Another Tuesday and other jazz

“You’re going to kill me,” Henry said when I walked into what has become our conference room since we meet about every other day now. 

“Why?”

He pushed a document across the table. Eight pages of material for a display that I already had partially laid out. I laughed a little bit. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Yell at me if you need to,” he offered.

“No, I’m good.”

Recently Henry’s approach toward me has become more casual. All of the professional formality has gone, replaced by something easygoing and familiar.

Later in the meeting he remembered something. “Can you do this?” He pushed another piece of paper toward me. It showed some things he wanted me to PhotoShop onto an image.

“Sure,” I said. It would take at least an hour, but it was possible.

“Want to yell at me now?”

“A little bit,” I joked.

I worked through lunch and sent a proof of the display shortly after. It was rough but I wanted his general reaction to the design before I spent time polishing it. He called late in the day with a few minor changes. Overall, he’s pleased. I’m not a graphic designer and hate these types of projects. I’m always relieved when I can move on.

Blaine met me at home after work. We changed clothes quickly and hurried to get to the venue for the jazz concert. Because strong thunderstorms were approaching the city, the concert was moved from the university campus to a theater downtown near Blaine’s office. He parked in his reserved spot in the parking garage.

“What would you have done if you hadn’t become a lawyer?” I asked as I got out of the car.

He came around and held out his hand. “I don’t know. I never thought about doing anything else.”

“The law was your dream?”

“No. It was a means to a good living that didn’t involve blood.”

There were others crowding into the vestibule outside the elevators. We rode down to the street among a tightly packed group that smelled similarly of unnecessary sunscreen and bug spray.

Outside again and in line waiting for the doors to open, he asked. “Think I could have been good at another job?”

A few drops of rain began to drop onto the sidewalk. Far in the distance thunder rumbled. Everyone took a step closer to the building to gain more protection from the awning above our heads. I pressed my back to the brick and looked up at Blaine who had stepped in but was standing facing me, angled so if rain blew in it would hit his back and not me.

“Everything,” I answered. “You would be good at everything.” His eyes went soft but he didn’t allow a smile. “Probably, though,” I added, “you would have owned a used car lot. Been one of those guys who dresses up as Uncle Sam and does live commercials during the local news.” A laugh burst out of him. “As for me,” I said. “I should have been a high school career counselor.”

“You do have a gift.”

The line began to move. Seating was first come, and we snagged a couple of seats about a third of the way back.

The music was OK. I liked last week’s artist more except she made a lot of political comments that spoiled it, not because of her position but because I’d like to be able to choose when I have to hear about the latest dumbassery coming out of Washington, D.C. There was none of that tonight, but the music didn’t appeal to me as much. Blaine didn’t care for the group either. There’s only one more week to go, and I’m glad. We talked about trying out some of the bands that play the bar where I went on my birthday.

I’ve found a skirt online that I’ll likely order. First, I want to look for it at the store that’s here in town.