Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, it requires one qualifying characteristic: to be of precisely six sentences in length,

The other half of the conversation? Here

Prompt word:

PARCEL

It’s not true I decided to quit graduate school and start a private investigation agency because of the elevator in an Art Deco office building; at least not entirely.

I smiled at my reflection, expanding into multiple parallelograms as the interior gate closed, each floor mutely shouting a number as the car rose in the shaft.

Picking up a parcel on the floor in front of my office, I passed through the outer office where the green-shaded lamp on my secretary’s desk cast half-hearted shadows on the reception area; at the end of her second day, when I reminded her that I didn’t need a night light after hours, she laughed her best bedroom laugh and said, “I didn’t say it was for you, it’s been my experience that if you find yourself feeling alone, you might want to say a prayer of gratitude.”

I pushed the cardboard-and-Tyvek package onto the top of my desk, a room-temperature icebreaker plowing through the off-white manila folders, cresting right to the edge of the scarred oak surface; deciding that if I couldn’t be where (and with whom) I would like, then I would be with whom I was paid to, so after swiveling my chair to face the windows looking out on the nighttime city, picked up my phone.

“Hello. Yeah, I’m calling on account of Lou; but if you tell him, I’ll deny it and your Saville Row tailored suit won’t make a difference, at least not one that counts…

Can we talk?”

“It’s just that while he appreciates your accommodation in the matter of Miz Storme, he does tend to be somewhat protective to those close to him, hence my reaching out to you.”

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