12: Unintentionally

Leaning back in her desk chair, Evelyn rubbed her tired eyes, drew a deep yawning breath and stretched her aching shoulders and lower back. She could barely see the typed letters on the page anymore. I'm putting roots into this stupid chair, she thought moodily.

With a heavy sigh, she stood, giving a soft groan as the muscles of her legs engaged for the first time in what felt like days and aching joints she didn't know she had cracked and popped. Twisting at the waist, first left then right, she stretched some more for the sake of a small respite before sitting down again to resume her typing. 

There were only a few days until the World's Fair's opening and two weeks until Mr. James' massive rail terminal project on the west coast opened. As a financially contributing member of the NY World's Fair Corporation— the company of wealthy businessmen who'd conceived of the idea for the international exposition that had evolved into the World's Fair four years ago— and a majority investor in the Los Angeles Union Passenger Terminal, Andrew James was in the thick of the last minute preparations for both colossal endeavors.

More frequently than not, his were also the broad shoulders that bolstered both projects as difficulties arose, carrying them through to resolution by sheer force of will and many a long late night in the last three weeks. Of necessity, Evelyn was in that same trench with him.   

“Miss Moore!”

Sighing, Evelyn cast a prayerful eye heavenward, then glanced at her watch. It was after nine o’clock and she was bone weary and hungry, and she'd exhausted her extra snacks already. Plus she'd missed the last train home, so this evening would be another of 'those' nights. At least she'd learned to be prepared.

“Yes, sir?” Evelyn rose, grateful at least for the opportunity to move around. Positioning herself in his office doorframe, she waited, watching as he shuffled through several heaping stacks of papers scattered over the entire surface of the conference table where he'd taken to working.

“I need the numb—,” Andrew stumbled over his words as he looked up, “—number. For the construction company.”

As familiar now with the foundations and bones of both projects, Evelyn knew without further clarification which one he meant. “I’ll get it if you like, but they’re gone for the day, sir.” Her voice sounded exhausted even to her own ears. “It’s after five in Los Angeles.”

“So it is.” Mr. James stood, not taking his eyes from her. “I’ll deal with it in the morning. I’ve kept you late again. I’m sorry. Collect your things. I’ll walk you to the lobby.”

Setting his work aside, Mr. James made a quick circuit of the room, turning out the lights for her, then hurrying out the door. 

“You go ahead, sir.” Stepping aside, Evelyn let him close and lock his office door. “I have a few more things to finish here. I’ll be moments behind you.”

Mr. James glanced around, looking a bit confused. Everything on her desk was neat as a pin. 

Winging a silent prayer heavenward that he didn't press her as to what incomplete tasks she had remaining, Evelyn eyed him, fervently hoping he would simply leave.

Standing before her, his eyes, more on the green side than blue today, skated over her features for several long seconds. “Ah. Alright. My sincerest apologies, Miss Moore.”

Smiling, Evelyn said nothing, but sighed with relief when the elevator started its descent. Locking the outer office door, she made her way about the room turning out the lights until only the one on her desk remained. With her key, she opened Mr. James' office, checking to make certain the sofa wasn't covered in papers, she kicked off her shoes with a groan and returned to the walnut armoire where she stored her personal belongings. 

It seemed Mother Nature had opted to skip spring entirely this year, charging directly into summer with a blistering heat wave, but for the sake of sleeping, Evelyn still preferred to have a cover of some type. Exhausted, she drew the light wrap off the hanger inside, letting it trail along behind her as she turned out the desk lamp, then made her way into Mr. James' office, too tired to even comb out her hair or brush her teeth.

Mr. James seldom bothered with the drapes, and like usual, they hung open, but on the thirty-eighth floor, there were few skyscrapers of the same or taller height nearby, and relatively little light shone through beyond that of the moon. 

Slumping on the sofa, she gave a weak groan of pleasure to be off her feet and out of her chair, then a depleted sigh. “I don’t think I can take two more weeks of this,” she moaned to herself, tucking her feet up onto the sofa and fanning the light wrap over her. “This sofa is ghastly.”

Evelyn closed her eyes, resting her head on the uncomfortable sofa's armrest and was asleep in moments.

**

"Good evening, Mr. James. You're a bit later than typically." Behind the bar, the barkeep turned over a sparkling tumbler from a neatly stacked pyramid of them and set it before him. Retrieving a bottle of brandy, he poured out two fingers, then added a couple cubes of ice. 

"Hello, Charlie," Andrew greeted, nodding gratefully as the bartender passed him the brandy. "I lost track of time. Is it too late for something from the kitchen?"

"Not at all, sir," Charlie reassured him, eager to keep the generous Mr. James regularly dropping by. "The roasted ribs were popular tonight, so I don't think those are available, but I'll check of course. Jake also fixed a roast with potato fries and gravy, and I'm sure there's bread if you'd like."

The cook, Jake, wasn't a particularly good one, but in the process of many years of long nights working late at the Trust, Andrew had learned at least a hot meal could be had here, well beyond the hours of most restaurants and even some diners. Beggers couldn't be choosers after all. "If there are still ribs, I'll take those. If not, the roast is fine."

"I'll put the order into the kitchen." 

Sipping the brandy gratefully, Andrew ignored the tinkling laughter of a woman with her legs over the lap of some suited man at a table beyond his left shoulder. Even above the wafting cigarette smoke and the smell of alcohol, he caught the scent of her cheap perfume, but he could scarcely judge. With the economy like it was, there were plenty of beautiful but poor women willing to avail themselves of a drunken bored and wealthy businessman's attention for the sake of food in their bellies and a comfortable place to stay.

Besides, it wasn't merely the girl's fault— he knew of many a cheating financer at the Trust more than willing to take advantage of a helpless hopeless woman for nothing more than the sake of novelty and boredom with their faithful wives at home. Whoever this man was, Andrew simply didn't want to know. He had his own troubles to mull over.

Sinking ever deeper into a financial hole with the resources he'd contributed to the World's Fair— resources he'd known were unlikely to be recovered, even with the grand designs of the NYWFC— and frustrated beyond his tolerance for the last minute minutia constantly rearing its head as stumbling blocks to the Fair's opening, he drained the brandy sullenly.

You need to pay more attention, Andrew scolded himself, forcing a polite smile to his face with a word of thanks when Charlie emerged from the kitchen with a generously stacked plate of food for him. 

"Jake saved a few ribs for you, sir, but not enough for a hearty meal, so they're on the house." Without asking because he already knew the answer, Charlie poured out another tumbler of brandy.

Loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt, Andrew tucked the napkin into his collar, then lifted his flatware, trying to decide where to begin. He had no idea how Jake managed to make the meat look simultaneously dry and greasy and overbake the pototoes into a crumbling mush, but the short-order cook had been doing so for years. At least he was reliable. Cutting a bite off the roast, he stuffed it in his mouth, chewing quickly.

It was hot and there was plenty of it. That was better than he'd given to poor Evelyn for the evening. It wasn't the first time he'd kept her from her dinner, there could be no doubt about that. No wonder she was so slender. It was shameful that it was the first time he'd noticed. 

Tonight he'd fatigued her to the point she hadn't wished him her usual polite 'good night'— that much he'd seen in her limp posture, the slight bit of bloodshot in her magnificent smokey gray eyes. Not that he'd deserved it, but he had to admit, it stung a little. 

Stuffing another tasteless bite into his mouth, Andrew chewed mindlessly. He was proud of her, of course, even if he hadn't mentioned. She was delicate as a flower yet still she was keeping up with his innumerable demands— triapsing back and forth between the Trust building and the NYWFC's offices on the upper floors of the Empire State building, sometimes more than once a day, and keeping notes at the fairgrounds of his updated requirements as they toured exhibit after exhibit on foot and mostly in the heat, critically checking for presentation in prepartion of opening day. 

What's more, having learned of her remarkable observation skills and insight, he'd assigned her that additional task as well, keeping a keen watch on his fellow commissioners at the NYWFC and relaying anything of concern she picked up with her invisible antennae. For that alone he owed her something significant in reward. More than once her instincts had honed in on issues, allowing Andrew to address them before they became problems. 

Too bad he couldn't assign her the same task for the passenger terminal project in Los Angeles. 

Los Angeles. He set his utensils down alongside his plate.

Brilliant! Andrew complimented himself. He'd take her to the opening. He doubted she'd ever been to Los Angeles. They'd take the train, and stop in Chicago to overnight as well. And he'd pay all her expenses, of course. Plus, if she was to attend events as he'd require her to, she'd need an appropriate wardrobe as well. He was certain Madame Moreau at Le Couturier could handle dressing her. He'd simply pay for that and provide a paycheck bonus too. 

Inhaling deeply, his conscience relieved, Andrew drained the brandy, then went back to his bland meal. When the last of it was gone, he pulled his money clip from his inside jacket pocket, and peeling off several bills, tossed them on the counter, then searched around him. 

"Lost something, sir?" 

"My hat, Charlie."

The barkeep shook his head. "You didn't come in with one, sir."

"Ah, good." Straightening his sleeves on his suit jacket, Andrew nodded. "I must've left it in the back of the car. Thank you and to Jake as well. Have a good night, Charlie."

Andrew could see Mickey, arms crossed over his chest and his ankles crossed, leaning against the Rolls and watching the goings on on the street, through the pub's glass windows as he headed for the door. The chauffer jumped to attention as he let himself out, opening the car's rear door for him.  

“You’ve had your dinner, haven’t you?” Andrew stopped in the open car door, facing the driver.

“Yes sir. When you said you’d be another hour.”

Andrew grimaced, ducking into the backseat. He owed Mickey a bonus as well then. He’d said he’d be another hour at five. Poor Evelyn, he thought, rubbing his eyes. She’s a saint that she tolerates me. 

As Mickey slid in behind the wheel, Andrew glanced around the back seat. "Mickey, have you seen my hat?"

"No sir. I don't believe you had one when you left the Trust. Home then?"

“No, I’m afraid not straightaway,” Andrew replied, hearing the smooth purr as the engine started. “I’ve forgotten my hat at the office.” 

"Right then. I'll have you back in a jiffy."

Andrew glanced at his watch in the light of a streetlamp as they passed. It was already well after ten o'clock, and this delay would make both he and Mickey later home. At least his driver was provided quarters in his apartment's basement as part of the expense for keeping a car in the underground garage there.

**

Andrew nodded at the night watchman as he hurried across the Trust's lobby. “Forgot my damn hat,” he grumbled in explanation, waiting impatiently on the executive elevator.

The reception area on the thirty-eighth floor between Andrew’s office and that of the Trust's lawyer was lit by only a single overhead, directly above the huge floral arrangement in the vase on the table and quiet in a surreal sort of way that made his skin crawl. Hurrying, he inserted his key into the outer office door—opening to Evelyn’s office area, as he thought of it.

The interior was even more dimly lit than the thirty-eighth floor lobby and his tired eyes were slow to adjust. Making his way blindly, Andrew was grateful Evelyn was the kind who thought about keeping a clear and easy path through.

Opening his office door, he swung himself around it, reaching for the coat rack and his wayward hat, then tripped over something in the dark and barely managed to catch himself on the sofa.

Or what he thought was his sofa.

What was beneath his hands was at once softer and harder than his sofa and gave a startled squeal as he landed on it. Scrambling backwards quickly, Andrew got his feet under him and flipped on the overhead light.

Below him, stretched out and covered to sleep, Evelyn flinched against the bright intrusive light with a whispered groan, drawing herself into a sitting position and clearly trying to collect her wits. Her clothes were disheveled and her hair bed tousled, and Andrew realized then it was one of her discarded shoes he’d stumbled over in the dark.

“What are you doing here?”

Evelyn jerked upright and onto her feet, suddenly wide awake. Scooping up her shoes, the shawl she'd been using as a cover billowing behind her, she sidestepped around him, in a hurry to leave his office.

Still more alert than she, Andrew stepped into her way. “Were you sleeping on my sofa?”

Evelyn's lush mouth opened and closed like a fish as she sought an explanation then gave up. “I’m very sorry, Mr. James. If you won’t be needing anything further, I’ll be going now.” Evelyn ducked around him towards the outer office, freezing in place when Andrew caught her arm, holding her firmly.

“Evelyn," he said gently, staring down at her— for heaven's sake, did she have to be so beautiful? "Tell me. Why were you sleeping on my sofa?”

His eyes bored into hers and Evelyn caved under their pressure. “The— last train to my neighborhood departs at nine and it’s forty minutes’ walk.”

“Why didn’t you take a cab?”

“I can’t afford one.” She shook her brown delightful head in confusion, as if he should have known.

Andrew’s brows drew together. “Whyever not? You received your salary, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why can’t you afford a cab?”

“Because the fare is more than a dollar at this hour and since Mrs. Lancaster raised the rent, I don’t have anything to spare.”

It took several seconds for what she’d said to sink in. Could it really be that he paid her so little that an inconvenience like a cab ride was out of her budget? With rent for an apartment as frankly cheap as hers? Why, the place was rent controlled! One of the first the Trust had chosen in the interests of keeping its poor tenants in place while they waited for other better property values to rebound. He was certain of it— he’d looked it up himself.

Then again, she'd mentioned the ever-so-charming landlady. Perhaps he needed to take a closer look at that arrangement. “She raised your rent?” When Evelyn nodded, he replied curtly, “Collect your things. I’ll take you home.”

“I’ll walk, sir. I’m sorry for the—.”

“This late, I won’t hear of it. It’s my fault you missed your train.” Releasing her, Andrew snatched his fedora off the coat rack, squashing it on his head and tucking his hands in the pocket of his trousers impatiently. And to think he'd thought it was simply a few late meals he'd caused her. I'm such a fool, he cursed himself. “Come on,” he gestured at sofa, “put your shoes on.”

Chagrinned, Evelyn sat. 

Andrew watched as she slipped her shoes onto her stockinged feet, admiring how the light moved over the silk clinging to her slim legs. A moment later, she was on her feet before him, waiting for him to move out of the door frame.

With a frown, he studied her face, then reached up and began to finger-comb her hair. “You look as though you’ve been assaulted. I’ll be lucky if the night watchmen don’t arrest me.” He fussed at the wrinkles in her clothes half-heartedly.

Brushing his hands aside, Evelyn walked drowsily into her office and removed a bag from her personal armoire. She set it on the desk, then fished a comb out of a spartan toiletry case at the bottom of it and worked it through her hair.

“Comb. Soap and towel. Toothbrush and paste. Change of clothes,” he noted, glancing over the visible contents, now that the bag was open. “It’s not the first time you’ve slept here.” How have I missed that? Andrew cursed himself. “How many times have you been stranded?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Evelyn replied, still groggy.

“Tell me.”

Tucking her belongings back into her bag, Evelyn sighed. “It’s the fourth time in half as many weeks.”

This time Andrew cursed out loud and the vehemence startled the dainty woman at his side.

“The first time I tried to walk," she explained quickly, as if assuming he thought her merely taking advantage. "I wound up needing a police officer to escort me home. After that, I figured it was better to be prepared.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She stared at him blankly, as if she didn't comprehend. “Mr. James, if I don’t work for you, who else am I going to work for?” 

It was far more harsh than he expected even if it was the truth, and Andrew flinched. He thought he'd been generous— feeding her when he took his lunches between meetings and exhibit tours and the ridiculous host of calls he fielded all day. But there was no food in her overnight bag— one she shouldn't have needed to come to work in the first place— so he'd been robbing her of sleep and regular meals as well.

Without bothering to close his office door, he led the way to the outer door, locking that one and gesturing her through it bitterly, closing it behind them as they left. She said nothing in the elevator or across the Trust's parquet floors, so he said nothing, not even when Mickey gaped, bug-eyed and open-mouthed, as Evelyn emerged through the revolving doors trailing behind him.

"We'll need to take Miss Moore to her apartment, Mickey," Andrew ordered, taking Evelyn's hand and helping her into the back of the car first as Mickey held its door.

"Yes, of course, sir."

Once tucked into the back of the car, Evelyn sat beside Andrew, seemingly barely aware of his presence. Peripherally, he stared at her, his eyes occasionally distracted by the shadows sliding down the front of her dress as they passed under the streetlamps.

The engine droned and the car rocked soothingly with the irregularities in the road. Beside Andrew, Evelyn's graceful body swayed with the motion of the car as he watched her, until finally, with a soft sigh that sent a protective rush through him, her long lashes fluttered closed over her eyes. Lifting his arm, Andrew cradled her against his chest as she relaxed into sleep, the scent of her hair drifting around him.

**

"Is there any possibility we can do this without waking her?" Andrew asked, his cheek resting against the top of Evelyn's head as they pulled up in front of her apartment building. 

Glancing up at him in the rearview mirror, Mickey inhaled deeply, considering. "Mrs. Lancaster's rather strict sir, but if you don't mind taking the fire escape, we should be able to get in at the second floor. I can carry her if you'd like."

"No, I'll do it. She weighs nothing at all. If you'd get her bag, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, sir. Let me pull around to the side."

Once the car was parked, Mickey came around and opened the rear door for Andrew, taking Evelyn's overnight bag as it was handed to him. Gently sliding her onto his lap, he eased himself across the seat and leading with his shoulder, eased her limp body out the door, then got to his feet. 

The air was close and warm in the narrow space between her building and those surrounding it, and Andrew sighed glancing up at the narrow flight of stairs for the fire escape. He hoped the racket climbing them wouldn't wake her.

"If you'd prefer, I'll carry her, sir. It is narrow, but it's only one flight and the window on the second floor is large and easy to open."

"You sound as though you're familiar."

Mickey blushed so red Andrew could see it in the dark. "I'm fond of her best friend, sir. Miss Henderson."

"The blonde? With the cherubic capful of curls like Shirley Temple?"

"Yes sir. She works at the Trust too." Leading the way to the fire escape, Mickey lowered the initial steps drawing down with the chain and locking them in place quietly.

Easing Evelyn around the support rails, Andrew began to climb. "Is that so? For which financer?"

"I don't know, sir. Only that she's on the fourth floor."

"Hmmm." He'd have to investigate further. By the time he reached the first landing, Mickey had the escape window open wide, and waited to receive Evelyn from him so Andrew could clamber through the window. 

"I feel like a criminal," Andrew grumbled, more to himself than for any response, reaching for Evelyn after he'd straightened his coat and cradling her again in his arms.

With a mischievious grin, Mickey shrugged. "There are worse things, aren't there?" His dark eyes dropped to where Evelyn's head rested against his shoulder. "At least girls are warm and soft, and she and Miss Lily always smell nice."

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Andrew drawled with a lopsided grin. "Lead on, Mr. Smith."

With the wider staircase, the going was much easier the remaining flights and they soon arrived at the fourth floor. 

"It's locked," Mickey hissed after trying the handle at Evelyn's apartment.

"Look in her bag. Doubtless she'll have keys there."

Gaping the overnight bag open, Mickey began rooting in it, startling when the door across the hall was flung open. The blonde Miss Henderson stood framed inside it, barefoot and draped in her gown and robe.

"Mickey!?" she hissed furiously, then turned on Andrew, and skimming the sleeping woman in his arms, gasped in alarm. "Evie! What have you done to her?"

"Shhhh," Andrew urged as the blonde rushed to his side.

"Don't you shush me!" Lily snapped. "Do you have any idea what time it is? What's happened to her?"

"It's late," Andrew replied flatly, turning Evelyn so that Lily's fussing wouldn't wake her. "And nothing's happened, Miss Henderson. She fell asleep in the car. We were only trying to get her—."

"Well of course she did! She hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks." Yanking Evelyn's bag from Mickey's hands, Lily quickly located the necessary keys, unerringly selecting the correct one for the apartment door and opened it.

"Which is entirely my fault, Miss Henderson," Andrew admitted, but with an edge to his tone that urged her not to press her luck with her insubordination, "and a circumstance that I intend to remedy forthwith. Please, allow me put her to bed and we’ll leave as quietly as we came."

Lily's blue eyes flashed scathingly, but she tipped her head into the apartment, leading the way. 

Evelyn Moore's apartment was small and dark, but nicer than many Andrew knew supported larger families. In the dim light, he could make out a small living space as he passed on his way to the young woman's bedroom and a tubbed bath off the kitchenette. The whole apartment smelled faintly of flowers.

Standing at the foot of the bed next to a tall bookshelf, Andrew waited as Lily opened the bedcovers, then moved aside to allow him to set his sleeping charge into them. Against the far wall was a low dressing table, but other than these three pieces of furniture, the room was bare.

Lily hustled in once Andrew was relieved of her, removing her shoes carefully. "Evie?" she whispered, shaking her sleeping friend lightly as he watched. "Evie, lift your feet so I can cover you."

With a drowsy contented sigh, Evelyn complied. "Thank you," she replied, soft and groggy. "I love you, Lily."

That sent a powerful tremor through him. Andrew couldn't recall anyone ever having said such a thing to him. Certainly not in the whispery drowsing voice that implied Evelyn's subconscious was speaking with such genuine depth of feeling, so sweet and true.

"I love you, too," Lily chuckled quietly. "Now go to sleep, silly."

With Evelyn tucked into bed, Lily hustled the lingering Andrew out of the room, shooing him all the way through the apartment to the stairway. On landing she crossed arms over her chest and without a word, flicked her head towards the fire escape.

"Miss—." Andrew began, abruptly cut off when Lily lifted a finger and shook her head uncompromisingly. With a scowl, he climbed out the window onto the fire escape, waiting for Mickey who handed Evelyn's bag over to her friend with a quick peck on the cheek.

With a cocky smile, the chauffer clambered onto the external metal stairs with Andrew. "Good night, Lily."