After Hours

“Oh, I—”

“She’s a good kitten, ma’am,” the boy assured her earnestly, blue eyes almost round with youthful sincerity. “She don’t need to go outside if you’ve got a litter box and she’ll be good company. She’s had her shots and she’s real healthy. And she won’t cost you nothing—well, except for food and litter. Course, she’s a girl, so she’ll have to have an operation. My cat’s getting an operation tomorrow. That way she won’t have no more kittens. My mom said that was the only way we could keep her.”

Good company. The two words seemed to leap out of the breathless monologue. Angie eyed the mewing kitten. “Well…”

Sensing victory, the boy looked even more sweetly innocent and held the cat out to Angie. “You want to hold her? She’s real soft.”

Angie had her hands full of kitten almost before she realized it. Nuzzling the warm little body against her cheek, she smiled at the contented rumble that emanated from the kitten’s chest. “What’s her name?”

“She don’t have one yet. You can name her whatever you want. But I like ‘Flower.’”

“Flower?” Angie looked at the child with a lifted eyebrow.

“Sure, cause she’s black-and-white like a skunk. Don’t you remember Bambi?” he asked when Angie still didn’t respond. “Bambi thinks the skunk is a flower, so he calls it ‘Flower.’”

It made sense, in a weird sort of way. “Flower,” Angie repeated thoughtfully. Dumb name for a cat. But, then, she’d never expected to be the owner of a cat. “What’s your name?” she asked the boy.

“Mickey.”

“Well, Mickey, thank you for the kitten. I’ll take very good care of her. And you can come visit her anytime you like,” she added impetuously.

Mickey’s round face lit up with an ear-to-ear grin. “Gee, thanks, ma’am. My mom will be real happy with me for finding homes for all four kittens in one day. I gotta go. Bye.”

Angie closed the door and looked down in bemusement at her new pet. Her first friend, she thought with a whimsical smile. And then she carried Flower into the bedroom with her, to keep her company while she changed. It seemed she had some kitty supplies to buy.

ANGIE STOWED HER BAG in her desk early Monday morning, then smiled as she brushed a few cat hairs from her dark skirt. She’d felt a bit guilty leaving Flower alone that morning, though she’d made sure litter box, food and water, soft bed and favorite toys were all accessible. It was rather nice to know there would be someone waiting to welcome her when she got home that evening.

Perhaps it was that warm thought that made her look up with a smile when someone tapped tentatively on the open door to her office. Her smile dimmed when she noted Darla and Gay standing in the doorway, both young women looking decidedly nervous. Gay, the pretty redhead from

the computer department, spoke first, “May we have a word with you, Ms. St. Clair?”

Wishing she could refuse, Angie nodded. “Yes, of course. Come in.”

Darla, the slightly overweight brunette secretary, entered first, with Gay close behind. She took a deep breath, expanding her generous bosom impressively. “Ms. St. Clair, Gay and I feel awful about what you overheard at lunch Friday. What we said was completely out of line and we’re very sorry.”

Angie nodded without expression. “Consider it forgotten.”

Gay shook her head. “That’s not enough. We know we hurt you. And we feel terrible about it.”

“You didn’t—” Angie began automatically, and then stopped. “Yes, you did hurt me,” she acknowledged after a pause. “But you were only saying what you really thought.”

Darla chewed her lip guiltily, her big brown eyes visibly sympathetic at Angie’s uncharacteristic admission of having feelings. “It’s just that we haven’t had a chance to get to know you, Ms. St. Clair. What we said was inexcusable, but we—well, we were just cutting up. Being silly—you know.”

Of course she knew. How many times had Angie and her country club “friends” engaged in wicked lunch-time humor at the expense of others? “I understand. Please don’t worry anymore about it.”

Gay spoke again. “We’re going to try the new Italian place down the street for lunch today. Would you like to join us, Ms. St. Clair?”

Her first impulse was to politely decline. Her second was a more honest one. She wanted to accept, dammit. She was tired of eating alone, being alone all the time. If Rhys protested her taking the hour off, she’d tell him that she deserved a lunch hour, just like everyone else. “I’d like that. Thank you for asking me. And, please, call me Angie.”

The two women looked slightly dazed at her acceptance, but both hastily assured her they would be delighted to have her join them. Telling her they’d meet her downstairs at noon, they returned to their work, leaving Angie with a rather bewildered smile. It had taken a lot of courage for them to approach her that way, she mused, thinking of the vicious gossip she’d overheard more than once after her father’s arrest. None of the so-called friends she’d caught in their whispers had ever apologized—or tried to make amends by asking her to have lunch with them. Her father’s tainted name had made her less than a desirable member of the privileged circle.

She suspected that the two young working-class women who’d just left her office had more character and depth than any of the jet-setters she’d socialized with in her past. She couldn’t help wondering if they’d be as willing to accept her as a friend if they knew about her father.

ANGIE WAS INTERRUPTED again by a voice from her doorway late one Friday morning, nearly a month after Darla and Gay had made their first overture. “Excuse me, Ms. St. Clair.”

Angie looked up from her overflowing desk. “Yes, June?”

Rhys’s secretary, her hands full of papers, winced her apology at disturbing Angie’s work. “I’m sorry to bother you, but you wouldn’t happen to know where Mr. Wakefield is, would you? It’s after eleven and I haven’t heard from him today. Maybe he told me he wasn’t coming in this morning, but if he did, I forgot.”