Page 60 of Ten Years and Then…
Except—why? What could a twenty-four year old woman, months away from being a lawyer with a high paying job and everything else, possibly want with him?
“I’m sure you will,” he said, dismissing his idiotic notion.
“Yeah,” she said, giving him an inviting smile. “Some friends of mine are meeting for lunch over at the Green Lantern Café. Why don’t you come along with me?” She waved a hand at the computer. “I’m sick of corporate partnership compensation structures anyway. I’m not going to get anything else done. Let’s go.”
Daniel tried to decline, but there was no arguing with a lawyer. Or even an almost-lawyer. So off they went.
When they got to the Café, her friends were already there. Six of them, in one of the big circular booths in the corner of the restaurant.
“Shove over,” Valerie said, pushing Daniel in ahead of her, so he was squeezed between her and a short, pale-looking man who was already starting to lose his hair.
She named all her fellow law students, which Daniel doubted he’d remember. Then she introduced him. “This is Daniel. He’s my computer guru. And my graphic designer. You want a resume that’ll stand out, or anything else formatted and designed perfectly, he’s your man. And he only charges $25 a page.”
She poked him in the ribs, he assumed to stop him from protesting. But she didn’t need to bother; he was too shocked to say anything anyway.
“I bargained him down from $50. And honestly, he’s worth more than that.”
There was plenty of scoffing at first, until Valerie pulled her resume out of her bag like she was performing a magic trick.
It was a good trick. By the end of lunch—she paid for his—he had every one of her friends asking when he was available to design their resumes.
On the walk back to Ellis Hall, he was still shellshocked.
“Valerie, what just happened?”
“I just helped you make $150, that’s what. I remember undergrad. Money is always tight—I figured you’d appreciate it. And after all the help you’ve given me, it’s the least I could do.”
It wasn’t the least she could do. The least she could have done was nothing—helping users in the lab was his job. And he was happy to do it, especially for people who were friendly and fun to talk to.
But her words led him back to his ridiculous thought from earlier: what could a smart, pretty, funny twenty-four year old almost-lawyer possibly want with him?
He still didn’t know. But here she was, walking right beside him. Treating him like she considered him her equal. Like he wasn’t just a twenty-one year old kid who spent Saturday nights playing Battletech in the dorm lounge and had no idea what his future held.
Chapter 19
Thanksgiving 1990—Bronx, NY/Manhattan, NY
Daniel, November 20
Daniel dragged his suitcase up the three steps to the front door of his house. He was about to put the key in the door when he heard a shout behind him, followed by muttered curses.
It was Mr. Barnaby, under the hood of his old Toyota up to his waist. Daniel left his luggage and went across the street. “Is it acting up again? I thought they fixed your engine over the summer.”
His neighbor extricated himself from the car and grunted. “So did I.” The man brushed brown hair away from his eyes with an oil-stained hand, and did his best to smile. “I’d just call AAA to tow it, but I need to go to Cross County this afternoon. I was hoping I could fix it myself. I guess I’ll call a cab and worry about the engine later.”
Daniel had planned to go up to his childhood room and collapse on the comfortable queen bed for a couple of hours. But Mr. Barnaby needed help. That’s what you did for neighbors.
“Forget the cab, Mr. Barnaby. Mom’s car is in the garage, let me bring my stuff inside and I can drive you over there.”
His parents were both with his sister, touring the condo that she hoped to buy. They wouldn’t be home until dinnertime, probably.
He went inside, brought his suitcase upstairs, came back down and drank a glass of Coke in ten seconds flat. A minute after that, he was behind the wheel of his mother’s twenty year old Cadillac—inherited from her mother—and driving out of the garage.
The Cross County Shopping Center in Yonkers was only a ten minute drive away, and there was almost no traffic at all on a Tuesday afternoon. “Where do you want me to park?”
“Wanamakers, please.” That was one of the two big department stores at the mall.
“What do you need there?”
