Chapter 2: Storm

Alex figured she'd been through a lot, so when Em didn't say anything more, he didn't try to fill the void.

They were only a few miles short of the downtown exits when he noticed the warning light. "I need to get gas."

The blinding lights of the station were a welcome relief after the tunnel-like darkness back at the accident. The rain had let up, too, now just a gentle shower.

He'd just started pumping when Em got out of the car. She started to stretch and twist her shoulder around.
"You sure you're okay?" Alex asked.
"Fine. I'm just taking my coat off."

The shapeless raincoat slipped off one shoulder and revealed bare skin. The collar and other shoulder dipped revealing more bare skin. Her left arm slipped free of the garment, and the coat began to slide down and to the right, like a curtain opening to unveil a work of art. Alex's eyes followed the fabric down, down, seeing nothing but skin -- smooth, pale, perfect skin -- until two curves of dark velvet raced inward to meet at the small of her back. Something in the back of his mind said "parabola" and formed a new and very strong link between mathematics and beauty.

The perfect surface shifted, curves stretching and sliding, and Alex's eyes followed them slowly upward to her shoulder, inward and upward along her neck to her jaw and up her cheek to ... see her looking over her shoulder at him.

Her eyebrow arched with equal parts annoyance and amusement. "Hey, quit staring."

Alex couldn't speak.
He couldn't look away, either.

Em shook her head and slid back inside the car. It seemed like ballet.

Alex had several gallons to think about what he'd seen. Oddly, he couldn't remember anything factual.

When he got back in the car, he made a point not to look at her. He knew she was looking at him, but her arms were crossed, so it probably wasn't good.

Once they were back on the freeway, she spoke. "So what kind of car is this?"
Alex felt such release at the broken tension that he blurted out, "1995 Toyota Supra Turbo." Too much information, geek...
"So it's fast."
Alex shrugged. "I guess." He'd geeked out enough already; he was going to shut up now.

But Em wasn't done with him. "So, Alex, what do you do?" Her tone was clipped, almost confrontational. Like this wasn't a conversation so much as an interview.

"I'm a writer." That was always his first answer.
"No, really," Em said.
"Really."
"What do you write? The little sayings on Taco Bell sauce packets?"
That was probably supposed to be an insult. "Movie reviews. For an online site."
Em scoffed. "Let me rephrase: what do you do to make money?"
Alex was used to that reaction, and it wasn't entirely undeserved. But: "It's hard to explain."
"Does it involve equations or chemical formulas?"
Point. "No, I just ... wear a lot of hats."
Less hostile: "Those your words or your boss's?"

The question surprised Alex; it took him a moment to reflect. "His, actually."
"I get that too. It means 'I need to hire more people but I'm not going to.'" Alex wasn't sure, but he thought Em might actually be unclenching a little bit. Maybe. "So where do you work?"

"An office-slash-warehouse on Sunrise, few blocks off Industrial."
"This place got a name?"
He wasn't trying to be confrontational... "About a dozen. Ocean Wireless, Pan-Pacific Productions, Seven Seas Imports, Digital Ocean Webhosting..."
"Was your boss a sailor?" Was that a laugh he heard?
"I don't know. It's just his theme, I guess. Basically, if he thinks he can make a buck at it, he'll try it."
"Seven Seas Imports, that's not a shipping company, is it?"
"No, just for reselling junk."

"Good." Good? Maybe something to do with the busted crate in the back... "So tell me about the hats."

Hats? Oh, the 'hats' he 'wears'... "I help take care of the servers."
"So you really are a geek."
He didn't think she meant it as an insult, exactly. "I guess. I mean, there's another guy who configures 'em and stuff; I just check logs and swap tapes and ... well, tonight I had to stay late to shut 'em down. Which won't make the customers happy, but we were running out of battery. Most of the systems go down automatically, like the customer websites, but a couple of the co-hosted servers don't have any software, and it doesn't work right on our own servers, probably because Tony keeps messing with 'em, at least that's what Sven is always bitching about..."

Alex realized he was rambling; she obviously didn't care about their servers. "And I also run the duplicators, and fix 'em when they break; format conversions; check orders and..." he didn't want to say 'shipping' " ... paperwork. Sometimes I do DVD menus. I don't really have anything to do with the wireless business -- that's mostly Tony's cousin -- but I get a free phone. I also research credit card disputes for the billing service, just pull the usage, trace IPs and stuff -- Tony hates chargebacks. But mostly I'm all Labrador retriever," he finished with a dramatic flair.

If Em got the reference, she didn't let on.
The silence compelled Alex to try to explain. "You know, pick stuff up here, run stuff over there -- suppliers, customers, printers, bank, hardware store."

"Cleaners?" Em asked.
Alex grunted; picking up Tony's dry cleaning was the only task he really hated. "Yeah."
"I hate that. Like I really got a degree to get some bimbo's lipstick off my boss's shirt."
"At least you're not the bimbo."
"They get better perks."

Alex wasn't touching that one. "So what do you do when you're not picking up dry cleaning or dropping off medeival weapons?"
"I didn't know it was an axe."
"Ahh. Rule Number One: Never Open The Package."
"Excuse me?"
"It's a line from a movie. 'The Transporter.' Guess you didn't see it."
"What's it about?"
"This ex special forces guy who specializes in extra-legal transportation. He has a set of rules about his work. I guess you didn't see it."
"I guess you didn't notice these." She pointed to her chest.
"What, just because you're a girl I should assume you don't like action movies?"

She shook her head; then her mood seemed to snarl again. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about work. And I really don't want to talk about that." Her thumb jerked toward the crate in the back.
"Okay."

She stewed for a minute.

"And I really don't want to go to this stupid Christmas party."
"Okay."

It took Alex a minute to realize she was looking at him. It was a strange look, intimidating. Like she was sizing him up, grading him. "What?" Alex finally asked.

She looked out the windshield. "I wanna go to a club."

Alex stiffened up. He hadn't been to a club since ... Theresa, and every time he'd gone with her he felt like she was shopping for his replacement. Besides, he didn't dance. Not that he was totally sure Emmeline meant 'I wanna go to a club withyou' but if he had to guess from that look she gave him...

She looked at him again, this time with eyes narrowed. "You don't go clubbing, do you?" It wasn't really a question.
"I've been," Alex said a little defensively.
"Nevermind, I hate clubs anyway." She crossed her arms and stared at the floor.

Alex felt awkward. What was he supposed to do? Make suggestions? Ask her about her problems? Make small talk? Shut up and drive? Did she feel obligated to let him give her a ride, as thanks? That sounded backwards, and yet it made sense in a way. Was he part of the problem?
Alex hoped not. Because Emmeline Winter was the most ... interesting person to happen to him in a long time. And his life could use a little adventure...

"We're going the wrong way," she seethed.

Alex suddenly snapped to attention. Did he go too far, miss a ramp? No, they were just coming over the hill, downtown's skyscrapers off to the right like a cluster of trees with their tops shrouded in ominous rainclouds.

"I don't understand," he said.

"GrrrrrrrrrRRRRAAHH!" She pounded her fist against the door. "Look, I'm sorry. I just..." She faltered, like the answer to whatever it was kept flitting just out of reach, her brow furrowed.

Alex didn't know the answer -- hell, he didn't even know the question -- but he knew he was getting off the freeway.

Em looked up, momentarily confused by the change in course. She looked at Alex, about to ask why, when her eyes narrowed.

"I need a drink," she announced.
"Um, I'm sure we can find a--"
"Not here," she interrupted. "You know some place else we can go? Some place quiet. I need to think."

Alex wracked his brain. He wasn't exactly a bar-hopper. But he'd met a customer once in the lounge of that airport hotel, and it seemed pretty quiet. "Back down by the airport, I think it's the Hilton, they have a lounge, and--"
"Quieter than that."
Quie-- oh.
"I know just what you need," Alex said with a grin.
Em gave him a "don't get cocky" look. "Oh do you now."
"Trust me."
"Just remember which one of us brought the axe."