Neanderthal Seeks Human

“It was vague, something like he thought he looked familiar. I don’t know.” I pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets then allowed the back of my head to fall against the tall chair behind me. “I mean, if you think about it, the first time I spoke to Quinn was only four weeks ago. I don’t really know him at all. Maybe the guy in the park actually freaked him out and I’m wrong. Maybe he’s just not into me and I’m right. Maybe Quinn is an alien and is finished with his study of humankind and no longer has use for me as a specimen.”

Marie shook her head, “Four weeks is long enough. People have fallen head over heels in less time than that.”

“Did he actually put guards on you?” Ashley pointed the question to me but her eyes were on Elizabeth.

“Yes. He did.” I frowned at that. The first time I saw them was Monday morning as I was leaving for work. They’d approached me outside my building, both dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts and looking like regular guys, and told me that they worked for Infinite Systems. Mr. Sullivan, it seemed, put in an order for two twenty-four hour protection teams. They promised I wouldn’t notice them. They were right; over the last two days I’d forgotten about it.

“The guards are likely outside now. We should bring them some coffee or something.” Elizabeth looked up from the cell phone and handed it back to me, “The friendship one is funny- about peeing. I think I’m going to use that.”

I accepted the hateful phone from Elizabeth and stared at the last two messages. Quinn, true to his word, continued to send me jokes every day which only served to further confuse me.

Marie started knitting again, “Time will tell. I say just wait and see if he calls you on Thursday, see what he says.”

I stood and stretched, “You’re right! I’m done thinking about this. Done, done, done!” I swished my hand in a circle and snapped three times then walked to the bathroom, wanting to excuse myself in hopes that my absence would change the subject.

I wasn’t in the bathroom long, just enough time to wash my hands, when I heard a knock on the door.

“Just a minute, I’m almost done.” I called absentmindedly.

“Janie, it’s Kat. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, I’m almost done.”

“No-” Kat’s voice dropped to a whisper, I could tell she had her lips close to the crack in the door, “I mean, can I come in and join you, I- I need to tell you something.”

I opened the door then turned to search for a towel, “What’s up? Are you ok?”

Kat’s voice was heavy with hesitation behind me, “I found… something… out.” The soft click of the door closing surprised me so I turned to face her, mopping up the dampness of my hands with a really amazingly fluffy and absorbent towel. I made a mental note to ask Sandra where she purchased her towels.

When Kat didn’t continue I lifted my eyebrows, “About what?”

She looked entirely too serious, like my dad did the day he told me Santa Claus wasn’t real. I was fifteen.

“It’s about your job, at the firm.” She hesitated again, tucking her brown wavy hair behind her ears, “I found out why they let you go.”

“Oh.” I gripped the towel; it was squishy. I’d forgotten that Kat had agreed to try to find out why I was let go. At present I didn’t particularly care.

“Janie-”

She said my name in a way that is usually followed with: “Where were you the night of the murder?” or “You’re going to want to sit down for this.” I increased my grip on the towel.

“- it was Mr. Holsome.”

I blinked. Silence stretched. Kat’s eyes continued to watch me with wide rimmed caution.

“Mr. Holsome?” I repeated, confused, “You mean, Jon’s dad? My Jon’s dad? That Mr. Holsome?”

Kat nodded and leaned against the closed door. She sighed.

“I don’t-” I blinked at her again and sat down on the closed toilet seat lid, “I don’t understand. Why would Jon’s dad want me to lose my job?”

She looked miserable as she said, “I don’t know the why, but I can tell you I’m 100% certain he was responsible. He threatened to pull out of the South Side project if they didn’t let you go and he was insistent that it had to be that day.”

That day.

That day I found out Jon had cheated on me. That day I broke up with him before I left for work that morning.

Kat must’ve seen the wheels turning in my rickety brain because she said, “Do you think Jon asked him to do it? Do you think, when you broke up with him, that he… did that?”

I shook my head. I could only huff a response. “I don’t know, I can’t…” my words trailed off and I thought about the accusation Kat voiced and I’d been thinking.

It didn’t seem likely, but I was disturbed to realize it seemed plausible. Jon had said on more than one occasion, both when we were together and since we’d broken up, that he wanted me to rely on him, that he wanted to take care of me, that I needed him. I didn’t feel that way, I wondered why he did. Maybe it was because he felt it was true.

Maybe it was because his father had been able to end my employment with a phone call.

“What are you going to do?” Kat was twisting her hands in front of her, looking nervous and anxious on my behalf.

“I don’t know.” I shook my head then said it again, “I don’t know.”

It didn’t seem fair that Jon should be able to, on a petulant whim, decide to make a call which made me lose my job; a job, mind you, that I was quite skilled at but which I didn’t miss. I honestly didn’t know what I was going to do. Part of me wondered if it even mattered. Jon couldn’t do anything to me now; I wasn’t dating him anymore; he, and his father, had no influence with my current employer. I breathed a sigh of relief at the realization. I felt secure at my new job, I felt confident and safe.

Maybe Jon had done me a favor.

CHAPTER 15

On the Thursday of my third week I experienced the first tremor of uncertainty about my new job, and by tremor of uncertainty I mean lightning strike of horror.

Quinn had been gone since Sunday night but he was still sending me text message jokes. I read them, enjoyed them, but didn’t respond as I was also starting to feel silly about my behavior. When he dropped me off that night I gave in to my see-saw of self-doubt and it made me nauseous.

Why would he continue to text if he was trying to avoid me?

Additionally, on Wednesday night, he texted me a reminder about our phone call for Thursday. I promised myself that I would talk to Quinn on the horrid cell phone and I wouldn’t participate in any playground equipment emotional dramacoasters.

However, the incident on Sunday and subsequent time apart on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday allowed me some time to reflect: I didn’t really know much about Quinn. I didn’t even know what his job was and I worked with him. I didn’t understand Quinn’s role or title in the company, no one really spoke about him, and, when they did, they always called him Mr. Sullivan.

Therefore, I gathered the nerve necessary to ask Steven about Quinn.

Steven and I were having lunch in the break room, which was more of a long hallway also along the perimeter of the building with a window view of the city, and discussing my upcoming first official business trip and client meeting.

Steven and I would be flying to Las Vegas next Monday. He explained that the client owned the club Outrageous, which made me think of Quinn, and wanted to use Guard Security for another club in Las Vegas. The client also wanted to discuss arranging personal security through Infinite Systems.

“Does Cypher Systems have an office in Las Vegas?” I was eating a taco salad and dipped my chicken in sour cream before taking a bite.

Steven shook his head mid chew-swallow.

“What about New York? Do we have any office other than in Chicago?”

Steven just finished dipping his spicy tuna roll in soy sauce and answered before he ate, “Sweet Pea, can I call you Sweet Pea? No. It’s just us lunatics.”

“Don’t call me Sweet Pea. What about Quinn Sullivan? Where is his office?” I tried to sound ambivalent; I watched Steven over a forkful of taco salad as I tried to suppress the blush threatening to overwhelm my cheeks. I hoped he didn’t notice.

He shook his head, “Mr. Sullivan has an office here, in the building, but, as you’ve likely noticed, doesn’t use it much during normal business hours. I think he prefers to be out in the field.”

“Why does everyone call him Mr. Sullivan?”

Steven placed a generous portion of shaved ginger on his sushi and lifted his eyebrows at me, “What do you want me to call him? Sully? Quinning the winning?”

“No, what I mean is, we call Mr. Davies ‘Carlos’ and everyone else here goes by their first name. Why don’t we call Mr. Sullivan ‘Quinn’?”

Steven shrugged, “I don’t know. I’ve worked here for three years; we’ve just always called him Mr. Sullivan.” Steven seemed to think about the issue as he chewed his sushi; then, with a half full mouth, added, “The only time I usually see him is for the client meetings and it just makes sense to call him Mr. Sullivan then, in front of the client I mean. Maybe it makes him seem more important in their eyes.” Steven shrugged again and swallowed, “Well, I guess he is important... strange but important.”