T. Parker - Little Saigon

“I am. And you’re Shelly, right?”

She smiled and put her hairbrush in a desk drawer. “I heard you’ll be at Radically Committed Saturday night.”

“That’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

“Woah!” she squealed. “Like what’s the deal?”

“The deal is I want to see Rollie Dean Mack.”

“Oh, that’s going to be hard, Chuck.”

“Is he in?”

“No.”

“When will he be?”

“Beats me.”

“Must be in sometime.”

“I’ve worked here all summer and I’ve only seen him, like, three times. I usually say he’s in the field, ‘cause that’s what I’m supposed to say. But I wonder what a millionaire like Mr. Mack would be doing in a field. Think about it.”

“Come on, I really have to see him, Shelly.”

She brought out her brush and ran it through a couple of times. Her hair gave a static crackle, lifted out, and hung a moment. Her teeth were white as typing paper. “I’m telling you, Chuck. I sit here eight hours a day. I do my nails, then my hair, then my makeup, then I listen to the radio, then do it all again. I’m not allowed to talk on the phone to my friends or this would be great. Daddy got me the job. Anyway, I take calls for Mr. Mack and Mr. Becwith. I write the messages on this.” She held up one of those three-color memo pads that make a different color copy for each person.

He sighed.

Shelly kept brushing her hair and smiling. She shook her head. “Sorry.”

This chick’s no dummy, he thought. Harder to get past than a free safety. “Damn it, Shelly, I surf all morning and it isn’t easy, you know? I gotta work at it, like everyone else does. I come in here to see your boss about a job and all I get is a runaround.”

“I’m real sorry, Chuck. I love the way you surf. And the way you moon the camera in Committed. Can’t wait till that part.”

“So you’re not going to let me see him?”

“I told you. He’s hardly ever here. Neither of them are.”

From the utter blankness on Shelly’s face, Frye could only conclude she was doing her job and that was that.

“You know, Chuck, I was in Mega looking for a board the other day. I looked all around. Gotcha has good boards but too expensive.”

“My stuff’s better. How much you want to spend?”

“Not much.”

“Shelly, we can work a deal. You let me see Mr. Mack and I’ll give you a board at cost.”

“Can’t do it, Chuck. I told you what the deal here is.”

“I’ll give it to you for free.”

Shelly’s eyes glittered. She laughed perfectly. “I’d love a Mega board.”

“Get me Rollie.”

“I’ll get you as close to him as I can. How’s that?” She stood up and opened the door behind her. Frye walked into the larger room. Two desks and chairs, two round wastebaskets, two blotters, a couple of lamps. The office was a mess. It looked like the Ledger newsroom. Piles of paper on each desk, trashcans full, notices and bulletins thumbtacked to the walls. The blotters were scribbled upon. The desk calendars were on the right day. He flipped through Mack’s, but found no hint as to where he might be. In fact, there was no hint as to where he’d ever been. Not a single note in eight months. His finger came away from the desk top with dust on it.

“Oops,” said Shelly. “I’m supposed to dust every morning before they get here, but I forgot.”

“Before they get here? I thought you said they don’t come in.”

“They don’t. You know, like, dust before they got here if they ever did. But they never do. That’s what I mean.”

He noted the pile of yellow message slips on each desk. Shelly said they never told her to put them there, but she did anyway just in case they came in, and to cover herself.

“Who’s your boss?”

“They both are.”

“But you’ve never seen them?”

“Well, I’ve seen Mr. Mack like a couple of times. He was here when I came to interview. He asked me what I wanted to do for a career and I told him be a model or be in advertising, then he said I was perfect and hired me. After that, he’s come in a couple times with little beat-up guys. I think they’re wrestlers or something, but they’re kind of small for that. He doesn’t show up much. He’s like independently wealthy, so why bother?”

“How do you know that?”

Shelly giggled. “Why else would you never show up at your job? And Mr. Becwith works nights.”

“Yeah. So when you take the messages, how do you pass them along?”

“Mr. Mack calls in at nine, one, and four. Every day.”

“From where?”

“Beats me. Why all the questions, Chuck? You must really need that job.”

“You have a number to get him, say for an emergency, or a real important call?”

Shelly looked at him for a long moment. “I really think what I’m doing here is, like, getting myself into trouble. Daddy got me this job, ya know. I don’t want to—”

“—Give me that number, Shel.”

“Gawd, Chuck. Be cool.”

“Sorry. I mean it, I’m sorry.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

“You’ve been a real help, Shelly. I promise I won’t say anything to anyone about what you told me.” He looked around again at the empty office, then helped himself to a business card from a holder on each desk. Shelly eyed him from the doorway, a little red-faced now, a little fearful, a little like a girl who’s just been seduced. Frye felt bad.

“Thanks. One more thing, Shelly. Don’t tell Mr. Mack I’ve been here asking questions.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

For a brief moment Frye wanted to hug her and apologize. “You come to Mega any time you want and pick out a board. Take whatever you want, and a MegaSuit too. No charge. Bill gives you any trouble, just have him call me. I’m in the book.”

She brightened, started brushing her hair again. “Me too. Shelly Morris. Thanks for the board, Chuck! I always liked Mega the best, except you don’t have any girls’ stuff.”

“We’re working on that.” He gave her a couple of tickets to the Saturday movie. She took them in a smooth dark hand.

“Will you tell him I was here, about the Ledger advertising? Just the advertising, not all the questions.”

“I may be an airhead, but I’m not like completely stupid. I’ll write on that pad that you came by about ads. That’s all.”

“Come get that board sometime, now.”

“Thanks, Chuck. You really want to know if Mr. Mack comes in here, don’t you?”

“I really do.”

She deliberated. “I could maybe like sneak you a call when he’s back in the office or something.”

“Be careful.”

“See ya Saturday night. If you act like you know me, my friends will think I’m cool.”

“You’re a good friend, Shelly, Does Elite have a fighter on the Sherrington card tonight?”

“We have two.”

“Mr. Mack be there?”

“He always goes when one of his guys is fighting, Chuck.” She smiled and the phone rang. The wall clock said one o’clock. “You better go now.”

Frye nodded and headed down the stairs. At a gas station he called Dianne Resnick to see if she’d ever actually laid eyes on Mr. Mack of Elite Management. She hadn’t.

Neither had Ronald Billingham, who had taken Elite’s advertising cancellation over the phone.

Cristobel was standing on Frye’s patio when he drove up to the cave-house. She had an immense spray of flame-orange gladiolas in one hand and an envelope in the other. Her dress was short and her legs were lovely, and she stood like a woman who knew it. She had a purse slung over her shoulder. Frye’s heart surged.