The Alpha For Her

Chapter 2

Eight years later, Jennifer found herself perched precariously atop a twelve-foot ladder trying to reach a light bulb twelve-feet-eight inches away.

“Hey, Jennifer,” a voice sang out. “Jenny-Jen? You around? It’s Trash Day.”

“In here,” Jennifer called back. “In the parlor.”

“Oh, cool. There you are, and – and Jenny James, are you some kind of a moron! Get off of that flipping ladder this instant before you kill yourself!”

Jennifer looked up at the offending bulb, just that far from her grasp thinking that if she could only stretch just a little more…

“Jennifer, get down! Now!”

Jennifer looked at the bulb, then looked down. Lisa seemed so far away standing there with her hands in her hair. Her snappy postal uniform, shorts and a short sleeve shirt, made her look almost comical from that vantage. Then, suddenly, Jennifer’s head spun and she felt a little vertigo. She looked back up to the bulb.

“I’m gonna git you, mutha,” she said under her breath.

Just then, her phone rang. She had left it below on the coffee table.

“Lisa,” she called, taking a breath and gathering her courage, “wanna get that for me? I’m expecting someone. Put it on speaker.”

“Jennifer, get down from there!”

“Soon as I get this thing changed. Phone please?”

She heard Lisa curse softly, then work the phone.

“Jennifer James?” the tinny voice said.

“Who’s calling, please?” Jan answered.

“This is the office of Mr. Flint Dryzek, of Dryzek Enterprises.”

“Who?”

“Is this Jennifer James?”

“It is,” Jennifer said, steadying herself.

“Thank you. Please expect a call from Mr. Dryzek this afternoon at two.”

“Flint Dryzek? Who is he?”

“I am sure that Mr. Dryzek will introduce himself when he calls you this afternoon; two o’clock. Thank you.”

“Wait a minute,” Jen said, but the phone went off.

“Jennifer,” Lisa pleaded, “get down from there. You’re too short. Where’s Chaz? Chaz!”

Jen reached just a bit further, then she lost her balance. Lisa shrieked. Jen shoved her calves against the ladder sides, stabilizing herself, and then stood stock still. She righted herself.

“Okay,” she said, looking at the light bulb in defeat, “Okay, I’m coming down. I’m coming down.”

But that was easier said than done. She was standing on the second highest rung, and so had no hand hold. She stood a moment, finding her balance, then eased one foot down to the next rung.

“Careful,” Lisa said. “Take it easy. Step by step. Chaz, get in here!”

Jen teetered a little, until her foot found the rung. That made her feel more confident. With another step down she could grasp that ladder, and breathe.

“Somebody call me?” Chaz said, stepping into the room. “Holy sh*t. Ms. James, what are you doing? Hey – that’s my ladder.”

“You weren’t using it,” Jen said, easing herself down. “We just hung this thing the other day, and that blown light bulb has been driving me crazy.”

“You’re gonna drive me crazy,” Chaz said. “And who is this, we? I hung that thing, and if it ever needs another changing, that’s my job around here.”

Jennifer made it to the floor. Lisa was visibly relieved. Chaz was shaking his head. He held out his hand. Jen dug out the new bulb from her pocket and handed it to him. Chaz scampered up the ladder. In minutes, he had the thing changed.

“He makes it look so easy,” Jennifer said.

“He’s, like, six-foot-thirteen,” Lisa said. “And you’re what? All of five-foot-three?”

“Four,” Jennifer corrected.

“Whatever. You got to realize, super-girl, that there are some things that you cannot do.”

“Like trying to reach beyond your reach,” Chaz said, stepping off and folding up the ladder.

“Thoreau said that a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,” Jennifer quipped.

“Thoreau was speaking figuratively,” Chaz said. “Not to mention, you’re a woman.”

“Get your Irish-chauvinist ass outta here,” Jen said, swinging her foot at his butt. “Aren’t you working on the porch?”

“Yes, Ms. James.”

“Jenny,” Lisa said, gazing up, “it’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”

“Auction,” Jennifer said, considered her new acquisition with pride.

Her parlor had a vaulted ceiling, twenty-four feet high, giving the room such a wonderful airy quality. For years she had been looking for the just-right light fixture, and that week she had found it. It was an antique and had that old world look. It was simple bronze chains supporting two tiers of circular bronze filigree work. The upper tier was smaller, holding ten candle sticks. The lower, hanging eight feet beneath, boasted thirty. Sometime in its history it had been electrified and was gleaming with crystal, candle-flame light bulbs. The whole chandelier filled the vaulting perfectly, matching Jennifer’s eclectic decor marvelously.

“There was an auction over in Sharon,” Jennifer said. “I saw it online, and I just had to have it. Seems it came from an old church in Millerton, New York. It’s Colonial. Made in Boston in the seventeen-hundreds.”

“Must have set you back quite a bit,” Lisa said.

“That’s just it. I stole it. Nobody wanted it – too damn big. I think it cost me more to ship it, and then hang and wire it.”

“Still, it’s beautiful.”

“I know. Tell me, I got the eye.”

“You got the eye.”

“I do indeed,” Jennifer said, smiling and grateful to be back on firm ground. “So, Trash Day. Thursday already? Make yourself comfortable, I’ll get some coffee.”

As she gathered the things in the kitchen, she thought about that weird call. The name nagged her, but she couldn’t place it.

Back in the parlor, Lisa had a week’s worth of junk mail set neatly in piles on the coffee table. Jennifer thought that one of the lovely perks of living in small town Connecticut. Lisa was a one-woman post office, and the town of Cornwall, while small in population, was fairly big in territory. So rather than drive her route daily, just to deliver the Macy’s fliers, Lisa would only deliver real mail to whoever had it, and then on Thursdays, she’d deliver the trash – all the accumulate junk mail. She chose Thursdays because that was the day that the sales started. Lisa would even divide the trash into categories: grocery, hardware, credit card offers, and the various clothing catalogues. She and Jen would sip coffee and dream over the lingerie spreads.