay raise? You know, I don’t recall offhand ...”

“Two years ago. Last year you said no one was getting one because of the low interest rates,” she said as the panic in her heart reached its peak, and she completely missed the worried concern in Joleen’s expression.

“Yes, yes. I remember that. So you’re about due for another evaluation anyway, right?”

“Possibly. I do know I’m due for a raise.” Why back down now? Her heart was going to stop any second and she’d be dead. What difference would it make?

“My goodness, yes,” Joleen said, breezing through the papers in the folder as if she were actually reading them. “I believe you are due for a raise. Long overdue, in fact.”

“I am?” Ellen asked. “I mean ... yes. I am. Overdue. Long ... in fact ... overdue.”

Dear God. Had it worked? Was it over? Was that all there was to it? So simple. Keep repeating what you want to the person you want it from, until you think you might die, and then ... it happens? No, that sounded more like nagging. This was different. This was sticking to her guns. This was being right about something and knowing it and sticking it out to the end. Not backing down, not showing weakness, not being too understanding or too nice. This was getting what she wanted.

However ...

“I appreciate you looking into this for me, Joleen,” she said, feeling more herself and seeing, at last, the discomfort in the woman’s eyes. “If I came on a little strong or sounded like I didn’t appreciate all you’ve done for me over the years, I—”

“Oh, no, Ellen, not at all,” Joleen said, a tentative smile on her face. “You were right to come to me. You’ve been with us a long time. You’re a good employee. We want you to be happy here.”

“I am happy here,” she said, a whole lot happier than she had been. And to try out her newfound power once more, she added, “I’ll be even happier if you give me a chance in Loans.”

“Well, I can’t think of one good reason not to, now that I know you’re interested. And by coming to me like this today, you’ve certainly demonstrated your confidence and leadership skills. I think you’d be an excellent addition to the Loans Department.”

Confidence and leadership skills. She almost laughed as she let herself out of Joleen’s office a few minutes later. It amused her to think of the utter waste of breath it was to use those words to describe her—but wouldn’t the look on Vi’s face have been priceless if she’d heard them? Confidence and leadership skills. She wrote the words on a slip of paper at her desk, then wrote
Ellen Webster
beside them. This time she did chuckle. Incongruous at first, they began to look good together, like polar opposites, like the symbol for yin and yang.

Nodding with satisfaction, she swiveled her chair toward the window, toward her next experiment. She sighed. Getting the man to smile at her as if she were the only woman on earth wasn’t going to be as easy, or even as justifiable, as getting her pay raise. It wasn’t as if it were her right or as if she’d done something to deserve any special attention from him. But there was a principle here, a point she wanted to make, a central idea she needed to prove to herself.

It was something she wanted. It would make her happy to know she could have it if she wanted it. And it was her right to be happy.

And what about the man, she thought, taking her purse from the bottom drawer and scanning her desk for neatness before she left for the day. Would he mind being her unwitting partner in her testing of the little green book? Would he understand a lifetime of giving with little reward? Of helping others across the finish line and inevitably coming in last? Would he understand her need to take control of her life, to place her own hopes and desires first for a change?

She left the bank by the front door, eyeing the camera shop as she circled around to the parking lot in back. Was it fair of her to involve him at all? Maybe he had problems of his own. What if he ...? No. She was being too nice again. Look at Vi, she consoled herself. She didn’t know any four-letter words like
can’t
or
won’t
or
don’t
or
stop
or
wait
or
fair.
Her life was her own. She took what she wanted. She was happy.

Ellen stopped at the end of the building before turning the corner and glanced back at the camera shop. All the man had to do was smile at her—just her, in a special way—was that so much to ask of him?

“Is something wrong?”

She startled and backed up against the red brick of the bank, watching with wide eyes as the man squinted at his own camera shop in an effort to see whatever it was that had held her attention so long.

“I don’t see anything. Did you see something over there?” he asked, too delighted that the gods had not given up on him to worry much about a bunch of cameras. Giving her time to recover her wits, he went on, “If it’s a burglar, he’s going to be disappointed. There’s twenty bucks and a roll of antacids in the till, and he’ll have to stay up all night rubbing the serial numbers off the cameras before he can pawn them. Not a very smart burglar. He could do a lot better than a failing camera shop. Not a wise choice.”

“No,” she said, trying to smile and breathe at the same time, and doing both badly. “I mean, no, I didn’t see anyone in your shop.” She hesitated. She liked his eyes. They would have been plain old hazel green eyes in someone else, but in this man they were alive with light and perception—like a pair of mystical stones from another time and place. “But then, no, you’re right too. Robbing a camera shop wouldn’t be as profitable as robbing ... oh, say ... the bank across the street from it.”

He grinned.

There. She’d won her prize, and the butterflies in her stomach were a testament. Or was that simply an impersonal smile of amusement? She could see immediately that further experimentation would be necessary to determine exactly when he was smiling a smile meant specifically for her.

“But then, robbing isn’t a wise occupation to begin with, so ...” Her voice trailed off as she suddenly realized that she’d painted herself into a corner with a lame topic of conversation. What could she possibly say to him now? She’d never get that smile if she let him walk away once more thinking her completely devoid of intelligent conversation.