Terry Neale - Jo-el

Alberton nodded. “Get me an update by five, I’ve got to figure out how to tell the Council. They’ll think I’ve flipped.” He paused in thought, “you better get on it, Colin.”

“Switch it off, Sally, I’ve had enough.” I said, suddenly.

The monitor screen shut down. I put my feet up on the coffee table.

“Maybe I should piss them off and meet with a different country?”

“China?” asked Sally.

“No, I don’t think so. I have no idea how the Chinese would react to me. I don’t know their culture. They might shoot first and then ask questions. I was thinking the Brits, they’re pretty reasonable.”

“They do what America says.” Sally responded. “If America says ‘shit’, the British heave and strain.”

I laughed at Sally’s little joke, but I’d heard it before. She must troll every written word for these little tidbits.

“What about Ireland?” Sally said.

“Too close to home. Not exactly a world power, might make people think I have a connection, no, definitely not Ireland. The Home Secretary in England is the head of security, right?”

“Yes.”

“It’s late their now.”

“Seven P.M.”

“What’s the Home Secretary up to right now?”

“She’s in a meeting.”

“A woman?”

“Not your type, she’s in her fifties.”

“I’m in my fifties,” I smirked at Sally.

“I thought you preferred them younger, like Pippa?”

“Enough, Sally. What about her private secretary?”

Sally was quiet for a second. Searching her database, no doubt for who was the British Home Secretary’s assistant and then locating their whereabouts. I was taking this incredible database for granted. It was a true marvel that anything I wanted to know was just seconds away. We were in the internet age and data was close by via our smart phones, but my smartphone, sitting with me in my family-room was truly another dimension.

“She’s having dinner with a friend, just off Whitehall.”

“Male or female?”

“Female.”

“Two ladies,” I smiled.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Who’s the other woman?” I asked.

“A colleague.”

“Good, that would be better.”

“What about Pippa?” Sally asked. “She’ll be contacting you any minute. Isn’t she your new girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Sally! They can wait. It’s good to play, ‘hard-to-get,’ sometimes.”

Sally looked perplexed, the intricacies of the male mind was taxing her circuit boards.

“I need a different attire but the Jo-el face. Maybe a business suit. No wings. A different approach. Time to piss of the yanks. There must be a bathroom in the restaurant? What type of restaurant is it, anyway?”

“Italian. Bathroom in the back, currently empty.”

“Great, let’s do it.” I changed my dress into a dark grey business suit, crisp white shirt with a modern, colorful tie. My shoes were polished black, very smart. Sally bounced me into the bathroom of the Italian restaurant in the Whitehall district of London. I allowed myself a moment to check myself in the mirror, and take a deep breath, perfect, smartest Jo-el to date. With Sally’s guidance I walked out of the bathroom and headed for my encounter with the two ladies of Whitehall.

I attracted several glances as I walked down an isle of wooden booths, the patrons enjoying their pasta. The restaurant oozed garlic making my taste buds salivate. No one appeared to recognize me, which was good. The two ladies were sitting in a booth designed for four, absorbed in each other’s conversation. They didn’t see me until I stopped at the table, they both stared up and did a double take. Sally told me that the Home Secretary’s assistant was wearing a dark blue dress with an embroidered lapel. I wanted to sit opposite from her.

“May I speak to you, Mrs. Fields?” I was genuinely polite and didn’t make any move until I was asked.

There was a long pause then Maureen Fields replied, “Gosh, yes, I suppose.”

Very English.

“Thank-you.”

“You better squeeze in, don’t want to draw attention.”

Maureen’s companion scooched toward the wall and I sat down next to her. I turned to the lady and said ‘Thank-you’ again, the perfect gentleman.

Both the women studied me intently, but waited for me to speak.

“You know who I am?”

Maureen said. “You look like that man with the wings,” she kept her voice low. “You were a topic at a meeting. I presume you know who I am, this is a colleague, Elizabeth Ray?”

“How do you do,” I said to the lady next to me. “I know who you are Mrs. Fields, that’s why I’m here. My name is Jo-el. Again, thank-you for allowing me to talk to you.”

A waiter came over and asked if I was eating. Reluctantly I declined, the ladies didn’t make any effort to alter my decision.

“What happened to your wings?” Maureen asked.

“I left them at home, a bit conspicuous.”

“I see, yes, they would be. What can I do for you?”

“I would like to talk to the Home Secretary and was hoping you could facilitate a meeting?”

She studied me closely but didn’t reply.

“Why not approach her directly?”

“Security mainly, didn’t want to cause a kafuffle. You know?”

“I see, yes. Why us?”

“You mean, the Brits?”

“Yes?”

“My second choice.”

“Well that’s not bad, I suppose, for a little country nowadays. I assume you’ve approached the Americans?”

“Didn’t go well, not so far, anyway. Still working on it.”

“I see. Well the Home Secretary is very busy but I think she would make an exception. I’ll talk to her in the morning. How do I get in touch?”

“Email or text. Just Jo-el, no dot com.”

“And that works?”

“Yes, I’ll get it. But please understand I can only receive communication from people I designate. That’s you.”

“Well, I feel honored.”

I smiled, then added. “It doesn’t have to be alone, with the Home Secretary, she can invite whoever she wishes. Just not too many.”

“Right, is there an agenda.”

Oh, those Brits, so proper.

“Not really but security would be the main topic.”

“I see, good, well if you would like to stay for dinner?” But I knew she was just being polite. It would be difficult for me to just small-talk.

“Thank-you, that’s very kind, but I think it would be better if I left.”

Maureen smiled, she understood, perfectly. She was a smart lady, I liked her a lot. I stood up and offered my hand. Both ladies shook politely and I left, this time toward the front door. Once outside I changed my facial appearance enough that I wouldn’t be recognized. I was in London, it was closing in on mid-day in California, lunch was a brilliant idea. Don’t you just love the Brits.

By one o’clock California time I was back home, having thoroughly enjoyed one of England’s favorite culinary delights, Chicken Tikka Masala, that superb Indian dish invented in England. Why don’t we have any decent Indian restaurants in America? Certainly, I hadn’t found one. During lunch I avoided any contact with Sally, instead I soaked up the delight of my surroundings and afforded myself time to think.

Sally appeared just as I sat down.

“Your girlfriend has been trying to reach you.”

“Oh Maureen has set up a meeting already?”

“No, not that old bat. Pippa.”

“She’s not an old bat. In fact, I rather liked Maureen Fields, is she married?”

Sally stood up, waved her hands in the air, just like in the TV show ‘Bewitched’ and became a middle-aged lady in a dark blue business suit.

“What d’ya think?” she laughed at me.