Book 1: Temporary Insanity
Episode 1
Late 2004
The Elevator
Dobie was on the elevator of a building he’d never been in before. It was climbing fast. Too fast!
“It didn’t stop on any of your floors” he said to the other passengers as it sped upward.
When no one replied, he turned to see if anyone heard him. Apparently not.
To his right stood an attractive blonde woman, thirtyish, in a blue blazer, matching skirt and white silk blouse. She avoided eye contact and clutched her purse with both hands.
To his left stood a young couple, casually dressed, also mostly blue. The woman’s long black hair hung down over most of her face. She was avoiding eye contact. Her muscle-bound boyfriend met Dobie’s gaze with a glare.
Dobie returned his attention to the elevator control panel. Was he the only one concerned that the elevator was not stopping on their floors? Hadn’t these people pushed the buttons?
The elevator increased speed as it continued upward. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. It’s going too fast! They were just a few floors below Dobie’s, and the knot in his stomach cinched tighter and tighter.
He fell to the floor, doubled over as if stabbed. Then the phone rang.
What the....? Embedded in the wall near his head was the elevator’s emergency telephone. The ringing was so close and loud, he thought his eardrums would burst.
The other passengers looked at him. “Aren’t you going to answer it?” the blonde woman spoke for the group. “You’re the closest.”
Through blurred vision, he saw everyone standing over him, waiting.
The younger, dark-haired woman was shaking her head. With a clear view of her now from the floor, Dobie realized it was his girlfriend, Kim. Ex-girlfriend, rather, as of two weeks ago.
Her new boyfriend was stretching his calves against one of the elevator walls. Athletic type. She always did like those.
He turned and stared at the ringing phone and wondered what could possibly happen next.
~ ~ ~
He woke up. Whipping his head around to gather his bearings, he was relieved to be back in his apartment. His ex, Kim, was nowhere around. The sun leaked in through a gap in the curtains. Birds chirped happily outside his window. It was just another beautiful LA autumn day.
Holding his aching stomach, he trudged toward the phone on the desk between the bed and bathroom of his tiny studio apartment. He cursed himself for drinking so much last night. Eating half a large pizza didn’t help. It gave him nightmares every time.
“Mmm, hullo?” he struggled to get the words out.
“Wake up!” a woman screamed in his ear. “We have a job for you downtown!” It took a moment to realize it was Margaret from the employment agency.
There was no way he could work today. He just wanted to sleep. Well, throw up, then sleep. The past two weeks had been a blur of drunken celebrations of his “divorce.”
Celebration. Drowning his sorrows. Either way, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a good night’s sleep.
Margaret proceeded to give directions – rapid-fire – to his latest assignment at a downtown law firm. “Be there by 8:30!”
He glanced at the clock next to his bed. 7:53. His apartment was just eight miles from downtown, in a surprisingly quiet suburb on the west side called Palms. Still, with the morning rush-hour, there was no way he’d get to work on time.
~ ~ ~
He arrived an hour late at Thompson, Thompson & Duchinski (TT&D). They were on the 23rd floor of the same building where the old TV show LA Law supposedly took place.
Hurrying out of the elevator, glad to be off it, he stepped into the lobby and staggered up to the reception desk. “Dobie Pokorny, Word Processor” he announced his arrival in a croaking half-whisper.
The receptionist – a large young brunette woman, with her hair pulled back – made a point of ignoring him as she shuffled through a stack of papers. She was clipping them together with those huge black binder clips and setting them to her right.
He cleared his throat and repeated himself, being sure to enunciate. The woman shuffled and clipped a few more papers, for good measure, then looked up to see who she was ignoring.
With bags under his half-closed eyes, an unruly lock of auburn hair sticking out just above his left ear, stood Dobie leaning on her desk for support, looking as bad as he felt.
A sneer formed on the woman’s face, and she snapped, “Don’t lean on the desk.”
He stepped back.
She did a double take, adopted a more friendly tone, and asked, “Don’t I know you?”
He raised an eyebrow and tried to focus on her. She did look familiar. The brass nameplate on her desk said “Venelia Dumas.” An unusual name, but not familiar.
“I, uh...” Dobie shook his head, “don’t think so.”
Almost gawking now, she asked dreamily, “Has anyone ever told you that you have a dark blue aura?”
“Um, no.”
Her dreaminess then disappeared as soon as it had appeared. “Have a seat, Mr....”
“Pokorny. Dobie Pokorny...” he began.
“Word processor, yeah” she finished for him. With pursed lips and a twinkle in her eyes, she added, “How does it feel having your job title the same as the software you use?”
“I don’t follow.”
“You are a word processor, and you use a word processor.”
“I’m not just a word processor” he said. “I’m a legal secretary, but...”
“A male secretary?”
“Yeah. I get that a lot, so I just say word process...”
“I’ll call Ms. Trammel,” she cut him off.
He rolled his eyes and made himself comfortable in a plush burgundy leather chair across from Venelia.
She kept a watchful eye while speaking in hushed tones over the phone with Ms. Trammel.
His chair made a nice squeaky leathery sound as he moved around in it. He smiled and closed his eyes.
~ ~ ~
The next thing Dobie knew, Venelia was yelling at him. “I said, Ms. Trammel will be with you shortly!”
Dobie jumped up and looked around. “Thank you,” he wondered how long he’d been asleep.
A few minutes later, Ms. Trammel charged into the reception area and greeted him with a winning smile and firm handshake. “Pattie Trammel, Human Resources,” she said, pumping his hand vigorously.
Dobie appraised her while she pumped. She was familiar somehow. Brunette. Late 30s-early 40s. A dozen years his senior. Attractive in a stiff, professional sort of way.
“We’re happy to have you,” she said, “though you’re a little late.” She glanced at her watch.
“I got here as soon as I could,” he struggled for a plausible excuse. “Traffic was bad... ‘cuz of an accident.”
That was a lie. The only accident was accepting this assignment.
“Venelia was late this morning, too. Weren’t you, Venelia?”
“Yes, Ms. Trammel,” Venelia sounded like a chastised grade schooler.
“Maybe you two can work together and solve that problem?”
Dobie wondered how that would work. They weren’t carpool buddies.
Venelia was clearly embarrassed.
“Well, never mind,” Ms. Trammel said finally. “You’re both here now, and that’s all that matters....” She paused, cocked her head to one side and asked Dobie, “Have we met?”
The knot in his stomach returned. It occurred to him she and Venelia might have been at one of his recent parties. He could only hope he hadn’t said or done anything too disgusting. Or, if he had, he hoped they enjoyed it.
He then realized she was wearing the same blazer, skirt and blouse as the blonde woman in last night’s dream.
His response to her now was a weak smile and shrug of the shoulders. Words eluded him.
She stared a moment longer before continuing. “Anyway, call me Pattie. Everyone’s on a first name basis here. We’re not one of those stuffy law firms you may have worked at before.”
She pulled an adhesive paper label out of her suit pocket, wrote Dobie’s name on it with a black marker, peeled away its backing, and attached it to his jacket’s left lapel. She rubbed it on with a certain enjoyment in her eyes.
He wondered if she was hitting on him. Was okay with it if she was.
“This way, everyone knows your name!” she finished with a satisfied smile.
“If they don’t already,” he muttered.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
“Follow me, please,” she smiled, with a glance at Venelia.
Dobie followed Ms. Trammel’s glance, and saw Venelia seething in silence. Whether it was jealousy over his exchange with Ms. Trammel or the sting of being publicly called out for lateness, he couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, there was a palpable volatility behind her eyes.
~ ~ ~
Ms. Trammel led the march quickly and efficiently to his cubicle where she introduced him to his desk, chair and PC. He stared at the chair. It looked comfortable. Probably not as good as the leather one in the reception area, but still....
After a moment, he realized she was speaking to him. “...but he’s not here today. When he returns tomorrow, you will report to him. You can use today to get acclimated.”
Dobie nodded, with no idea what he was agreeing to. She pulled him down the hall for a tour of the floor. Taking the typically short, precise steps of a woman in three-inch heels, Ms. Trammel pointed out landmarks and points of interest along the way.
It was all too fast, but he plodded along gamely, wondering where the coffee machine was. When they finally reached the employee lounge, she placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. Now he was sure she was hitting on him.
With a smile, she said something about pouring himself a cup. “I think you need it.”
He hadn’t heard the entire sentence. All that registered was her hand on his shoulder, her alluring scent and smile, the smell of coffee, and the command to pour himself a cup.
She reached up, pulled a company-logoed mug from the cupboard and, still smiling, handed it to him. While Dobie poured his coffee – nectar of the gods – a tall distinguished gray-haired gentleman stuck his head in and mumbled something in Ms. Trammel’s ear.
She jumped as if bitten, her demeanor completely changed. Agitated now, she barked at Dobie, “Wait right here! I’ll be back in a minute!” With one last glance over her shoulder on her way out, she said, “Don’t go anywhere.”
Dobie nodded sleepily and did as he was told, taking a seat in the lounge. He sipped on his nectar while awaiting further instructions. There was not much to do but inspect the room.
Black-and-white photographs ranging from 8x10 inches to roughly 4x3 feet. He knew nothing about art but guessed these pieces were in the avant garde genre. That’s French, he reminded himself. The one with the Eiffel Tower in the background was his first clue.
A striking light-skinned young Black woman in a tight white dress entered the room. She belonged to an entirely different genre, but a work of art nonetheless. He almost spilled his coffee.
“Hi!” he said, more awake.
She gave him a bored half-glance, but otherwise ignored him and lit a cigarette. California had long ago mandated smoke-free buildings, but that didn’t seem to apply here.
Being lawyers, Dobie guessed they found a loophole. Any offices above a certain number of floors could designate a smoking room, maybe.
Taking a long drag off her cancer stick, Smoking Hot Girl moved toward the window and stared down at the pedestrians and snarled traffic below.
Dobie said, “I thought smoking indoors was banned a long time ago.”
“It was,” she said without turning away from the window.
“So, how…?”
“The man who was just here, Mr. Duchinski, is a name partner,” she smiled thinly and turned toward him. “He’s besties with the mayor. Got the city to officially register this room as a cigar lounge.”
“Ah, corruption,” Dobie sighed. “Should’ve known. Well, you shouldn’t smoke those things.”
Smoking Hot Girl stared at him from across the small room. She shook her head, extinguished her cigarette, and left without another word.
“That went well,” he said to no one.