For Jeremy Saura, music helps reassure him as he faces challenges from the often frustrating yet exciting uncertainties of life. Friendship, a potential new romance, and especially a favorite song drive him onward.
It’s 1986. A new job. New technology. New fears. It often feels like too much. But there is reassurance in song. One piece in particular touches his soul. Jeremy gets chills as he listens to the lyrics, a beautiful powerhouse of determination over despair that only gains in impact as he replays it. Something he desperately needs to give him the momentum to navigate the trials and tribulations of work life, a complex friendship, and a budding romance.
For Jeremy, music is on the top of his list of the keynotes to survival.
Adam certainly knew how to dress. The crisp white shirt set off his dark complexion and made him look so damn sultry.
“Oh hey there, Jeremy. Come on in.”
“BrownBook citations all corrected,” Jeremy said proudly as he entered the office. He set the box down on the desk as Adam closed the door.
“So,” Adam said, glancing out the glass panel into the hallway, “I know we have to maintain a level of professionalism here at the office, but ... Saturday night was ... hot.”
Jeremy smiled. “Yes it was.”
They continued to stare into each other’s eyes until there was a sudden knock on the door. They both jumped. Adam’s smile disappeared and he maneuvered past Jeremy. When he pulled the partially closed door open all the way, a tall slender woman stood there. She had a manila envelope clutched in her hand.
“Hey, Connie,” Adam said.
Connie glanced sideways at Jeremy then back at Adam. “Notes for the Third Circuit,” she said, handing Adam the envelope.
“I don’t know if you met Jeremy yet,” Adam said, taking the envelope. “Jeremy, this Connie Simons. Connie, this is Jeremy ... S ...”
“Saura.”
“Saura. He just joined us. Works for Frances Gilchrist’s department.”
“Hi,” Jeremy said.
Connie merely nodded.
“Anything else?” Adam asked.
“No,” Connie said. “That was it.” She then glanced one more time at Jeremy before turning on her heel and walking on.
Adam closed the door.
“Wow,” Jeremy said, “I don’t think she liked me. At all.”
Adam shook his head. “She just takes everything way too seriously. All work, no play. You have to take her with a grain of salt.”
“Or three.”
“Anyway, I guess I better carry on. Thanks for the corrected citations.”
Jeremy nodded. “Yeah.” He reached for the door handle, but stopped. “Say ... if you aren’t busy this weekend I --”
“Yeah,” Adam said, sitting back down in his chair. “I’ll let you know.”
Jeremy studied Adam’s back. After a few seconds of silence, he pulled the door open and left Adam’s office.
* * * *
Scott spun around in his chair. “I love this place. It’s wicked retrograde.”
The Jet Terrace probably hadn’t been updated since 1960, but that was part of its department store lunch-counter charm.
Jeremy pushed his fries around.
“So spill,” Scott said. “I want to hear everything. How big is his joystick?”
Jeremy shushed him. “There are a bunch of old ladies here.”
Scott rolled his eyes. “So what? They probably can’t hear us anyway.”
“Don’t age bash.”
“Okay,” Scott said, shoving a French fry into his mouth. “I thought you’d be all gushy and excited as you told me about your hot time on Saturday. But you’re all mopey. What’s your problem, Kazanski?”
“What? Ah, I don’t know. I thought everything was cool. But then I was in his office, and this woman knocked on the door, and Adam got kind of weird after that. It was like ... he got really cold toward me. He basically rushed me out of his office.”
“Was she his boss?”
“I don’t think so. At least he didn’t introduce her as his boss.”
Scott spun around again. “Ow, shit.”
“What?”
“I whacked my knee. Shit.”
“Be careful. How is that knee anyway?”
“Still there.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“Nothing.”
Jeremy grabbed Scott’s elbow and turned him so that they were face-to-face. “You didn’t go?”
“It’s just a scrape.”
Jeremy shook his head. “You’re impossible.”
“Never mind that. I want to hear about ... sex.”
Jeremy didn’t answer.
“He’s so-oooo shy ...”
“Scott, stop singing! Honestly, you’re impossible today.”
“And likely to remain so until I get ... details.”
Jeremy glanced at his watch. “I have to get back to work in twenty minutes. So you’ll get twenty minutes worth of details.”
“It’s going to take you twenty minutes to describe something that lasted three seconds?”
“Asshole.”
“Oooh, was that involved, too?”
“Check please!”
