Working Titles

Nigel replied, “Yes, please.  Do be a good chap and give us another half hour.  Will that work for you and Lucie?”  Finishing, Dr. Smith turned to Lucie, still sitting at the table.  She knew why Robert had picked this time to reappear.

“Sure.  You all be good.  I’ll be back then.  The liqueur does look awfully good doesn’t it, Bob’s your uncle, eh?” 

Robert had not been invited in.  “Well, bye, until then.  Thank you,” and Nigel closed the door.  The expression he shared with Lucie defied easy description.  Nigel went to the kitchen, took the contents from the bag, and read the label.  He put the bottle in the fridge and the glasses in the freezer.  In the freezer he grabbed some ice cubes.  Nigel next went to the liquor cabinet and made himself another high ball, but without the ginger ale.

“Lucie, I was trying to say that those who please me—a team player, you know—can rise rather more quickly in FMP.  I basically never lose, and that benefits the ones who’ve shown they are on my team.  But now, let’s get back to the topic at hand P02-11.”

Over the next ten minutes, Nigel’s gathering frustration, wondering what’s with Robert showing up, and obsessive drive not to lose in any regard, drove him to have another high ball sans mixer.

Finally, the boss stood right next to Lucie’s chair and declared, “So, if you want to move up in Futhark, it might behoove you to move down on me.”  The good doctor made the display of his arousal inside his dungarees clear.

“No thank you,” said Lucie, deliberately ignoring the display.  “I’ll have to take my chances.  The game of which you speak is not the game for which I believe I was hired.  Robert (prominently emphasizing her husband’s name) and I are both very familiar with team cooperation, and no decent coach would sacrifice the wellbeing of any team member for personal aggrandizement.  So no.  Please do not try this again.”

Just then Robert knocked.  This time it was Lucie who went to open the door while Dr. Smith did what he could to regain normalcy.  Lucie and Robert easily pretended, too, that all was normal.  “Normal” becomes an interesting word in such circumstances as these.

Lucie turned to Nigel to say, “We’re done, right?  Time for the liqueur, I’d say.”

Nigel was glad, so glad, that Lucie was making nothing of his recent foray.

“Yes, Lucie.  Find the bottle in the fridge and the chilled glasses in the freezer.  Let’s move over to the sitting area.  I’m sure the liqueur is just what the moment calls for.”  His elocution had just begun to be marginally compromised.  Lucie left the spy-app running, anyway, just in case there was more.

Everyone got comfy on the couch set, Lucie with Robert, and Nigel in a matching chair, separated at an angle by a round end-table.  He told himself he may have lost the battle but the whore can still be won.

Robert began, “So, Dr, Smith, you said you’d be working here through the weekend.  Do you like this District of Columbia area?  What’s fun?

Into Nigel’s head popped the business card of A Million Smiles Friend Service.