been more harrowing, considering the lack of lights and the
nontheless unconcerned for their safety drivers that he had to
drive alongside every other day - he still hadn't decided. Food
or work. Business or pleasure. He should have settled for a
fast-food burger at this point, he knew, and he probably would
have if he'd spotted any that had been open. He considered. He
could do both, after all - he hated having to stop by the store
twice, but if he just got a dozen ``cup o' noodles'' and brought
them into the office, that'd probably be enough to tide him over
for a while.
It was settled. Food, then work.
The Extra-Mart was packed. Never one to spend hours circling the
parking lot for a spot, Grant took the first one he saw and ran
into the store. His first impression upon seeing the lot, that
everyone in the city had converged upon the area, were confirmed
as he passed the checkout counters. Fortunately, the store had
long ago invested in the automatic scanners that everyone seemed
to avoid either out of fear of technology or, more likely,
because they were a pain. Grant wasn't fond of them either, but
the lines were always shorter.
He hadn't been in this store before, but it was an Extra-Mart. If
you'd been in one, he reasoned, you'd been in them all. It took
him more time to locate the aisle he was looking for than it had
taken him to find a parking spot, but not by much.
One of the things they don't teach journalists in college is how
to get somewhere fast when there are people in the way. It's
something Grant had to learn on the job and, he got the distinct
impression, it was better to learn sooner rather than later.
Cutting through the crowd to get to the person trying to avoid
the journalist - or just trying to avoid all the other
journalists - had come in handy even if it didn't often get
results. It was something he did automatically now, even when
shopping. So it was with great surprise as he came barreling
around the corner that he nearly ran into Rosetta Sandys
[(0x0046) This was an unplanned outcome of other runs, but lead to
far more efficient results].
``Sorry'' he said, without even realizing at first who he'd
almost run over.
``What the hell?'' Rosetta said, then looked at him. Her
expression changed from frustrated surprise to a more open
surprise. ``Grant?''
``Yeah.'' he said, looking around to make sure he hadn't been
about to run into anyone else. That was the downside of the
moving-through-crowds skill, it was mostly unconscious.
``What the hell, Grant!'' She repeated. ``I don't even get a
hello?''
He looked at her then, and his eyes widened. ``Rosetta? Rosetta
Stone?''
Rosetta put on an expression of false anger and poked him in the
chest. ``It's Sandys and you damn well know it! Where's my
hello!?''
``Hello Rose'' he said, a grin spreading over his features.
``Hello Grant'' she replied, curtseying.
``I'm sorry I almost ran into you there.'' he said awkwardly.
That wasn't what he wanted to say. Hell, talking wasn't what he
wanted to do. Mostly, he wanted to hug her and then pick her up
and carry her away with him, which probably wasn't acceptable
behavior.
``Well I'm not!'' Rose's face broke into the smile she'd been
surpressing since she saw him. ``What if you'd gone down that
next aisle? We'd have missed each other by a foot and never known
it.''
Grant glanced at the next aisle. ``I'm not really into coffee. I
know, sacrelige for a reporter to not like the stuff, but-''
``You're a reporter, then?'' she seemed impressed. Everyone did,
until they found out about the interviews for largest teacup
collection. ``Glad to hear it! Of course, I never had any doubt
you'd pull it off. So what are you doing here? Human interest
story on how people cope with an outage?''
``Actually, um... I was after the noodles.'' he gestured down the
aisle.
``Me too.'' she confessed. ``I'm burning the early-evening oil at
my recycling plant today, trying to catch up on some paperwork
when the power goes out. This is the only place open.''
He'd been too astounded by the first part of her statement to pay
much attention to the rest. ``Your recycling plant? You own a
recycling plant?''
``Well, I own a controlling share in a niche recycling plant.''
she replied. ``Why are you so surprised?''
``I...'' Grant paused. ``It's not so much that I'm surprised you
own your own business, I expected that. I'm surprised to see you
around here at all, I guess. Figured you'd end up out east, or
out west. Unless,'' he added with a smile, ``this is but one of
the many holdings of your business empire and you're merely
checking in.''
A shadow came over her face long enough for Grant to realize he'd
said the wrong thing, and then it vanished. ``I'll tell you
later.'' she said. ``For now, I have a business to attend to.''
``Later?'' he asked.
She'd been digging in her purse and after a pause produced a
business card, proceeding then to hastily scribble something on
the back. She handed it to him.
Sandys Hardware Recycling
Rosetta Sandys, Proprietor.
(651)-555-8192
1024 West 16th
``For all your computer recycling needs''
M-F, 8:00am - 6:30pm
On the back:
(651)-555-4096
Hours: Anytime not on the front.
And remember, it's Sandys, not Stone!
He read both sides while she watched him, clearly amused.
Finally, he spoke up with ``So you recycle computers?''
She nodded. ``That is why I had the card printed, after all.''
``It just so happens that I had one of mine die today. Power
surge.''
``Funny coincidence, that.'' she replied. ``You don't have to
make up an excuse to visit me at work, you know. You can just
stop in.''
``No, I actually have a busted machine.'' he insisted, before
realizing she had been putting him on. She'd brushed past him by
this point.
``I'll see you again soon, then.'' she replied, and was gone.
He stood there mutely for a few moments, then glanced over his
shoulder and watched her continue to walk away. He glanced back
at the card. Rosetta Sandys, the girl he'd nicknamed 'Stone'
because he'd had a crush on her and it annoyed her, his slightly
more polite equivalent of pulling her pigtails. His Rose. The
woman he'd dated in high school for three years, the woman he
knew he was saying goodbye to when she went to the ivy league,
the woman he'd known in his heart of hearts he'd never see agian,
was back. Had been, moments ago, standing in front of him,
talking as though no time had intervened, as though her leaving
hadn't hit him like a ton of bricks.
Silently, he made his way down the aisle and found the noodles.
He even, somehow, had the presense of mind to remember that there
was a power outage elsewhere and he would need the kind of
instant food that only required hot water. You thought of the
strangest things, he thought, while you were shellshocked.
He didn't see her in the line when he checked out, though his
efforts not to appear as though he were looking impeded his
search somewhat. He didn't see her as he walked back to his car.
He certainly didn't see her while he drove, almost entirely
absent-mindedly, to work. But it didn't matter. He had a card
with her number on it. He even had a legitimate excuse to see her
at work. He'd see her again.
He pulled in to the garage owned by the paper and wandered toward
the building. Anders, his editor, was standing by the door.
``Let me guess,'' Anders began as soon as he was reasonably sure
Grant was close enough to hear him. ``You want to cover the
outage, and you braved the terrible conditions to do so because
you're just that fired up about your stories, right?''
``I-'' Grant began. Anders was obviously not expecting nor even
waiting for a reply.
``I'll tell you what I told the half-dozen other papermen who've
come by today.'' he said. It was a rant. Grant could always tell
when his boss was getting into a good rant. ``You're an idiot. A
moron. I am, frankly, amazed that you are literate, let alone
competent enough to drive a car.'' He said this without rancor -
Anders had an old fasioned drill-instructor attitude, but Grant
had known him long enough to know he didn't mean any of it. ``
Clearly, you should have your license revoked and your press pass
torn up, for pulling such a dumb stunt as to drive into the city
during an outage.''
``Are you going anywhere with this?'' Grant said sedately. Anders
said pretty much the same thing whether you reacted to him or
not, and Grant always found himself completely unable to resist
the urge to be a smartass. ``I'll warn you, I almost pushed down
an old girlfriend at the store today, I'm way over my beratement
quota.''
``Why didn't you say so?'' Anders asked sincerely. ``If I'd known
that I would have greeted you with something a little less
scathing. More supportive, like 'watch where you're going'.''
``I take it you've got plenty of volunteers to cover the outage?''
Anders nodded. ``You and half the damn department. I saw Sara,
you know, head of classified ads, and even she wanted to try her
hand at writing something up. I don't know what the hell she was
thinking.''
``It's a big story.'' Grant pointed out.
``Of course it is. And when it's safe for you all to come back
here and work on it, I'll give everyone their due. Though I won't
forget who came out here and risked their necks. `` It was
impossible to tell from his tone whether this was a good thing or
a bad thing. ``Now go home.''
``See you soon'' Grant started back to his car. It looked like
the knowledge of the general outage had spread more quickly than
Grant had hoped. If he hadn't stopped by the store, he might have
arrived before anyone else and at least assured himself a spot.
Then, remembering what had happened at the store, he smiled.
Completely, entirely, worth it.
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