Jack Cavanaugh - Death Watch

“Had lunch yet?”

“I’ve been busy writing copy.”

“Artie’s?”

“Sure. Give me five minutes.”

Another voice interrupted them.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.” Cori Zinn approached with a swagger. Ignoring Sydney, she linked arms with Josh and whispered something in his ear. Laughing, she tried pulling him away.

“I can’t,” he said. “Syd and I are doing lunch.”

Cori shot Sydney a dismissive look. “I’m sure she won’t mind. I was counting on you for a ride.”

“I thought you were going with Grant in his Jaguar.”

Squeezing Josh’s arm, Cori wrinkled her nose at him. “I’d rather ride with you.”

“Sorry,” Josh said. “I already made plans. How about if I make it up to you with dinner tonight?”

“I’m busy tonight,” Cori said with a pout.

She didn’t like Josh anywhere near Sydney St. James. To Josh’s credit, that was one place where he drew the line with Cori, which infuriated her and made Sydney love him all the more.

Cori released Josh’s arm. “If you’d rather be with her than me…,” she said, walking away.

Sydney whispered to Josh, “Are you supposed to be at the luncheon with Hunz Vonner?”

“Nah. Cori just wants me to drive her there.”

“And what? Wait in the parking lot while they eat?”

Cori swung around. “Sydney, I hear you’re going to be working with Vonner on this mass killing thing. Can’t wait to see how you’ll dress up this time to get the story. Have you considered going as the angel of death?”

You have to forgive Cori,” Josh said. “She gets a little possessive at times.”

Sydney absorbed the comment by pretending to look at the menu, even though she ordered the same thing every time. If she said something, Josh would get defensive and angry, and Cori would have succeeded in ruining their lunch. Sydney refused to give her that victory.

The lunch crowd showed no signs of thinning. People queued to the take-out counter a dozen deep to order from a long menu of specialty sandwiches, soups, knishes, and salads. Behind the counter, an array of salamis dangled on string, frankfurters rotated on a grill, and employees kept the salad display fresh.

A waiter appeared, notepad in hand. “What’ll you have?” He glanced at Sydney.

“Chicken salad sandwich.”

“That all?”

“And a glass of water.”

“You?” He turned to Josh, who was still deciding.

“He’ll have a number four with fries and Coke,” Sydney said.

“You got it.” The waiter grabbed the menus and was gone.

“I might have wanted a hot dog,” Josh said.

“You always order a number four,” Sydney said.

They spent the next couple of minutes people watching. Sydney couldn’t help but wonder how many had heard about the alarming number of unexplained deaths. Everybody in line seemed focused on ordering. And from the conversations drifting from nearby tables, no one seemed overly concerned. But then, the news just broke. How many people listen to the noon news on their lunch break?

“What Cori said back at the station,” Josh said. “I think she was out of line, but since I didn’t understand what she was referring to, it was hard to tell. What did she mean about you dressing up as the angel of death?”

Sydney grinned. “She was just being Cori.”

“I still don’t get it. Why would you dress up like the angel of death to get a story?”

The grin widened. “You haven’t heard about the fat suit.”

“Um, no, can’t say that I have.”

“It got me the job at KSMJ. It was a feature story I did back in Davenport. Helen saw it and offered me a job.”

“You did a feature story on extra-large suits?”

Sydney laughed. “No. I wore a fat suit to get the story.”

“Really?” Josh was intrigued. “You’re talking about a theater costume, right?”

“Makeup and everything. Made me look like I was three hundred pounds.”

Josh howled. “I’ve got to see this tape!”

“The network picked up the story.”

“Why would you do such a thing? A dare?”

“More like a bet. Scott Hurlihy, one of the reporters at the station, was giving me a hard time about my looks. He said everything came easy to me because I was female and pretty, that I had an advantage over male reporters. Well, it ticked me off.”

“He’s right, you know,” Josh said.

Sydney leveled a finger at him. “Don’t get me started.”

“You don’t think your looks give you an edge?”

“Do you want to hear this story or not?”

Josh motioned her to go ahead.

“I told him that nobody takes me seriously. One look and people think blonde bimbo. Scott refused to give ground. He said that if I had to spend one day without my looks, I’d see that he was right.”

“And a bet was born,” Josh said.

“No money was exchanged, but I was determined to prove Scott Hurlihy wrong. Actually, we came up with the idea of the fat suit together. The University of Iowa’s drama department had just done a production of Falstaff, so we knew where to find one. We talked a couple of the makeup guys into fitting my face with latex jowls. I died my hair mousy brown with gray streaks and wore faded, pale green sweats and a pair of grungy tennis shoes.”

“I’ve got to see this tape!” Josh said. “So how did it go?”

Sydney sobered. “It was a real eye-opener. Of course, I’d thought about what it would be like carrying around the extra weight, climbing in and out of the car, walking down narrow aisles, falling into and climbing out of chairs. I knew it would be physically taxing.

“What I wasn’t prepared for was how mean people suddenly became. All I did that day was run errands. I went to the usual places: the grocery store, the post office, I put gas in the car. A film crew recorded me from a distance.”

Even now, remembering it, tears came to Sydney’s eyes. “People were openly rude to me for no reason. Strangers called me names in passing. They stared at me and made faces like I disgusted them. I used to think salesmen were so friendly, that the stores trained them that way. At the film counter of a drugstore, I waited thirty minutes to be waited on while the man behind the counter finished stacking shelves, took phone calls, and assisted a couple of cute high school girls who came in after me. In a restaurant, four grown men made pig noises in the booth behind me. A woman who looked like a grandmother pulled me aside and told me that if I lost weight I’d feel better about myself. I’d never met this woman before!”

“It really shook you,” Josh said.

“How was I to know that anyone took me seriously after that? How was I to know that teachers didn’t give me a grade better than I deserved just because I was pretty? Or that I was hired for my looks instead of my talent?”

“Your good looks open doors for you.”

“I hate that,” Sydney said. “I don’t want to be treated differently just because my hair is blonde.”

“But they do.”

“They shouldn’t.”

Their order came. Sydney picked at her sandwich. Josh attacked his fries.

“So Scott won the bet,” Josh said.

“I swore to myself I’d never knowingly use my feminine wiles to my advantage,” Sydney said.

“Your what? Feminine wiles?” Josh laughed.

“It means—”

“I know what it means, it’s just that I haven’t heard anyone use that term. Not in this century, at least.”

Sydney sniffed. “Well, it’s a perfectly good expression.”

“So how’s that going? That abstaining-from-using-your-feminine-wiles thing.”