Sharon H
Manifests. Invoices. Requisitions. Replacement part
forms. Chip Morton's desk was an organized
messif there was such a thinglittered with neatly stacked piles of
paper work. Chip scrawled his name on another form and dropped it in the 'out'
box. Reaching over blindly, he snagged another form off a pile and quickly
scanned it, frowning as he read. Without warning his eyes went out of focus,
crossed, then slowly refocused. Placing the palms of both hands over his eyes,
he reveled in the semi darkness, ready to admit that just maybe he'd been
staring at paperwork way too long.
He sat the forms
aside then the clock on the wall caught his attention. After 1900. Funny it
didn't seem that late. Funny how time flies. . . With a final glance at the
pile of paperwork Chip decided there was no way he was going to finish this
tonight. He could get an early start on it in the morning and get it finished
up tomorrow in time for the weekend.
His stomach growled, reminding him that lunch was a
now faded memory. Maybe he could have
something delivered. Chip gathered up his jacket and briefcase then tugged his
hat down over his short blond hair.
Chip closed and locked his office door, walking past
his secretary's empty desk. Two doors down on the opposite side of the hall a
light filtered under the closed office door of Seaview's skipper. Chip paused
outside of Lee's secretary's open office door, wondering if he ought to stop
and check on his friend. His stomach growled again and that made up Chip's
mind. Knowing Lee, the skipper had skipped lunch. Maybe he could bully Crane
into eating dinner with him.
Chip knocked
twice then eased the door open. Are you still here? Chip asked as he stuck
his head in Lee Crane's office. Lee
looked up at his friend from his desk and dropped the pen he had been writing
with. It landed on the desk top with a dull thud.
I should have left hours ago but I got caught up in all this. Lee waved
his hand in the direction of the mounds of paperwork on his desk. Chip snorted.
Looks my desk. Come on, it'll be there in the morning. I need food and
if I know you, you either skipped lunch or you took two bites out of a sandwich
and tossed the rest. What a waste of perfectly good food.
Lee rolled his eyes and rose up put of his comfy
leather chair, stretching his lean 6'1 frame, hearing his joints pop and
creak and loosening muscles grown stiff
from hours of disuse. Charles Morton you
always need food. Trying to get you full is like trying to fill a bottomless
pit.
Like I keep telling you, I'm a growing boy. Were you planning on taking
root in here? Chip asked, sauntering into the office proper and perching
himself on the edge of the desk. He took
a good long look at his best friend and decided he didn't like what he saw. Lee
looked tired, dark circles stained his undereyes, and his normally bright amber
hazel eyes were dull with fatigue. How
long had he been at the computer?
How long have you had your nose stuck in that monitor? Have you had any
lunch? Chip's voice carried definite tones of disapproval.
I had a sandwich from the cafeteria, Lee said defensively. By now examining
the desk with a trained eye, poking around the piles of
papers and folders. He found the object of his
search hiding
under a blue, tabbed file.
This sandwich? he asked, setting the half eaten ham
and cheese sandwich down in front of Crane. The edges of the bread had turned
brown and the ham hanging off the edge had dried, the cheese cracked and hard.
The skipper blinked and stared at the offending object as if he had never seen
it before.
I got sidetracked. I wasn't really hungry, he
replied weakly. He gave Chip a watery tired smile.
Chip rolled his blue eyes. He tapped a finger against
the top of the monitor.
Shut that thing down, we're going to dinner.
Lee raised a dark eyebrow and ran a hand through his
curly hair. Dinner?
Yes, dinner. You know, it's a large meal that usually falling at the end
of the day consisting of several courses, and if we're lucky, a very good
wine,
Lee scowled, the effect lost by the growling of
somebody's stomach. I know what dinner is, he said sourly.
That's debatable.
Did you have something specific in mind for dinner, or are we just going
wing it?
Chip considered the question. I don't know. Italian?
Too much garlic.
Chinese?
Too spicy.
German?
Too rich.
Chip growled in exasperation. Well what do you feel
like? he demanded. Lee just grinned.
Why not just a burger?
Chip rolled his eyes. I'm buying, and all you want is
a burger? Pal, something's wrong with you. I don't know about you, but I'm in
dire need of egg rolls, he replied sourly.
Now, wait a second, you never said you were buying, Lee replied, as the
two walked toward the open office door at the end of the hall.
End
srh
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