Dust Motes Dancing          3

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years.

9:07. He punched in the phone number he'd written on a cocktail napkin and it rang only once.

"Hello?"

"Suzanne? It's Jordan."

"Hi, Jordan. I feel so foolish. I came in early so I would be sure to be here. I was just sitting here. And then I worried you wouldn't call. It's silly —"

"No. Me too. I didn't want to call too early. When can we —" Jordan changed his tone as his secretary, Lucy, peeked her head into his office.

"Oh. A client. I've got to.. Can we meet? Later? Dinner?"

"No, not tonight."

"No?" A moment of terror drained the blood from Jordan's face.
            "No, I have to go to New York this afternoon. Sales meetings. But tomorrow would be good. My flight gets back at six. So maybe eight o'clock?"

"Yes. Good. Great." He was having difficulty putting a full sentence together.

"I'll call you when I land and you can tell me where to meet."

"Good. Till tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

          Privileged information. That's what lawyers called it. But this was just a secret. Suzanne. And how he felt about her. He told no one. With Joe gone there was no one to tell. And when Lucy asked why he was so distracted, he was vague - a recalcitrant client, or a complex brief he was writing. He didn't like having secrets.

 

 

                                                                                             

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