anymore.
Corporate loyalty cut both ways. Employees sensed the company wasn’t committed to the workers the way it had been once. Many employees didn’t give as much as a result. Why bust your hump for the company when it wasn’t going to be there for you?
That’s why B. J. was a standout. He always went the extra mile, treating every story he worked on like it had Emmy Award-nomination potential. He paidattention to the details, put thought and energy into each camera shot. Producers loved to work with him. When B. J. had done the camera work in the field, they knew that there would be great material to work with in the editing room. Producers always asked to have him assigned to their stories.
He was also a lot of fun. Quick-witted, well-read, and street-smart, he was able to size up a situation and, when it got tense, diffuse it with humor. In a world where everyone took themselves very seriously, B. J. could be counted on to put things in perspective with some comic relief. But today his attempts at humor had failed with Farrell. She hadn’t even smiled at any of his wisecracks.
He finished winding up the last bit of black rubber-coated electrical wire and stowed it in the camera gear case. He forgot Farrell as once more he looked to the front of the auction gallery.
That young Asian woman staffing the telephone bank was a babe. He wondered for about five seconds if he should go for it.
Chapter 6
The auction over, Pat and Peter went downstairs to the Churchill’s checkroom to collect their coats. Professor Kavanagh joined them on line. He extended his hand to Pat.
“Let me introduce myself, Mrs. Devereaux. I’m Tim Kavanagh, Peter’s Russian Studies prof.”
Pat shook his hand, smiling warmly. He had a good, firm handshake. Pat liked that.
“So very nice to meet you. Peter’s always talking about your class. It’s his favorite.”
“Your son has a real enthusiasm for Russian history. It’s uncommon for someone his age, especially since I would have to guess he doesn’t have much Russian blood in him.”
“You’d be guessing right. Peter comes from a long line of Irish men and women. But he’s never taken much of an interest in that part of his heritage.”
Peter corrected his mother.
“Mom, I’m an American. I know about American history.”
Pat nodded. “Of course, Peter. But it doesn’t hurt to pay a little more attention to what our forebears went through.”
Their turn came to pick up their coats and, buttoning her camel-hair reefer, Pat turned to say good-bye to Professor Kavanagh.
“It was so nice to meet you.”
“Same here. You know, it’s lunchtime, and seeing all that beautiful Fabergé has really stimulated my appetite. How about I take you two out for an ail-American hamburger?”
Before Pat could decline, Peter chimed, “Great!”
Pat laughed.
Why shouldn’t I go?
she asked herself. Often when a man asked her out, she made some excuse about her business or her parental responsibilities. She’d finally admitted to herself that she just didn’t want to fall in love again, to be involved with someone who could complicate her life. But this would be safe enough. Peter and his teacher. A hamburger. There’d be no pressure. Professor Kavanagh was looking at her expectantly.
“Sounds good. A cheeseburger would hit the spot right about now.”
As they exited to the street through the heavy glass door, Pat felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned expectantly.
“My God—Farrell! Farrell Slater!” Pat reached to hug the other woman. “I haven’t seen you in . . . forever!”
Chapter 7
Tony didn’t really mind wearing the cossack costume. It sure worked like a charm on the little old ladies who were the big tippers. He was just grateful that Clifford Montgomery had decided that Russian Season at Churchill’s was February and March, not July and August.
He stood before the imposing entrance of the auction house wearing a long, marine-blue wool coat with red
Corporate loyalty cut both ways. Employees sensed the company wasn’t committed to the workers the way it had been once. Many employees didn’t give as much as a result. Why bust your hump for the company when it wasn’t going to be there for you?
That’s why B. J. was a standout. He always went the extra mile, treating every story he worked on like it had Emmy Award-nomination potential. He paidattention to the details, put thought and energy into each camera shot. Producers loved to work with him. When B. J. had done the camera work in the field, they knew that there would be great material to work with in the editing room. Producers always asked to have him assigned to their stories.
He was also a lot of fun. Quick-witted, well-read, and street-smart, he was able to size up a situation and, when it got tense, diffuse it with humor. In a world where everyone took themselves very seriously, B. J. could be counted on to put things in perspective with some comic relief. But today his attempts at humor had failed with Farrell. She hadn’t even smiled at any of his wisecracks.
He finished winding up the last bit of black rubber-coated electrical wire and stowed it in the camera gear case. He forgot Farrell as once more he looked to the front of the auction gallery.
That young Asian woman staffing the telephone bank was a babe. He wondered for about five seconds if he should go for it.
Chapter 6
The auction over, Pat and Peter went downstairs to the Churchill’s checkroom to collect their coats. Professor Kavanagh joined them on line. He extended his hand to Pat.
“Let me introduce myself, Mrs. Devereaux. I’m Tim Kavanagh, Peter’s Russian Studies prof.”
Pat shook his hand, smiling warmly. He had a good, firm handshake. Pat liked that.
“So very nice to meet you. Peter’s always talking about your class. It’s his favorite.”
“Your son has a real enthusiasm for Russian history. It’s uncommon for someone his age, especially since I would have to guess he doesn’t have much Russian blood in him.”
“You’d be guessing right. Peter comes from a long line of Irish men and women. But he’s never taken much of an interest in that part of his heritage.”
Peter corrected his mother.
“Mom, I’m an American. I know about American history.”
Pat nodded. “Of course, Peter. But it doesn’t hurt to pay a little more attention to what our forebears went through.”
Their turn came to pick up their coats and, buttoning her camel-hair reefer, Pat turned to say good-bye to Professor Kavanagh.
“It was so nice to meet you.”
“Same here. You know, it’s lunchtime, and seeing all that beautiful Fabergé has really stimulated my appetite. How about I take you two out for an ail-American hamburger?”
Before Pat could decline, Peter chimed, “Great!”
Pat laughed.
Why shouldn’t I go?
she asked herself. Often when a man asked her out, she made some excuse about her business or her parental responsibilities. She’d finally admitted to herself that she just didn’t want to fall in love again, to be involved with someone who could complicate her life. But this would be safe enough. Peter and his teacher. A hamburger. There’d be no pressure. Professor Kavanagh was looking at her expectantly.
“Sounds good. A cheeseburger would hit the spot right about now.”
As they exited to the street through the heavy glass door, Pat felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned expectantly.
“My God—Farrell! Farrell Slater!” Pat reached to hug the other woman. “I haven’t seen you in . . . forever!”
Chapter 7
Tony didn’t really mind wearing the cossack costume. It sure worked like a charm on the little old ladies who were the big tippers. He was just grateful that Clifford Montgomery had decided that Russian Season at Churchill’s was February and March, not July and August.
He stood before the imposing entrance of the auction house wearing a long, marine-blue wool coat with red
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