In Search Of Dreams

Episode 20

“Elliot, where are you off to?” Lori asks,
washing the dinner dishes.

“Out,” he says, tucking his wallet into the back
pocket of his jeans.

“Out where?” she presses.

“You ain’t my mama,” he shoots back, and she
flicks the dishtowel at him.

“I’m just wonderin’, is all.”

“Why, you fixin’ to come along?”

“Maybe. Depends on where you goin’.”

“Gareth’s.”

Do I dare? Lori thinks, wondering why her
heart seems to be speeding up. “Do you mind if
I tag along?”

“‘Course you can come. But why you interested
now?”

“I’d like to hear that Marcus play the piano,” she
says, deciding that it was a safe enough
excuse. “I’m hoping that Rob is still there”
would not go over well at all.

Not that I’m hoping Rob will be there. That is
not a good idea at all. No matter how many times
he says I’m pretty or calls me “darlin'”

“Oh,” Elliot says, furrowing his brows a little.

“You almost done there?”

“I’d be faster if you’d get off your tail and help,”
she says, throwing the towel at his head now.

“Fine,” he sighs, standing and crossing to help
dry the dishes.

“I made your dinner, least you can do is help
clean up,” she mutters.

Twenty minutes later they walk into Gareth’s,
Lori slightly behind Elliot as they enter the
slightly smoky dimness.

“Elliot, who is this angel come from heaven?” a
voice, slightly smoky like the atmosphere in the
bar, greets them.

“This is Lori,” Elliot introduces her to Gareth,
who holds his hand out to her.

“Lori,” he says, lifting her hand to his lips and
kissing her knuckles. “I’m Gareth. Allow me to
welcome you to my humble establishment.”

Lori’s eyes grow wide at the actions of this
strange white man. She delicately extracts her
hand from his. “Thank you,” she manages.

“Yes, indeed, you are most certainly an angel.

Where you been hidin’ her, Elliot?”

“He hasn’t been hidin’ me anywhere,” Lori
says. “And if I’m an angel, then surely you are
the devil himself, sir.”

Gareth laughs loudly at this, actually delighted
with her assessment. “Hold on to this one, El. I
like her; she’s quick.”

“She’s my sister, Gareth,” Elliot says, “so
hangin’ on to ain’t the problem, it’s gettin’ rid
of.”

“Elliot!” Lori punches his shoulder now, and
Garetg laughs even harder.

“What can I get you to drink, Miss Lori?”

“Something without alcohol,” she says.
Gareth gives her a bottle of Pepsi and a straw.

“Lori. Gareth. Our names are almost the
same,” he grins. “Lori-Gary-Lori-Gary,”
he says quickly, as if it were a tongue-twister.

“Almost,” she laughs. “But I would be very
surprised indeed if your full name was
Garetta.”

Finally Gareth is rendered speechless, and
Lori turns from the bar while he stares,
dumbfounded.

“Where is Marcus?” she asks, her eyes
unwittingly falling on a familiar golden blonde
head.

“Hey, Garetta,” Elliot calls, “Where’s
Marcus?”

“Takin’ a break. He’ll be out in a couple. And
shut up.”

Elliot laughs, basking in his sister’s victory over
Gareth in verbal sparring. “Ain’t that your
lawyer friend there?” Elliot has spotted Rob
now, too.

“Yes,” Lori says blankly.

Elliot gives her a sideways look that clearly
says You best be comin’ here to hear Marcus play,
not to see Blonde Mr. Charlie. Lori ignores him.

“You not goin’ to go say hello?”

“He’s workin’.”

“He’s eatin’.”

“He’s workin’, Elliot. See the papers on the
table? Behind the chicken? And that’s Percy
Andersen with him.”

“How do you know?”

“I knew he was meetin’ with him tonight, that’s
how,” she snaps. “They’re workin’ on our case.”

“Well, from the looks o’ things, Mr. Andersen
has just told – what’s his name? Robert –
something pretty shockin’.”

Wonder if it has somethin’ to do with Alined, she
thinks, sipping her drink. She hasn’t told Elliot
about Percy and Alined being related.

Marcus wanders out now, leaning behind the bar
and grabbing a bottle of 7-Up for himself.

“Lori!” he exclaims.

“Hi, Marcus,” she says, smiling at him. “I came to
see you play.”

“Hey, thanks! I’m just headin’ back up there,” he
says. “Hey…”

“Elliot,” Lori supplies, reminding him.

“Elliot, right,” Marcus grins, holding his hand out
to shake Elliot’s hand.

“Marcus,” Elliot nods. “Just you tonight?”

“Yeah. Aaron and Fred are playin’ over at
Jook’s. They don’t let me in there.”

“Why not?” Lori asks.

“Because I’m white, obviously,” Marcus says,
shrugging. “Aaron tried. Even had Tony come
over here and listen to me play. He said I was
good, but it was too risky, even though I would
be the one takin’ the risk.”

“Hmm,” Lori says, mulling this over. I never
thought about the fact that it might be difficult for
a white Irish boy to try to make a name for
himself playin’ colored music. Of course I never
thought I’d meet a white Irish boy who was trying
to play colored music.

“Hey, I’m not payin’ you to stand around and
wave your gums, Marcs,” Gareth says. “I’m
payin’ you to sit around and wave your fingers.

So get goin’.”

“All right, all right,” Marcus waves his free hand
dismissively at Garreth.

“You pay for that 7-Up?” Gareth calls. Marcus
pantomimes like he can’t hear Gareth, taking a
long drink from his bottle.

He sits down at the piano, and Lori moves
forward, closer to the makeshift stage. Around
her she hears some muttering, people that are
obviously not familiar with Marcus, wondering
what kind of music is going to be coming out of
that piano.

Marcus takes another drink and sets the bottle
on top of the piano next to an empty and
slightly smudged Mason jar. He bends over the
keys and begins to play.

“Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho” comes forth,
jaunty and swinging, winning over some
immediately. Others are still skeptical, but while
Loru notices they keep their comments quiet,
she has a feeling Marcus knows they’re being
made.

She glances over at Rob again, and he looks
more relaxed, seeming to be chatting with Percy
now. She watches surreptitiously.

He’s telling Percy about Marcus, she guesses,
noting that he points in the piano player’s
direction once or twice.

“Do you want to get a table?” Elliot asks.

“You don’t have to babysit me, Elliot,” she tells
him. “I know you have your eye on that tall gal
over there.”

“Do not,” Elliot argues.

“You can’t lie to me and you know it. I’ll be
fine; go talk to her before that man in the red
shirt beats you to it.”

“What man in a red shirt?” he asks, straightening
up and looking around. He doesn’t see anyone in
a red shirt.

Lori smirks knowingly at him and he stomps
stubbornly away, towards the girl.

Marcus finishes his song and Lori sets her
Pepsi down to applaud loudly. Several others
join in, and Lori smiles. Then she gets an idea.

She digs into her purse and pulls out two
dimes. Holding her head high, she strides
forward, drops the dimes in Marcus’s Mason jar,
and smiles at him.

Marcus grins back and starts another tune,
something newer. “Blue Train,” by John
Coltrane. Lori sees some appreciative nods
among the crowd. She also feels a set of blue
eyes on her before she sees the familiar
handsome face watching her walk back to her
table.

Loru waves shyly, and is about to sit when he
waves her over.

Go and say hello. Then come back to your own
table.

“Rob, hello,” she says. She approaches the
table and both men stand.

“Well, this is a surprise,” he smiles lazily at her.

“I wasn’t expectin’ to see you here tonight.”

“Well, Elliot was headin’ out here, coincidentally
enough. Percy, nice to see you.”

“Hello, Lori,” Percy says, nodding at her.

“Thank you so much for helping us with this
case. I really can’t say how grateful I am,” she
tells him, looking up at him.

“Please, sit,” Rob motions to a chair.

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t…”

“Loretta, it’s fine,” Rob says. “Sit and talk
for a minute, then you won’t be bothered by me
calling you later.”

“All right,” she says, sitting. The two men follow
suit. “What is all this?”

“Chicken bones, mostly,” Rob answers.

“Not this, ” she waves at the carnage before her,
“this.” She points to the folders.

“Unfulfilled repair requests and accident reports.

I’m going to figure out how they relate to each
other.”

“Oh, I see. If you can prove that…” she picks up
a form, “Michael Simpson was injured by a…”
she picks up another, “scissor lift that was in
need of repairs…”

“Then we can not only make our case, but
perhaps even get the Simpson family some
compensation. Lost wages, hospital bills, that
kind of thing.”

Lori’s face breaks into a smile that Rob
could only describe as beautiful. “Um, I have
another trick up my sleeve as well.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I was telling Percy here that my father has
a man that I’d like to have come to the
warehouse and maybe even the factory, if I can
sneak him in that far. We call him the fix-it
man.”

“What’s he fix?”

“Everything. He’s a mechanical genius, and a
complete nut for safety. He’s also one of the
scariest people you’ll ever meet. But he’s my
father’s friend, and he’s agreed to help. Seemed
pretty keen on it, actually.”

“When?”

“Soon as we get the court order allowing the
inspection. Hopin’ for tomorrow, but Friday’s
more likely.”

“What will he do?”

“Inspect the machinery and equipment. Make
notes on his findings. I’m not gonna give him
these,” he points to the repair requests. “I don’t
want to influence his work. Not that it would,
prob’ly, but the whole point is if Jack Aredian
finds the same problems as what’s on these
papers…”

“Then Alined is in big trouble.”

Rob nods. “He’ll probably find more, if I were
to hazard a guess.”

“Why is he scary?”

“He’s just very… severe. He doesn’t really talk
much. His face is unreadable. All business. I’ve
been tempted to poke him with something sharp
to make sure he’s human, actually,” he
chuckles. “Don’t know if he’d bleed blood or
machine oil.”

Lori laughs and takes a sip of her Pepsi,
glancing up at Marcus again. “He’s very good,”
she comments. “Seems to be favoring John
Coltrane, I notice.”

“His latest obsession,” Rob comments
absently. He glances at Percy. “Can I tell her
what you told me before? I think she should
know.”

“Know what?” Rob asks.

Percy shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“She’ll keep it under wraps, Percy, I promise.

She already knows you’re related to him. I told
her because it is relevant to her case. And so is
this.”

Percy nods. “All right.”