Chapter Thirty-One: Do This

I decided not to wait.

I got up from my desk and left the office, calling out to Lorraine as I went past.

“Clear my schedule, Lorraine. I’ll be back when I’m back.”

Not giving her time to answer, I marched to the elevators and headed down to the lobby. I exited swiftly and hailed a taxi, getting in and giving the driver Calla’s address.

I wanted answers, and I wanted them yesterday.

The cabbie pulled up to an apartment building a few blocks from the university, where the bustling and shiny downtown core gave way to older buildings. I guessed a lot of students found housing in this district, given that it was noticeably cheaper while still being close to campus. That, and there were college girls in tight shorts, using up the last few days of warm weather the best they knew how.

How I missed university. Sigh.

I shook off this momentary nostalgia and strode to the front door, pressing the intercom button for her apartment.

“Who is it?” A female voice answered.

“Diggory Franklin, for Ms. Calla Wiley,” I announced, in my most professional voice.

“Oh, the lawyer! Hi, it’s Bianca. We met at the gallery, I think.” Her voice was warm and friendly.

“Hi, how are you?” I answered nicely. Then I remembered that I was here on a mission. “Can I come up?”

“Sure.” She buzzed me in and I fairly flew up the stairs towards their place. I knocked on the door a few minutes later.

“Hi, Mr. Franklin,” Bianca said as she opened the door. She was wearing a billowy skirt and a tank top, all in greens and browns. Her hair was still in a disarray of braids and plaits, tangled in a jumble on her head.

“Hello, Bianca. Is Calla in?”

“I’m afraid not, she’s still out. Can I get you something while you wait? Tea, or water or something?”

She ushered me into the apartment. Pictures abounded on the walls, colour prints as well as black-and-whites. Some had frames, but the majority were up with staples, tape or (presumably) sticky tack. Plants in pots sprawled across tables and shelves, spider plants and bamboo. The furniture, by contrast, was free of clutter, and perfectly angled for guests to sit. I guessed that the roommates had a standing agreement that the artist could decorate, so long as the scientist got a certain amount of cleanliness.

“Uh, water would be great,” I said, deflating. My sense of purpose had carried me here, but now that I was here, without Calla, I had no idea what to do next.

Bianca headed off to the kitchen and I heard cupboards and the refrigerator open and close. She was back momentarily with cups of water.

“Hope you like Brita filters, we don’t do plastic bottles and I hate tap water.”

“Thanks, this is perfect.” I sipped slowly. “Do you expect her back soon?”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Bianca gestured at an armchair, while she herself sat on the arm of the couch. I smiled sheepishly and sat as directed, and then realized she hadn’t answered my question.

“So, Calla…” I began again.

“She’ll be in shortly. She likes to come home for lunch before going back to class or the lab. I thought we could use the time to get to know each other.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice…” I reflected that, being roommates, they must be close, and therefore Bianca’s interest must reflect Calla having discussed me. Or, so I hoped.

“If you hurt her, I will feed your balls to you. One at a time.”

I gulped. I hadn’t counted on the over-protective roommate scenario.