The Boundaries of Time Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

The car jerked forward, stopped for a second and then reluctantly gave into the force pulling and lurching it along gradually losing its hesitancy to resist as it gained momentum.  Claire felt the same way as she watched the platform roll by her eyes with increasing speed until see emerged from the cover of the train station into the last vestiges of daylight from the setting sun.

 “Why does duty always have to come first with me?” she thought as she gazed at the seemingly endless miles of track in the switching yard she rolled past on her way cross country to Washington via a stopover in New York.  Not being about to come up with a ready answer she resigned herself to knowing that she had 6 days and nights to further contemplate the question before arriving in New York on the morning of April 15.

 Claire comforted herself with the fact that she had money in her pocket and a new identity should everything fall apart on her.  Helen Yates had been killed in a car crash earlier in the year, but due to bureaucratic foolishness or naivete no one for the City of Los Angeles, the State Records Department or the Department of Motor Vehicles had ever thought to cross reference their respective records, so Claire became Helen.   With no picture identification yet used on documentation it was only a series of trips to the necessary departments to obtain a drivers license, a Social Security Card, Birth Certificate and most importantly to Claire, Helen’s educational documentation from UCLA.  With her Master’s degree in English Claire now had a ready-made career path should as she pondered again for the umpteenth time, things fall apart.

She watched the landscape change from urban industrial to fields of orange groves over the next half-hour taking solace in her return to nature in its spring infancy as she absentmindedly watched the young orange blossoms out the window.  She allowed herself that pleasure until the sun fell below the horizon turning out even the illumination of the orange blossoms on her.  Claire pulled down the shade, reached over and released the catch on her fold up desk bringing it into position.  The spy flipped open her notebook and began writing, quickly but neatly everything carefully examined and counter checked in her mind before she committed it to paper.  It was past 2 AM when she checked her watch, a parting gift from Millicent and the latest fashion trend for the newly independent working woman.

“Its made by some Swedish company called Oneida.  Their trying to break into the America market and I agreed to take some of their stock to see if I could sell it.  I’m afraid I know nothing about watches, except that you need one and my contact says they have an excellent reputation in Europe.  Besides, they were practically giving them away and its too late to return it,” Claire remembered Millicent telling her with her trademark giggle over a parting dinner she and Sam had taken Claire to that very night.

Thinking of it again brought a smile to Claire’s lips; they were two friends she’d never see again and in reality two people she never should have met in the first place.

The second set of pictures had turned out even better than the first!  Claire welcomed the money and more work, although not as frenzied as before.  These were simple 8 or 10 shot series for much smaller but still good monetary amounts.  She also did the odd modelling layout, she could in fact have worked non stop from the second set onward and Sam was more than a little surprised when she turned down offers given her penchant for money, all of it free and clear of the taxman.

“Pardon the pun, but I don’t want to overexpose myself,” she recalled saying to him at the time even as it caused a small laugh from her still.  “Besides, you have other models and plenty of business that pays you a better percentage than the money you make off me since you’ve been discovered!” she smiled to him emphasising the discovered part when she told him of her impending trip to New York.  Claire thought better than to bring Washington onto it.  “No sense peaking anyone’s curiosity more than it already will be,” she had reasoned before hand.

He had as expected protested but knowing her as he did he let the matter drop before his protestations took a turn down the street that was Claire’s temper.  Having experienced it briefly once before Sam had no wish to drive that avenue again.

“I won’t let you quit!” Claire recalled Millicent saying firmly to her as if she was somehow scolding a child.  Even now the vision of Millicent, her hands planted firmly on her hips, her mouth and jaw fixed in granite gave Claire yet another smile.  “Things are going great and I can as I’ve said to you many times before, trace it all back to the day you arrived!”

“And I’m sure they’ll continue well after I’m gone and forgotten,” Claire tacked onto the end of the sentence.

Millicent cocked her head to one side at the finality of that statement, or as she thought she heard, the hoped for finality of it.  “She was almost sure that Claire hoped/wished she’d forget about her.  This was the most frustrating part about Claire for Millicent, she wanted your friendship, but still you just could never be sure you were getting the real Claire, she always seemed to be holding something back.  To the designer’s mind the Claire you got to know was the pattern on the table, cut and ready to be sewn but even when stitched together it really wasn’t a whole, a piece always seemed to be missing,” she thought to herself. 

 “I know there’s no use in arguing with you so I won’t on one condition.  You accept payment for all the help and advice you’ve given me and you let Sam and I take you out to dinner and see you off.”

“That’s two conditions!” Claire laughed. “But who’s counting,” she continued before the two women swept each other up in a hug signifying her acceptance and Millicent’s to the end of their relationship.

The sudden jarring of her car as it crossed over a switch in the tracks pushed the wayward spy back into reality as she picked up her pen again turning it absentmindedly in her fingers.  “I never even gave her back her pen!” Claire whispered.

After the night of the attempted hug Claire had not scene Alice again except in fleeting glimpses as she dashed around the Women’s Shelter busy in her work.  Claire had trailed after her thinking she could corner the woman to say goodbye and thank her for all she’d done, but every time she thought she had Alice trapped she find that the woman had somehow slipped away.  She resigned herself to thinking the volunteer was embarrassed or surpressing an attraction to her and decided to leave it at that opting for a note instead.  She left it with Major Bowes, neatly wrapped in gift paper for her impressing upon the Major that it was important for Alice to get this.

“To the end of time I’ll regret never having the chance to speak to her again,” she found herself saying out loud and finding it odd that she should feel so sentimental towards a person she really barely knew.  She did as she always did, shrugged it off and went on to other things, discarding or burying it so it couldn’t be found again.

* * * * * * * * * * *

“Tell me you saved me a copy of the paper Irwin?” Claire said in a panic as she starred at the overturned wooden soft drink case that usually held the Tribune.

“No, I sold it to Joe DiMaggio only a few minutes ago.  Of course I saved one for you Claire,” Irwin said from behind the counter of his news stand his trademark Yankee’s cap covering up his mostly bald head.

“Thank God!” she said in relief forcing an exhale from her body as he handed her the paper with a smile.  Claire’s eyes once again as if attracted by some magnetic force glanced at the tattoo on his wrist as his sleeve pulled up before she darted her eyes elsewhere looked up into his big brown smiling eyes and returned a smile.

“You read too much, its bad for the eyes!” he said.  “Nobodies going to want to marry you if you have to wear glasses you know!  If that ever happens give me call, I can put up with them,” Irwin said laughing, his eyes dancing as he chuckled.

“You’ll be the first one I call,” Claire laughed back as she walked away her paper raised in a salute.

* * * * * * * * * * *

She closed the door to her little room, sat down on her bed and gratefully slipped her feet from her heels before curling up and opening the paper along the base of the bed as had been her daily ritual for more than six and a half weeks.  Everyday had been a wasted effort, yielding no clues or possible hints, nothing that is until today!  Claire flipped the page and there he was, surround and almost covered, but not quite, by bodyguards, her time travelling adversary from the future, Dr. Trumaine Black.  It was only a picture with a little by-line underneath it that read:

Reclusive and eccentric billionaire, Dr. Trumaine Black,
centre of picture, surrounded by bodyguards makes his way
to his awaiting car after returning from a business trip abroad

 Claire studied the grainy photo carefully as her heart began to beat faster!  It was him, even down to using his real name, the arrogant bastard; he looked about ten years to 15 years older.  She scanned the picture carefully, something, to her eye and mind was eluding her but she couldn’t put her finger on it?

 “Maybe there’s more than just this one photo to go by?” she told herself as she searched the edge of the picture for the photographer hoping it was a staff member.  Luck was with her as she read. “Photo by Michael Bisner-Tribune.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 “Oh you mean Snaps!” the receptionist finally answered with a smile as she put Michael Bisners’ name to his moniker.  “Go up to the 3rd floor, that’s the National Desk and ask for him,” she continued her face finally losing its deer in the headlights expression from Claire’s first question.

 “Thank you,” Claire answered as she moved toward the elevator doors across the large main floor.  “Maybe if I’m lucky I can find Scoop and Clark Kent while I’m at it!” she added sarcastically under her breath, Snap’s!” she shook her head in disbelief.

 Claire turned her body sideways and pushed herself out of the still opening doors, took four steps and pushed open the frosted glass doors that had National Desk written across them, National on one door and desk on the other.  The spank of keys on paper, the ripping of sheets from rollers and the slamming of carriage returns banged up against her as entered the room almost knocking her back through the doors as did the haze of cigarette smoke that hang halfway between the floor and ceiling.

 “Does everyone smoke in 1947?” she said catching her breath before gathering herself up and walking to the nearest desk waiting to be noticed and not wishing to interrupt the symphony of keys the gentleman behind the desk was currently conducting.

He ripped the paper from the roller triumphantly as if he had just stolen the Golden Fleece was holding it aloft for the gods to see.  “Copy!” he yelled before noticing the attractive woman in front of him.  “Sorry, did notice you were there.  Can I help you I hope?” he said not surprisingly in a hopeful tone.

“Can you please tell me where I can find Snap’s?” Claire asked still mentally cringing at the metaphor for a grown man.

“Snap’s, oh yeah,” he said trying to hide the disappointment she wasn’t here for him and the shock that she was looking for Snap’s of all people.   “Straight behind me, all the way to the end, he’s in the darkroom.  Don’t go in..”

“If the lights on,” Claire finished the sentence for him before adding a thank you and moving past him.

The light was indeed on so she pulled up a nearby chair sat down and waited.  An hour later the light finally went off and she knocked on the door.

“Enter,” came the solo word of reply, so she did.

Michael “Snap’s” Bisner was what she expected an awkward, Burlcreamed very thin young man with extremely poor fashion sense and an acne problem.  “1947’s answer to the nerd,” she told herself then added.  “In ten years the guy while be running the place.”

He jumped when he saw her unaccustomed to both having a woman in his dark room and being in such close proximity to one.  He was clearly at a loss for words so Claire decided she’d supply them.

“Hello Michael,” she started.  “I’m Helen Yates.”

“Hello,” he answered nervously but offered nothing else to advance the conversation along.

“Clearly this is going to all fall on me,” Claire thought with regard to their dialogue.  “I saw the picture you took of Dr. Trumaine Black in the paper the other day and I was wondering if I could purchase a print of it and if you have any other ones you took that day that I could also buy?”

“Why?” came again his one word response much to Claire’s exasperation!  She decided drastic action was need if she was ever going to get anywhere and out of this darkroom before her next birthday.

“You know most people would have asked ‘How much’ not ‘Why’ to my question.  I was hoping we could conduct this business between the two of us and not have to drag your editor into the fray.  In that way you can keep all the money to yourself and not have to give it to the paper!” she said mocking a calculated turn to the door for dramatic appeal.

“How much?” he asked a little too quickly.

“Now we’re making progress!  How about a dollar for everyone I like.  How many do you have?” she asked.

“Ten and its all or nothing, no picking and choosing,” Snap’s stated emphatically.

Normally this would have got Claire’s blood going she loved to barter, but she loved the fresh air and sunshine more and the darkroom cubby hole and its occupant was getting to her.  “Deal,” she said reaching in to her purse and handing him the money before setting it down on the table, removing her jacket, rolling up her sleeves and smiling at Michael.  “Let’s get to work!” she ordered.  Snap’s gave a bit of a double take but could tell she wasn’t going to be deterred so he switched the light to read and fished out the negatives from the file cabinet behind him.

Claire studied each negative under the enlarger as he worked.  After more than two hours she had the pictures she wanted and freedom from Michael ‘Snap’s’ Bisner.  More importantly and much more disturbingly she had the beginnings of a story she wasn’t sure about where it was going but confident she didn’t like it.

“Now comes the hard part Claire,” she muttered to herself in the vacant elevator.  “Convincing someone in Washington you’re not completely crazy and seeing if they can help you at all to figure it out.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

“And here you are Claire,” she thought as the past cleared finally from her mind.  She put down her pen, Alice’s pen and slipped off her clothes and got into bed. 

 The one luxury she’d allowed herself was a modern private room for the trip.  Complete with pull down bed and a writing desk along with your own sink and toilet and shower it was expensive but it allowed her the privacy to think and more importantly write she only had six days to New York City and so much still to get down on paper.

* * * * * * * * * * *

“So we understand each other Mr. Steinmetz?” Claire smiled across the desk and the very young man smiling back at her.

“Yes Miss Baxter I think we do.  I’ll take good care of them and treat them with all the caution and respect they deserve.  I have to say again I find the idea intriguing and well you do make a rather persuasive saleswoman!” he said with a playful innocent twinkle in his eyes.

“In that case how about spending the afternoon with me?  My train doesn’t leave until 6pm for Washington and there’s something I really want to see while I’m here!”

The twinkle in his eye returned.  “Why not, but first an early lunch, my treat!” he said gathering up his hat and coat.  “I know just the place.”

“Lunch was wonderful Ben, thanks so much,” Claire said as the cab sped through the city towards their destination.

“I don’t know where you’re taking me, but I’m not going to complain!” Benjamin Steinmetz said with a laugh.

The cab dodged traffic and people as it sped toward its goal, twisting and turning though streets as the cabby yelled insults at people who didn’t move fast enough for his liking until it came to an abrupt stop and they two piled out.

“Here, but I don’t even like..” Ben started to say before Claire cut him off and took him by the hand.

“Two please as close as possible, oh and two of those as well please,” she said to the man in the booth.  “You’ll count yourself a lucky man in the future for having the privilege of seeing this Benjamin Steinmetz”

“You sound just like my mother did when I was young and she would drag me off to cultural events every Saturday,” he groaned remembering those days.

“There, then on what better authority could I have,” Claire laughed as they began the search for their seats at last finding them.  “Wait here I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said as she disappeared down the isle.

Ben starred at the people around him taking their respective seats and praying this somewhat crazy, beautiful yet very compelling woman would return shortly.  Minutes past before mercifully she finally returned up the isle and took her seat next to him.

“Here!” she said.  “These are for you.”

“But..”

“No buts, take good care of them a present from me to you,” Claire admonished.  “Oh great here we go!”

* * * * * * * * * * *

The train ride and the overnight hotel stay were completely uneventful.  What was coming she knew would not be.  Claire stepped off the bus along with a cluster of office workers; she let them pass her by as she stood still and looked up at the building before her.  She placed a tentative foot on the first step half expecting it to sink out of sight into a sea of bureaucratic quicksand before gathering her courage and placing another foot forward.

“What will be will be Claire,” she said to herself hoping it would be what she wanted it to be.