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Page 11.
Chapter 9.
 Raindrops peppered the street-side frosted glass windows of the Americas Building as Jeff stood huddled in his raincoat, hands in pockets, trying to figure out why he was so eager to get his book back.
"Hey there!" a voice called brightly.
Lexa Whiston waved from across the street, then dashed between slow-moving cars. Jeff's heart skipped a beat. She glowed with an inner light that was like a smile. She dodged bumpers, causing a honk here and there. She was expensively dressed, a study in tan, and carried an umbrella. Her long dark hair swayed against full, creamy cheekbones. Her violet eyes sparkled, though that hint of sadness was still there, mysterious and alluring. A smile played about her full lips. She stepped onto the curb amid sprays of fresh rain. She rushed up close and covered both of them with her umbrella. He inhaled the scent of her hair, her perfume, the leather of her gloves; and closed his eyes a moment.
"I didn't think you'd be here," she admitted. She clucked at his hair. "Getting wet and all. Here." She offered a crinkly mass of plastic, his book, thoughtfully wrapped. "I enjoyed the hell out of it."
"I'm glad," Jeff said. Awkwardly, he shuttled the slippery package from under one elbow to under the other, doing a little jig to prevent it from falling into the pelting raindrops that reared up in gray splashes. "Thank you," he added. "Let's have coffee and Danish, okay?"
"I was going to have a quick lunch and get back to work," she said. "Oh well, why not?" She slid her arm around his. He led her toward a shop of neon, potted palms, and pictures of airplanes. He felt the unexpected bump of her body, the gentle judo of her forearm, and felt a wave of pleasure. He squeezed her arm against his side and opened the door for her under the logo Aerodynamic Donuts Since 1936.
Inside, they swept off wet overgarments. She parked her umbrella with a muffled pop. Lexa took a window seat while Jeff went to order. He came back with two coffees; donuts would be delivered to the table.
"How do you like your new job?" she asked.
"So far so good. I've spent the past two days walking the streets, craning my neck, trying to get a fix on what I'm doing. I've started digging into the old library archives, trying to get a feel for Raritania City in the 1930's, the early years."
"Yes," she said cryptically, "I think that's what your employer would like to see you doing."
He stirred his coffee. "I met your grandfather."
She winced. "Oh, so you know." She brushed old crumbs away.
Jeff said: "I saw you going to his office right after my meeting with him, and you looked upset."
She blinked.
Jeff felt slightly embarrassed. "I'm not trying to poke into your business. I assume you are Mr. Beering's granddaughter."
She stared at him as if waiting for more revelations.
He laughed nervously. "Hey, lighten up. I was surprised, that's all."
She relaxed visibly. She smoothed her hands, one over the other, in her lap. "I just had a sort of a row with Grandfather." She looked up. "I don't play up who I am."
Jeff stirred his coffee. "I guess," he said thoughtfully, "I expected you would say 'I don't play up who I am related to.' Who you are is who you are."
Warmth flashed in her eyes. "Thanks. Yes, my real name is Lexa Beering, but I use my mother's maiden name as a kind of shield." She indicated the package. "I really did enjoy the book."
An elderly waitress in pink, with a lace crown, trudged their donuts over.
"These are the aerodynamics, huh?" Jeff eyed the long, tapered objects stuccoed with sugar.
"Them's the Flyin' Wings, Hon," said ole Bets. She whisked a pencil stub from somewhere in her coiffure and made slashes on a greenbar pad. "Been flyin' 'em outta here since Roosevelt."
"But there's no hole," Jeff said.
"Yeah, people remark on that. We tell 'em the donut's the donut and the world's the hole."
Jeff and Lexa chewed their Flying Wings during a confused but comfortable silence. Jeff thought, we will finish these damned donuts, shake hands, and part company. That will be the end of it. He wondered how to ask what made her sad somewhere deep underneath.
She dabbed her lips with a paper napkin. "Are you married?"
"No. Divorced. Why?"
She nodded slowly. "Just wondering." She brightened. "Look, I have an idea. You're going to need help putting together your book. You're new in town. Why don't I show you some of the sights?"
Jeff's heart did a 360 degree spin. Carefully, after choking on his coffee, he said: "Won't your fiancée mind?"
She waved her hand. "Arthur is up to his ears in Beering Robinson. That's the corporation Grandfather set up for us. Numbers, figures, dollars, that's Arthur. We can be friends, can't we, Jeff?"
He stared at her, feeling like a cookie crumbling in milk.
"Oh please say yes," she said, putting her hands over his.
He swallowed hard. "Yes."
"I won't be a nuisance," she said. "I promise. I feel so... so... editorial." Her eyes scintillated, warmly, where her Grandfather's had scintillated coldly; Jeff saw the family resemblance for the first time.
Jeff patted her hands awkwardly, wondering if Beering had detectives following her, watching her. "I don't expect you'd be a nuisance," he said. "I can use all the help I can get."
She folded her arms on the table and leaned forward like a buddy. "Hey, is it true that divorce makes you crazy?"
Again startled, Jeff shook his reeling head. This woman had a talent for keeping him off guard. "I," he said, "I," he repeated, "what do you mean?"
She said: "Something a friend told me. Fellow named Xavier. He said when people get divorced they go nuts for a year or two. Have you been divorced long? What does it feel like?"
"Three years," Jeff said. "What does it feel like," he repeated. He tried to pour the past three years through a mental strainer, and came up with dross. "Awful, I guess."
"I thought so," she said. "Were you really in love?"
Jeff thought back. "Yes, I'm sure we were at one time." He thought about his five years with Margo. They had met while he was still in graduate school.
"Lots of memories?" Lexa probed.
"Yes," he said. He whirled them through a blender: Autumn nights, counting stars together; Winter days, laughing as we trudged through snow; Spring mornings, making love while birds warbled for each other; Summer evenings, ball games, hot dogs, beers, cheers, long muggy innings and cool rides home.
"What happened?" Lexa pressed.
Jeff spread his arms as if to embrace the enigma of a universe stood on end. "You wake up one day," he said, "and realize you have outgrown each other?" It was a statement, but it rang like a question in his ears.
"You look sad all of a sudden," Lexa said, squeezing his hands in hers.
Jeff stared at her. "It's old stuff. You look sad somehow also. Why?"
She laughed. "I look sad? I didn't know I did."
"Mysteriously so," Jeff said.
Her expression changed, grew fenced-in. She got another cup of coffee. She slipped into her seat, sitting on one ankle, and changed the subject. "Jeff, I have this great idea. I'll bet you don't know about the Raritania Museum."
"No I don't," he said with some surprise.
She nudged his shoulder. "Saturday, huh? I'll show you."
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