Page 7 of Agency
“You nailed it in one,” I replied, leaning in a little.
“Southie?” she asked, not pulling back even an inch as she gave me a knowing smile.
“Good guess. It’s been a long while, though.”
“Right. Military. How could I forget?”
“It’s okay,” I said, reaching for my drink and bringing the glass’s brim nearly to my lips, “so do I, sometimes.” I took a sip of my martini, put the glass aside. “What about you?”
“Why don’t you guess? I guessed yours, didn’t I?”
Tilting my head to the side, I tried to imagine where hers might have been from. I’d heard plenty of accents, but none quite so neutral as hers. Wonderful diction, perfect enunciation, no rolling of “r’s” or replacing “o’s” with “a’s.” She had to have been from some place relatively newly settled, and one that wasn’t isolated or overly distinct, like my Boston accent.
“Out west, I’m thinking. Los Angeles, maybe? But not a Valley Girl.”
“Close.” She hid a slight smile with the rim of her glass, and I’ll be damned if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’d seen all year.
“Close? San Francisco, then?”
“Close enough that I’ll give it to you. But only because I like you.”
“How close?”
“Wrong side of the continent.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “So, two thousand miles off is ‘close?’ You must like me an awful lot.”
“Well, maybe I do.”
“The feeling’s definitely mutual.”
“Is it now?”
“It is.” I nodded to her as I grabbed my glass. “So, where are you originally from?”
“Jacksonville, Florida,” she said, a slight twang entering her speech.
I chuckled. “No, I never would have guessed that.”
“Well, it’s not exactly your fault you wouldn’t. I’ve really worked at erasing my accent since college, mainly because of work.”
“And what do you do?”
“Marketing,” she replied, now seeming as if she were letting her slight twang come more naturally through. “Travel around, meet clients, figure out what they need, then make good on the deliverables we decide. Lots of social media, SEO, dealing with advertising agencies, the works.” Her accent wasn’t anything overt, really, like she was a Georgia Peach or from the backwoods of Alabama. No, her twang was just enough to make her words all the sweeter and more authentic.
“Plenty of traveling then?”
“A new city every week, it seems.”
“I hear you.”
“So, you understand then,” she replied, leaning her chin on a propped fist. “The whole life…”
“Living out of hotel rooms, you mean? Always checking Google to find a new bar that isn’t just the one in the lobby?”
She laughed and nodded. “Exactly, yes, that right there.”
“Why do you think I’m here, now?”
