ClanDance

Dennis knew what he had to do next. He sat at his desk and typed “www.devereauxdillon.com” into his computer. When the website opened he pulled up Claire Carragan’s corporate biography and scanned it for any last-minute helpful hints. Hmmm. Yale. Taking a deep breath and putting on an affable voice, he dialed the phone. “Claire Carragan, please,” he said to the anonymous voice that answered the phone. A brief acknowledgement, a click, and then a breezy professional female voice: “Claire Carragan.” He was startled. He had not expected her to answer her own phone. He was momentarily speechless. Then, mustering his courage, he took the plunge. "Claire Carragan. Hi. My name is Dennis Kerrigan, and I’m with Peabody and Tormay two floors below you.” He paused, not sure of what to say next. He hoped she would say something, but she waited, expecting this to be a business overture of some kind. He barreled on. “Miss Carragan, I’ve seen you around the offices, and I thought that I would give you a call and introduce myself . . .” he trailed off, beginning to feel foolish. “And?” she asked. “And?” He winced at the absurdity of his question. "And what?” she demanded. “Oh, well, I just thought that maybe we could meet for a cup of coffee or lunch or something and get to know each other . . .” "Do we know eachother at all?” She seemed perplexed. It was not the mood he hoped to create. “Well, no, we just work in the same building, kind of in the same business, and I thought we could work from there.” "No, thanks." Click. Gone. Panic started building up in Dennis’ throat. A mindless pause, then he punched the redial button and asked for her again. She answered the phone again in her professional tone, not expecting it to be him. "Hi, this is Dennis Kerrigan again. I think we were disconnected. I just wanted..." “Oh. I said ‘no thanks’ and hung up. Just like now.” Desperately he searched his computer screen, groping for the hint. “YALE!” he yelled into the phone. Roxi heard him outside and turned to look at him. A brief hesitation, then the cool voice again, “I beg your pardon?” “I said ‘Yale.’ I’m casting about for a common ground, for a reference or something, and I see that you went to Yale. So did I. Does that count for anything?” He could hear the smile creeping into her voice. He could picture her green eyes beginning to warm up.“Well, I don’t know. What do you mean by, ‘I see that you went to Yale’? What are you reading?” “I’m looking at your corporate bio in the D&D website.” He stumbled on, hoping he was making inroads. “You mean that you’re stalking me.” A flat finality overtook her tone. “I think we’re back to ‘no thanks." He tried again, knowing that her hang-up was imminent. He strived to keep his voice light, casual. “Wait a minute. This isn’t easy. You know all the clichés about trying to meet a decent date in the City. I’m easy for you to check out. I work two floors down. Call my office and ask for me. Here’s my phone number. Look at our website. I’m in it. You’ll see that I went to Yale too. Look me up in the alumni directory. All I’m suggesting is that we go downstairs for a cup of coffee and find out if we’d like to get to know each other. Bring a chaperone, if you’d like.” He waited, feeling immeasurably stupid now. A long pause. “What’s the phone number?” His heart lifted. He gave her his direct number. She balked. “No. What’s the switchboard number? I’ll call you back in a few minutes.” She jotted down the number and hung up. Dennis sat, unmoving, barely breathing, staring at the phone. The minutes ticked by.