Page 112 of Blow Me Down
The last was addressed to me. “None of your business. May I please have the number?”
Tara frowned and told her friend to hold on for a moment. She pulled her laptop onto the bed and clicked around on the screen. “His cell phone, you mean?”
“That or his home phone number.”
“Meh. I don’t know if I have it.” She loaded up her e-mail client and flipped through a couple of messages. “Nope. I’ve got the office number and addy, though, if you want those.”
I wrote them down on her notepad, asking as I did, “You don’t happen to have his home address?”
She shook her head and picked up her phone. “Nope. You still there? Yeah, I know, but she’s old. I mean, she doesn’t have a lot of choices, you know?”
I closed the door on Tara’s dissection of my love life and returned to my room, curling up in bed with the phone while I debated my choices. Unfortunately, about this Tara was right—I didn’t have too many options. A phone call to the offices of Buckling Swashes (which resulted in the expected voice mail—which I didn’t leave, chickening out at leaving a personal message that could well be listened to by a secretary or receptionist) and one abortive attempt to get Corbin’s unlisted phone number from directory assistance later, and I was defeated. I spent the night restless, held in the grip of one dream of frustration after the other.
“Right, that’s it,” I told my haggard face in the mirror a few hours later. “This is ridiculous. Time to be proactive, Amy.”
Tara was buried under the usual detritus of her bedroom—a miscellany of stuffed animals she refused to part with, pillows of all shapes and sizes, blankets, clothing, and a gypsy shawl she’d found in my closet and claimed as her own—
but I pushed them aside to locate her head. Her eyes opened just enough to send me a squinty-eyed glare.
“Do you know if Corbin’s office is open on Saturday?”
“Nnnnrf,” she answered, closing her eyes firmly and burying her face into the mound of stuffed animals that clustered around her pillow.
“Thanks, you’re a big help. I want you up no later than noon, remember.
You’re not going to spend the whole day sleeping.”
“When you marry Corbin and we’re rich, I’msonever getting up,” her voice answered from the mound.
My jaw tightened at her words. “Let’s just hope we get the opportunity to have that particular battle,” I said under my breath as I snatched up my purse and the paper with Corbin’s office address, and paused to have a quick look in the mirror next to the front door. The face that looked back at me looked the same as Amy the pirate—but would Corbin see it the same way?
“Proactive,” I told the mirror Amy. She nodded back, adding, “Take charge of every situation, and direct it to the result you want.”
“Now if only Corbin will see things the same way…”
The drive to his office didn’t take too long, it being located in an industrial park that was on the fringes of the local mail. At the rear of the complex of low, two-story buildings a Jolly Roger flag flew in front of a door bedecked with a scowling pirate holding a sign that read, ‘WARE, LANDLUBBERS! THIS BE
THE OFFICE OF BUCKLING SWASHES!
Unfortunately, beyond the sign, the windows were dark. I tried the door nonetheless—it was locked.
“Well, hell. Now what?” I asked myself. Curiosity won out, and after a quick look around the deserted section of this part of the industrial park, I stepped over the couple of low shrubs and leaned up against the window, cupping my hands around my eyes so I could see into the darkness. Dimly visible were a couple of desks with the obligatory computers and desk paraphernalia, beyond which was a tall potted palm that seemed to be sporting a number of stuffed, garishly colored parrots. The walls were covered in artwork that I recognized from the game—pictures of ships, one of the inside of Corbin’s cabin on theSquirrel, and an overhead map of Turtle’s Back. To the back of the office was a door with a pair of crossed swords on it. I leaned in even farther, trying to make out the words on the sign that hung above them…
“Hoy, there, lass! Can I be helpin‘ ye?”
The voice came from behind me, startling me so much I jumped a good foot in the air as I spun around, guilt and embarrassment battling with adrenaline as I stammered out an excuse. “Oh! I’m sorry! I was just looking… I was hoping…
er…”
A man swung his leg over a bike, evidently having just ridden to the office, which explained why I hadn’t heard him approach. He was a little taller than me, wearing a pair of jeans and a South Park T-shirt, along with a neon pink and lime bike helmet, and impenetrable sunglasses. He paused in the act of pulling the helmet off.
“Amy?”
I stopped stammering, narrowing my eyes as he yanked the helmet from his head. “Yes, I’m Amy.”
He grinned and took off his sunglasses, holding out his arms as if he expected me to run into his embrace. I ran my gaze over his long face, took in the tousled black hair, and warm, engaging eyes, happiness filling me as I realized who he was. “Holder!” I shouted, flinging myself at him.
He laughed and hugged me just as hard as I hugged him. “One and the same.
