RILEY OWENS IS SEATED AT HER DESK in a corner office on the 30th floor of the Bank of America Plaza Building. She peers out across the skyline, pushing a lock of her short blond hair behind one ear. In the distance she can see a swirl of dark clouds forming on the horizon, parted every few minutes or so by an ominous flash of lightning.
The storms have been forming this way practically every afternoon for the past week. They roll in from the south just after noon, bringing with them heavy winds and a torrential downpour, then blow off to the northeast just as quickly as they came. From the 30th floor the view of the storms can be spectacular. The sound of the thunder is distinctly different from what one hears on the ground -- louder, of course, but with a high-pitched tin-like edge. Many of the BofA associates on Riley's floor have admitted they find the storms disconcerting, but Riley's just the opposite. For her, they're exhilarating and fascinating.
Riley is just 26, which makes her the youngest vice-president in Systems Management. Unlike the other senior staffers with individual offices who prefer to keep their doors closed, Riley likes to keep hers open so that fellow employees will feel she's accessible at all times.
It's a habit that has usually worked in her favor -- she's extremely well-liked by co-workers and management alike -- although it does leave her open to the occasional unwanted visitor.
She's still peeking out at the approaching storm clouds when she hears a light tapping on her door.
"Riley?"
She turns her head towards the open doorway.
"Looks like we've got another fast and mean one blowing in again, huh?"
Riley studies the face of the ruggedly handsome African-American man standing in front of her for a few seconds before she answers.
"It does," she replies. "How can I help you?"
"My name is Taylor Sanders. I just moved here recently. I work in human resources on 25. A mutual friend suggested I come and see you -- she thought we might have some common interests."
"Who might that mutual friend be, may I ask?"
"Of course -- I'm sorry -- it's Sohnya, Sohnya Davidson at the Charlotte Observer."
A smile spreads across Riley's face as she motions for Taylor to take the seat across from her.
"Oh yeah? I've known Sohnya for years. She used to baby sit me when I was a kid and she was a teenager. Now we're both grownups and hang out in clubs drinking too much. I haven't seen her around in a few weeks, though. She okay?
"She's fine -- I think she's just trying to cut back on some of the nightclubbing."
"Probably a good thing," Riley says with a slight smirk. "It'd do me some good if I followed her lead, I suppose."
"Whoa, not just yet! That's why Sohnya sent me your way. She said you were the girl with the golden key and if anybody could show me around town you'd be the one."
"Not that I'm patting myself on the back, but I'd say that's a pretty good assessment on her part."
Taylor glances down at his watch and then back at Riley.
"Have you had lunch yet?" he asks.
"No. But I was pondering that when you caught me staring at the clouds."
"Can I take you out for a bite to eat?"
"What'd you have in mind?"
"Nothing too fancy or far away. What about McCormick & Schmick’s?"
"Sounds good to me. Lemme grab my bag and run to the ladies’ room and then we'll go. Back in a minute."
A split second after Riley leaves the room she pokes her head back in the door, almost as an afterthought.
"How do you know Sohnya, by the way?"
"She's my aunt."
"Really? She pauses for a moment. "Be right back."
Taylor glances around Riley's office. On her desk is a photograph of Riley with an elderly man and woman. Next to that picture is another of Riley with black Labrador retriever puppy.
On the wall behind her desk is an oil painting of a dilapidated old farmhouse surrounded by a field of yellow and red wildflowers.
Outside the sky is darkening and Taylor can hear the sound of rain on the windows.
A few moments later Riley returns, make-up freshened and ready to go.
"I was enjoying your pictures," Taylor says, pointing at the desk, and then the wall.
"That's my grandparents, Bill and Marie. They pretty much raised me. That's my dog Borden and that's a painting of my great-grandparents' house in Forest City."
"You painted that?"
"No. I never got past the paint-by-number kits. A local artist in Rutherford County did it for me, actually. My grandparents used to go visit relatives up that way and my grandfather always wanted to go see the house he grew up in so I saw this place a lot when I was little. It conjures up some nice memories for me every time I look at it."
A sudden burst of thunder punctuates her sentence.
"Shall we go, before the storm blows us away?" she asks.
"Sounds good to me," says Taylor. "Let's go."
SOHNYA DAVIDSON IS TALKING TO CLARICE TUTHILL on the phone when a bright flash of lightning followed by a loud clap of thunder hastens her to wrap up the conversation.
"What did you say your new show is about this time Clarice?"
"It's called 'Blue Man.' It's about the supernatural and voices that talk to you from beyond."
"That's a departure from the political commentary you usually do."
"It was time to head a different direction, I think."
Another flash of lightning streaks across the sky, this time followed by thunder so loud the building vibrates.
"I wanna know more, Clarice, but I think I need to get off the phone here and wait for this storm to blow over. Can you send me your press release?"
"Yeah. I'll get it out right away along with an invitation to the opening. The show's not for another month but I'd like as much coverage as you can spare."
"Sure thing, Clarice. I got you covered. Talk at you later, okay girl?"
Sohnya looks down at her desk, fumbling with an old photo of a little boy. The picture was probably taken some time in the late '70s.
"Remember how it used to storm so much like this when you were a kid?" she says, running her index finger around the edge of the fading gold frame.
"Used to scare all the other kids so bad, but you never did seem to mind. Wish you were here for this one now -- it's a doozy."
A chubby 50-something gray-haired white man sticks his head into Sohnya's office.
"Talking to ghosts again, Sohnya?" he asks, good-naturedly.
"Mind your business, Mel."
"When can we expect that op-ed on the Mackey contro, Sohn?"
"This afternoon. Need another hour on it."
"Sounds great. Can't wait to read it."
"Cool, Mel. It'll be on your computer as soon as I'm done with it."
Sohnya places the photo back in its previous position and stares at it long and hard.
"I sure do miss you, Tay."
~ David Moore
* A mixture of fact and fiction, Elmwood Park is a serial exclusive to Uptown.
To catch up on previous editions, go to the archives section of this website.
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