Chapter 2

Jonathon stood in the plaza opposite the glass tower.

'Pure eighties, ' he thought, 'a mirror glass vertical slab.' Atop the building stood the logo of NTC, about a dozen metres high.

He pinned on his press badge and tapped his DAT recorder kit, bumping at his hip.

"Here goes," he said aloud.

Jonathon strode as purposefully as he could into the lobby of the building. He scanned the directory on the wall until he came to,

'Chief Executive Officer... floor 35 west.'

He scrambled into the elevator just as the doors were closing.

The elevator deposited him in a carpeted reception area. Polished wood veneer, a large desk with 'reception' in gold letters, two women sat bent over monitors.

"Can I help you?" one said almost immediately.

"Mr. J Wetherall, Radio City FM for Miss Van Wettering," Jonathon said as officially as he could.

"Just a minute," the receptionist said. Then, "what time was your appointment, Mr. Wetherall?"

"12, lunch," he tried to say casually.

"I've nothing here," she said, "are you sure you have the right day?"

"Of course! She's going to Europe tomorrow."

"Well it wouldn't be then would it?" the receptionist said with a smile. "Wait a second will you, I'll just check."

"Just like her to make appointments without telling anybody," said the other woman.

"Now isn't that the truth!" said Jonathon to the puzzled looks of the two women.

Joanne breezed into reception with what Jonathon decided was a businesslike expression.

"In here, Mr..." She said.

"Wetherall, " Jonathon replied as he followed her into a conference room. Once inside she spun around and glared at Jonathon.

"What stunt are you pulling, Jonathon?" she said in a quiet but slightly menacing voice. Her 'edge' voice Jonathon called it.

"Where did you get that press card?"

"Borrowed it, it's a spare. See, no photograph."

"And that recorder?"

"There's no recorder, I packed some lunch in the case, see!"

Joanne clapped her hands together and threw her head back in a silent laugh.

"What have you brought me?" she asked.

"Cajun chicken and salad sandwiches with a demi of Pinot Noir to wash it down," Jonathon announced proudly.

"Let's go outside by the fountains," she said.

As they waited for the elevator Joanne leaned forward and whispered,

"Kiss me!"

"What! Here!"

"Yes! C'mon, put your arms around me and give me a proper one, ok?"

Jonathon leaned in smiling and fused his mouth to Joanne's. Her tongue pushed it's way in and sought out Jonathon's. They remained kissing until the elevator arrived. As they entered Joanne turned towards the astonished receptionists,

"Pick your jaws up ladies," she giggled.

Joanne giggled all the way to the ground floor.

"I bet the news will be around the building before the elevator reaches ground. 'The boss has a boyfriend, ' haha," she chuckled.

"I thought you didn't want a 'public' private life."

"Perhaps I have a bit of a private life to keep secret now Jonathon?" she replied "except now I don't care."

They sat on the cement ledge surrounding a fountain, featuring a collection of tin shapes someone called a sculpture.

"Yum! The sandwiches are excellent, Jonathon, where did you get them?

"The chicken was left over from last night, the bread I baked this morning, it's Rye," he replied.

"And he bakes his own bread! I'm a lucky girl. Do you cook breakfast too?"

"What would you like?" Jonathon grinned.

"You're leering again, Jonathon! Do you do pancakes?"

"Savoury or sweet?"

"Sweet, of course, maple syrup and lemon."

"With or without cream?"

"Without. Stop smirking... I did get the double-entendre, ok?" She said, play-punching him.

"I want to thank you for lunch," Joanne said as they made their way back inside the building. "I have to spend the day preparing for the Europe trip AND finish off a proposal for South Africa."

"What's happening there?" Jonathon asked.

"Joint venture, I hope. We need to find ways to grow the Corporation, Jonathon. To hang on to our talent as well as increase returns. Y'know, if you don't give the geeks something to do they'll go offshore."

The doors of the elevator opened once again on the reception area. There was only one woman behind the desk, suddenly finding the computer monitor fascinating.

"Gail!" Joanne said, "Meet Jonathon," then to Jonathon, "you can take off that stupid press card now, sugar. You're now an official visitor."

"Right," he said, unpinning the card.

"Just check with me before you drop by, ok? Now, get your dimples out of here, I have work to do," she said, quickly pecking Jonathon on the lips. "I'll see you tonight, I may be late, I'll pick you up, ok?"

"Sure."

"I have an early flight, sorry. But you can stay and do my house work."

"Thanks."

"Then again, maybe you should move in? Is that too soon? Perhaps we need to talk about it, I'm not too experienced at this. Think about it, ok? Bye."

On the way down Jonathon tried to digest what he just heard.

'Move in? She just asked him to move in? After, what, three weeks?' He couldn't believe it. Could he live in that house? An estate agent's show home, with polished brass, lacquered native timbers and obedient dust.

Then again, she's bound to have a twice a week cleaner, gardener and car-groomer. Joanne didn't seemed to have the time to sweat over that big house on the hill. So maybe it wouldn't be so bad. 'I might even get a chance to boss around the hired help, ' he mused with a chuckle.

Still, he figured it was a positive sign that Joanne had developed some kind of feeling for him, beyond a thrice-weekly workout in bed. 'I mean, she wouldn't ask him to move in if all she wanted was the occasional 'bounce', would she?' he asked himself. 'Hell! He'd been at her beck and call anyway.'

By the time he'd got home, he'd talked himself in and out of the idea, several times over. Just as he was fetching Roxy's dinner the phone rang.

"Jonathon, be a sweetie and baby-sit my baby for me while I'm gone," the caller asked.

"Baby, Joanne? Boy! That was quick."

"Take your mind off your crotch for a minute Jonathon, if you can."

"Ok, mind off crotch... right"

"Good, have you a driver's license?"

"Yes."

"Well can you look after my car, take her out and give her a run. Don't run it through any carwash, if you're feeling energetic, hand wash only, ok?"

"You're trusting me with the BMW?"

"Not that! That's a company car, it's in for servicing. I mean my sports car."

"I didn't know you had a sports car."

"My little Mercedes, haven't you seen it? I guess you haven't... I'll leave you with the key. Be careful with it, ok? It's quite powerful."

"Um, how little, how powerful?" Jonathon asked.

"I don't know what they call it, alphabet soup, or something. 500K I think, something like that. Only men care about the letters on the side. All I know is, it goes like hell, so be careful, ok?"

"Ok, sure," Jonathon replied, stunned.

"I'm getting away at six, I've had enough. I'll finish on the plane, pack your bag, bye." Jonathon stood for a few minutes staring at the phone in disbelief.

Jonathon heard the distinctive beat of the V8 pull to a stop outside. When Joanne knocked he had his bag ready.

"You're efficient today," she remarked.

"I heard the Merc' coming up the street. That's quite a set of wheels you have," Jonathon replied looking over her shoulder.

"I thought it'll impress you. Hey! I'm over here!"

"Sorry," he said, switching his attention back to the car's owner.

"Do you want to eat out?" Joanne asked.

"Sure, where did you have in mind?"

"That seafood restaurant, on the pier, interested?"

"Sounds good. Am I going to be Mr. Mystery again?"

"Jonathon, you're a bloody mystery all right," she replied, shaking her head.

Joanne pulled onto the pier and parked close to the restaurant. Perched right at the end, the restaurant was surrounded on three sides by the ocean. The lights of the ships in the far off channel winked fitfully in the sea haze. Joanne held onto Jonathon's hand as they were shown to their table. It made him tingle with wellbeing.

It was while they were sitting opposite each other that Jonathon saw that Joanne had had her hair done in a much softer style.

"Your hair's beautiful," Jonathon remarked. Joanne's face flushed red for a brief moment.

"I need to impress the Zurich gnomes."

"Not me?" he retorted. Again she reddened.

"You're getting too sure of yourself. Stop looking at me!" she hissed.

"Can't help it, you're right in front. Would you prefer if I stare at the spoons?"

"No... sorry... I'm not used to this... attention. I'm embarrassed... I feel like a schoolgirl on her first date. Please be patient!"

Later, they sat in the car watching the lights of the city over the curve of the bay. Their arms rested on each other's inside leg.