I’m on a roll; economic brilliance is practically flashing from my fingertips, but an unexpected sound causes me to pause at the keyboard. Was that a knock? I ought to ignore the interruption and keep writing—this project is not coming together as quickly as it should, and I owe my client a preliminary draft by Friday—but the pull of procrastination is too powerful.
I open the door and find Aurora in the hall. “Hi,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching in an uncertain smile.
“Hi, yourself.” I step out and glance around the corner. “Is the buzzer broken? I thought I heard a knock.”
“I did knock. If you were real busy, I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
I lean against the doorframe, surprised and charmed by the sight of my neighbor in jeans and a T-shirt. A smudge of gray dust outlines her cheek. And she’s daring to meet my gaze—oops, no, now she’s looking at the floor. Put her at ease, Cannon. Make her smile.
“Hey, I know that look—you’ve been unpacking.”
“Something like that.” A nervous expression replaces her fleeting grin. “Listen, I hate to bother you—”
“No bother. I’m always looking for a reason to get out of my chair.”
“Okay . . . well. The thing is, I need to buy a computer and I know absolutely nothing about them. I thought maybe you could give me some pointers.”
I straighten, grateful that at last she has broached a subject where I can be of real help. A woman who wants to learn about computers? This could be love. “Nothing I’d like better. Do you know what you’ll be using the computer for?”
“Um . . . not exactly.” She grimaces. “I want to take some online classes—I was thinking of getting my master’s degree.”
“So you’ll want Internet access.”
“Yes. Probably. I mean, if you say so.”
Grinning, I look into her eyes. Currents are stirring in those dark depths, determination and desires I’ve never noticed. Unlike most of the women I meet, there’s a lot unspoken about Aurora Norquest.
“If you’d like to come in”—I open the door wider—“I could show you my setup and make a few suggestions.”
“I don’t want to be a pain in the neck.”
“You’re not, trust me. Most people who work at home have refined their procrastination skills to an art form. Why work at noon, we figure, when you can work at midnight?”
She looks at me and blinks hard, then moves past me into the gallery. She takes two steps past the first bedroom door, then backtracks. “This,” she points inside, “is where you sleep?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I really do apologize for the noise. My bedroom is exactly behind this wall.”
I nod. “Okay. Well, the next time you have a bad dream, try sending me a message in Morse code.”
“Do you, um, speak Morse code?”
“No. But trying to figure out how to send the message will take your mind completely off your nightmare, I promise. “
She looks at me as if she’s not sure I’m joking . . . and for an instant I wish I’d been blessed with something stronger than dry humor. She needs distraction, serious distraction. This visit is obviously testing the boundaries of her comfort zone.
“The computer’s in the old master bedroom.” I jerk my head toward the end of the hall. “It was the biggest and brightest space, and since I spend most of my time at my desk . . .”
She nods. “I understand.”
I lead her past a stack of taped boxes, then turn into the office. Though everything around the desk is still in a state of chaos, my machine is humming, ready to go.
“This is a typical setup.” I point to my work station. “Keyboard, monitor, mouse, CPU. The four basic building blocks. You will probably also want a printer, maybe a scanner and a digital camera. But you can always pick those things up later. I have a pocket PC and an extra hard drive hooked into my system, but you may not want those—at least, not for a while.”
She pushes at a ribbon of hair that keeps falling into her eyes. “It seems so complicated.”
“It’s really pretty simple.” I reach down and tap the black box on the floor. “This is the CPU, or central processing unit—the brain of your computer. The keyboard and mouse are how you tell the machine what to do, and the monitor displays your results. They make nice flat monitors now, a big improvement over the boxy models that take up half your desk space.”
“But how do you get on the Internet?”
“I use a cable modem—a little box that sits on top of the computer. You won’t have to buy that, though—just call the cable company. They’ll come out and provide everything you need.”
Remaining a good three feet from the computer, she crosses her arms and nods.
Remembering my manners, I pull out the chair. “Why don’t you sit down and take it for a test drive?”
She slides two steps back. “I’d probably break something.”
“You can’t break anything—well, not usually. Come on, sit down. Have you ever used a computer before?”
Looking as nervous as a clipped canary in cat country, she sits on the edge of the chair and wipes her palms on her jeans. “I used to use the machines at college. But I’m sure things have changed a lot since then.”
“You bet they have—most things are a lot simpler. Look at this.” Propping one hand on the back of the chair, I lean over her and grab the mouse, then click to minimize the word processor displaying my project in progress. With another click I open a window for Internet Explorer. “Have you ever googled anyone?”
She arches an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s something a woman should admit.”
I laugh. “It’s innocent, I promise. One of the best search engines currently on the Internet is found at www.google.com, and with it you can find out almost anything about anyone. All you have to do is type in their name—”
“Okay, I want one.” She swivels in the chair and grins up at me, determination flashing in her eyes. “Can you recommend a company I can call?”
“Good grief, you’re an easy sale. But let’s get the lingo right—you don’t have to call anyone; you can do everything online.” Crouching next to her, I click to the Web page of an online computer supplier. “These folks can custom build you a computer and ship it out within twenty-four hours. Tell me what you want, and we can order it online.”
“Now?”
“Sure.”
“You trust these people?”
“Absolutely. I’ve ordered several computers from them and haven’t had a single major problem.”
I shift my gaze to meet hers. “Do you trust me to put a system together for you?”
She looks at the ceiling for a moment, then smiles. “You seem to know what you’re doing. Sure, I trust you.”
“Then the first thing I need to know is your budget. How much do you want to spend?”
She stares at the multiple images of computers on the screen. “Just pick whatever you think is best for me. I’ll put it on my credit card.”
For someone who is reportedly estranged from her millionaire father, the woman seems supremely confident about her finances. Okay, then. I’ll build her a bleeding-edge system that ought to run anything the software developers put out for at least two years.
“Not often I get carte blanche. Just a minute.” I walk to the kitchen, grab an extra chair from the table, and carry it into the office. After taking over the keyboard and mouse, I assemble a system with the fastest microprocessor available, a flat monitor, extra room on the hard drive, loads of memory, a wireless keyboard and mouse, and an inkjet printer.
“That comes to”—I wait while the Web page calculates the total—“$2,654.13.”
She doesn’t even blink. “Fine. Place the order.”
I drop my hand into my lap. “We’ll need your credit card number. I can wait if you want to go get it, then I can let you type it in—”
“I have it memorized.” She looks at me. “I could never leave my mother alone, you see, so I had to order everything by phone . . . and after a while I learned how to streamline the process.” A faint blush colors her cheeks as her smile deepens. “I’ll tell you my account number—and if unusual charges show up on my statement, I’ll know where to find you.”
Gotta hand it to her, she’s more trusting than most New Yorkers.
“Okay, then.” I navigate to the order page; she recites her card number; I type it in.
“What kind of delivery service do you want?”
“Depends . . . what are my options?”
“Standard—that’s cheapest and slowest. They have a priority service, and they have an insured and guaranteed person-to-person service for deliveries in Manhattan. That’s the safest.”
“Fine, I’ll take that.”
I click the box, watch as a new total appears, then glance at my pensive neighbor. “That’s it. You ready?”
“Ready.”
I click the “place order” button, then lean back and creak my chair as a new page comes up.
Aurora raises one bemused brow and cocks a smile in my direction. “Wow. Just like that, it’s done?”
“Just like that.”
“Your order has been accepted,” she reads, leaning toward the screen with her chin in her hand. “Your new computer will be arriving within seventy-two hours. If you have any questions, visit our customer care center.”
Her eyes are wide and glowing when she looks at me again. “I think I can handle this”—she lowers her hand—“but if I get stuck—”
“You come get me.” I nod at her. “Most computers are plug and play, but every once in a while you can run into a glitch. So don’t hesitate to pound on the wall and send an SOS if you need help.”
“Am I still making too much noise? I know the walls are thin, but—”
“I’m kidding, Aurora. In the last twenty-four hours I wasn’t even aware I had a neighbor.”
“Okay . . . good.” She stands and looks back at the computer. “You know, this is the single most exciting thing I’ve done in years.”
Watching her, I feel a stir of compassion for my reclusive neighbor. I don’t know why she limits her world to the upper floor of this apartment building, but if a computer can help her reconnect with others, I’ll do all I can to help her.
After all, I’ve spent most of my life feeling like an outsider . . . and I know how it hurts.