The Colour of Sunday Afternoons Page 11

  "Tell me about it. I hate to speak ill of the dead. What happened was awful. Michael, my boss, wasn't a happy man. It's sad to think he died stressed and unhappy. But he used to work us into the ground. Confrontation was the only way he knew. It used to drive me nuts."

  "Sometimes,” said Joe, “I'd like to be my own boss: run my own business, bypass all of this madness. Only I want to play more music with the band. Being an employee gives me a chance to do that. At least, it's supposed to. Lately, it hasn't worked out that way." Joe thought it was odd, to feel so comfortable sharing these thoughts with a woman he'd only just met. "I'm pretty competitive, I guess, and I push myself pretty hard. It's a little crazy."

  "Don't we all?" Jane laughed quietly.

  "It started in school,” said Joe. “Try to get top grades. Then college. Then the company. Push, push, push. I don't know."

  "Yeah," said Jane, changing the phone into her other hand.

  "I mean, Jane, I want to be good at what I do, but, lately, someone has made me think, I mean something has made me think about it all, lately." Joe had almost mentioned Shamus. That was a close call, he thought.

  "Strange you should say that, Joe. Lately, things have made me think about all that, too. Well, anyway, enough about work, right?"

  "Hey," said Joe. "Would you like do something, when things get a little less crazy at your work? Maybe meet for another coffee, have dinner or something?"

  "Sure," said Jane. "I'll give you a call back."

  "Great. I mean, that would be nice."

  "I'd better go," said Jane. "Tomorrow's going to be a big one. My boss, Christina, is going to fill me in on the new management position, and what I have to do to get everything started."

  "Good luck."

  "Thanks, Joe. See you."

  "See you." Joe put the phone down, leaned back in his sofa chair, linked his hands behind his head, and thought about his good fortune.

  Jane Hamilton had called him. Things were looking up!

  For a moment, Joe wondered if Shamus might have had anything to do with it. No, he concluded. That would be just too weird. Guardian angels must have better things to do than concern themselves with romance.

  He laughed at the thought.

  Chapter 11

  Jane felt guilty as she drove down the quiet suburban street. This wasn't like her, she thought: things banking up at the office, a new promotion, and here she was, taking Saturday afternoon off. She pulled up at the kerb of Bill's large home, unfastened her seat belt, and got out of the car.

  Jane opened the garden gate and began the familiar stroll to the side door. There were kids’ toys scattered on the grass. As she passed the large kitchen window she saw Leslie inside, and waved.

  Jane pulled open the side door and walked down the short hallway. Stevie, who was only four, suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor, racing off on some secret adventure with the studious indifference to the rest of the world that only a four-year-old can muster. He disappeared in the direction of the living room.

  Jane turned the other way and came upon the kitchen.

  Leslie downed her cooking tools when she saw her old friend. "Jane! I'm so glad you could make it.” She gave Jane a hug. “We haven't seen you for so long."

  "All's fair in business and war," said Jane. "Lilly threatened to let down my tires if I didn't come along, and, well ... I miss you guys, anyway."

  Leslie smiled. "I know. Since I left teaching, I've had a little more time in the evenings, at least when Bill can mind the kids. But I know it's tough to get time out, sometimes. Never mind! You're here now. Cookie?" Leslie held out a tray of freshly baked oatmeal biscuits, still hot from the oven.

  "Mmmm!" Jane took one, greedily, and munched.

  Her namesake, Little Jane, the six-year-old, came into the kitchen trailing a stuffed toy: a large rabbit, unceremoniously dragged by one ear. "Mummy, Rabbit wants to help cook!" Jane, junior smiled coyly at Big Jane, and then waited for her mother to reply.

  Leslie looked down at her daughter. "Now, Sweetie, you know Rabbit's too young to help in the kitchen. Why don't you and Rabbit go play in the living room? Wouldn't that be fun?"

  Little Jane pondered this for a moment, nodded, and began to walk off toward the living room. Changing her mind at the last moment, she ran up to Big Jane and tapped her on the leg. "Jane?"

  "Yes, Sweetie?"

  "Could you hold Rabbit for me? I'm go ... going to see daddy."

  The child held out the toy. Jane took it, seriously, as if she were accepting a rare archaeological artefact. Rabbit, she knew, was important.

  "Thank you!" Little Jane ran out of the kitchen.

  Jane looked at Leslie. "Looks like Rabbit’s going to help cook, after all. What would you like him to do? Season the hollandaise sauce or whip up a quick soufflé?"

  Leslie laughed. "I had in mind a big lasagne."

  "Really? Sounds wonderful. Anything I can do to help?"

  "No, thanks. Could you ask Bill to come help me serve this monster?" Opening the oven, Leslie indicated a huge tray of lasagne. To Jane, it looked big enough to feed an army.

  "Sure.”

  Jane took the same route that Little Jane had taken, straight to the busy living room. She could hear raucous children’s laughter and the sound of Bill's voice. As she entered the room, Bill was sitting cross-legged in a pile of toys. Stevie and Little Jane were giggling at his impression of Mickey Mouse. He had on a pair of plastic mouse ears, several sizes too small for a grown-up; they sat precariously on his balding head.

  "Hi, Bill," said Jane.

  "Why, hello there, Janey!" Bill replied in his best Mickey Mouse voice. "And how are you today? Have you been a good girl?"

  The kids giggled.

  "You know I'm always the perfect angel," Jane deadpanned.

  "Oh, really?" said Bill. "What about the time, back in college, you met that French painter and ... oh, sorry kids ... Mickey has to go now! He’s not allowed to tell that story."

  Jane was frowning sternly.

  In his normal voice, Bill continued. "Care to try them on?"

  "No thanks. I like my own ears just fine." Jane sat down on the floor, next to the kids, and gave Rabbit back to Little Jane, who took the toy gratefully. Stevie was engrossed in squeezing foam building blocks. "By the way, Leslie needs some help with the lasagne.”

  "Hmmm. I'd better get out there, then."

  Bill disappeared, setting off toward his happy task of serving up the food. Jane stayed and played with the children. Suddenly the familiar sound of Lilly's voice rang out. Her footsteps came down the corridor.

  "Big Jane! Little Jane! Stevie! It's your Aunt Lilly!" Lilly was in fine form and full of her usual joie de vivre. The kids rushed over to her. She gave them each a chocolate, which was, by now, a ritual. Then she wandered over to Jane. "Here's your candy, Jane. Don't think I forgot you, now!"

  Jane got up off the floor and took the chocolate. "Delicious, as usual," she said, chomping heartily on the German marzipan. "I see Aunt Lilly doesn't have cheap taste in confectionery."

  "Are you kidding? Me, the original chocoholic?! Now, stand back; I see building blocks, there! Okay, kids, Aunty Lilly’s ready to play. Stevie, that's right, you squeeze the blocks. You're only four. Now, Jane, junior, what has Mr Rabbit been doing today?"

  The children crowded around Lilly. Jane sighed. She couldn't compete with Lilly when it came to kids, so she contended herself with a more adult activity: sitting on the sofa, relaxing, and thinking what a nice afternoon it was going to be. She closed her eyes and imagined – she could almost taste the lasagne now.

  It was a hard Saturday afternoon on the squash court. Joe grunted as he lunged to return another killer smash by Sue, but he was beaten hopelessly by the speed of the low, fast ball.

  Paul, in the viewing gallery, yelled out the score. "Seven-one!"

  Joe looked up. "You don't have to take quite so much pleasure in it, Paul. I'm sure the neighbours don't want to know
."

  Sue couldn’t resist the chance to pull Joe’s leg. "I didn't hear the score. Was that six-one? Hey, Paul! What was that score?"

  Paul took his cue, gleefully. "Seven-one, Sue. The score is seven-one, in your favour. That puts you ... six points ahead of Joe."

  Joe shook his head and prepared to receive the next serve. It was a high, looping ball to the corner. Joe tried to return it on the full but missed his shot. The ball shot off his racquet and hit the roof.

  "Eight-one!" Paul chirped. He was really enjoying himself.

  Joe and Sue swapped sides of the court, ready for the next serve. It came. Joe returned it well, and a short rally ensued. But Joe was getting drawn closer and closer to the front of the court, and when Sue finally decided the time was ripe to hit a superb smash, all he could do was watch as the ball passed him by.

  "Good shot," Joe grunted, disappointed with himself.

  The game was over. He had lost.

  Sue patted him on the back. "Better luck next time. I have been playing this game for eighteen years, you know!"

  Joe nodded sadly.

  Paul's voice rang out from above. "Okay! I'm coming down. Tell the loser another challenger’s on the way to give him a second chance." His voice trailed off as he disappeared from sight, making his way to the stairs.

  A moment later, Sue opened the court door in response to Paul’s three sharp knocks. "Take it easy on him, Paul. He's suffering from bruised male ego."

  Paul replied seriously. "Sure. I understand."

  This was too much for Joe. "Right! That does it. You’ve gone one step too far, Mr Jamieson. You may be king of the mountain and number one in a parachute, but this is the squash court. Now you're mine!" Joe frowned crazily.

  "Yeah, right," said Paul. "You can serve. I'm feeling lucky."

  "Not for long," Joe quipped. He served, sending the hapless Paul scurrying forward to return the short ball.

  It was obviously going to be a grudge match.

  Sitting at Bill and Leslie's huge dining table, Jane poured some more red wine for the cook. Leslie held up her hand. “Half a glass is plenty. Thanks, Jane.”

  Jane poured a second glass, for herself. “That was a great lasagne.”

  Bill was gathering a sleepy Stevie up from his chair. "Why don't you ladies just sit here and relax? I'll take the kids through for their afternoon nap."

  Stevie and Little Jane were tired, so they didn’t protest as their dad led them out of the dining room.

  "I'm tired, dad," Little Jane said.

  "Come on, then. Let's go!" said Bill.

  Once Bill and the kids had left the room, Lilly, Jane and Leslie were left to contemplate their full stomachs and to trade stories.

  "Leslie, that was the best meal,” said Lilly. “I didn't know we professional-teacher-types could cook. I only knew we could garden."

  "I couldn't cook, before," said Leslie. "But when I decided to stop for a few years and raise the kids, I got interested in it. Wait until you try one of my Thai soups! It’s great fun. But I do miss teaching. I never realised how much economics meant to me. I'm just itching to get chalk on my fingers, draw that ol' supply and demand curve again."

  "Admit it," said Lilly. "It's a power thing."

  Leslie laughed, but said nothing.

  Jane replied on her behalf, "You can talk, Lilly! I've heard stories about your English lessons. How many lines did you give little Bobby Peterson? Five hundred? I think you're the teacher from hell!"

  Lilly was unfazed. "And what about you in those corporate boardrooms? I'll bet you make 'em quiver in their boots. And now that you're promoted, you even get to take your own revenge on your old managers. Give them a taste of their own medicine."

  Jane looked philosophical. "Well, not really. They've all moved onto bigger and better things. Except Michael, of course, who didn't get the chance. No, I’ve just got the same team of people who were terrorised right alongside me. Somehow, terrorising them some more doesn't seem like fun. We've been through too much together. I'm planning to try something different."

  Leslie interrupted. "The gentle method? Look out! Obviously you've never been in a class full of fifteen-year-olds, trying to teach monetary policy. Give 'em an inch and you're a dead woman! You've gotta show a little steel. Believe me. I've been there."

  "Oh, come off it, Leslie," Lilly objected.

  "I'm not planning on being a wimp," said Jane. "It's a matter of showing respect and consideration for people, and not just as some stupid management fad, something that means nothing except on paper. I mean a change in the atmosphere, to one of a team instead of one of an army. I'm not the general. I'm the leader – the coach, if you like. What's the point in getting results in a way that burns everyone out? That's crazy in the long term."

  "Maybe you have a point," said Leslie.

  Lilly jumped up. "Okay. I'm making coffee. You both having?"

  Jane and Leslie nodded.

  "Terrific! Now, why don’t we talk about something more interesting. How about ... romance?" Lilly walked into the kitchen.

  "Romance?" said Leslie. "What haven't you been telling us, Jane? As far as I knew, the only romance in your life was your computer. You know, the thing you stay up all night working on."

  Jane drummed her fingers on the table. "I don't know what you’re talking about. That Lilly! She’s always making up stories. There is no romance.”

  Things were going well for Joe. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes and walked to the other side of the squash court. This time he was winning.

  "What's the score, please, Sue?" said Joe.

  "Score? Oh, I haven't been watching."

  "I believe it's seven-one," Joe yelled. “That’s SEVEN-ONE!"

  "Okay, okay,” said Paul. “We all know you’re beating me. Just serve!"

  Joe swung his racket and lobbed the ball into Paul's service court. A rally began. Paul staggered after a drop shot. He arrived one bounce too late. Looking haggard, Paul took a long drink from his squeeze bottle, wiped his brow, and trudged back to receive the next serve. No doubt it would be the coup de grace, he thought grimly.

  "Match point," Sue said quietly from the gallery above.

  Joe was merciless. He launched a blistering overhead serve, which Paul had no chance of returning. The game was over.

  Joe laughed. "Sorry buddy! I just had to get you, after the roasting you gave me. That'll teach you to make fun of poor ol' Joe!"

  "Once more taking advantage of an innocent beginner, eh, Joe?” said Sue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Shameful. But I suppose it is the only way you can experience the thrill of victory."

  Paul towelled sweat off his face. "Well, Joe, you had to deliver the final blow, sooner or later. Just as well. I was suffering pretty bad. Finishing me off was the only humane thing to do."

  "Come on, then," said Joe. "Let's go get a drink. A gallon of electrolytes should get us back from out-and-out dehydration to just plain thirsty, eh?"

  "Yeah."

  The two men left the court and slouched up the stairs to meet Sue. When they arrived she already had sports drinks waiting for them, two large pint-bottles. The three of them stood as a group.

  "My shout, today," said Sue. "Can't have you brave boys dropping dead on the squash court, can we? Drink up! It's a good thing Alan diagnosed your chest pain as a stomach cramp, Joe, or I wouldn't even be letting you play at all. Here, have a drink."

  Joe took the bottle of blue water and unscrewed the cap.

  Paul took a swig at his own – fluorescent green – drink, and then turned to Joe. "Say, Joe, whatever happened to that woman you had the date with? You know, Julie ... Janet ... Whatshername?"

  Sue was not impressed. “It's Jane, Paul. I would have thought a man with a little black book the size of yours could at least manage to get the name right."

  "I haven't forgotten her name," said Joe, matter-of-factly.

  "Oooooooh!" Paul cooed. "Well, now."

  "Really, Joe?” said Sue. “So
what has been going on with Jane Hamilton?"

  Joe drank greedily from his bottle. He wondered what flavour blue was. "Nothing’s going on. I've only just met her! You guys are a pack of vultures."

  "Sounds serious to me," said Paul.

  Sue hustled them along to a table.

  They all sat down; Paul and Joe flopped into their plastic chairs like exhausted marathon runners.

  "So, you really liked her?" Sue asked.

  "Yeah,” Joe admitted. “If you must know, I really liked her. And, I forgive you for setting me up. She's kind of got me interested, I suppose."

  Paul couldn’t resist the opportunity to stir Joe up. "Wow. Joe hasn’t shown this much interest in a woman since the time Rita Starworthy took him behind the marquee at the phone company picnic. It must be serious."

  Joe glared at Paul. "You can talk. What about you and that actress, Jasmine? If I remember correctly, you had her convinced you were a director."

  "Boys!” said Sue. “We’re not talking about some bit of fluff here. This is my matchmaking. I put research into this. And it sounds like it wasn't for nothing!"

  "Can we change the subject now?" said Joe.

  Paul looked concerned. "Just as I thought, Sue. He's smitten!"

  "Next time, I'll beat you nine-nothing, Jamieson," Joe muttered. He drank the rest of his blue drink in silence.

  Lilly, back from Leslie’s immaculate kitchen, placed a full coffee cup delicately on the table in front of her host, then walked around and gave a second one to Jane. Then she resumed her seat, a slight grin forming on her expressive face. "So, Jane. Let’s play conversation. Your choice of topic can be either: a) toothpaste; b) the migration patterns of the African elephant; or c) men. Which one would you like?"

  Lilly and Leslie each looked expectantly at Jane.

  Jane sipped her coffee. "Toothpaste."

  "Okay," said Lilly. "Suppose you go to the supermarket and come across this great new brand of toothpaste. You know: half the price, whitens as it polishes, tastes like mint chocolate but without the calories. Would you tell us?"