She gave him a questioning look, to which he said, "That is a cheap metal where I come from, yet I am told it has high value here. Will it be sufficient to hire you?"
She glanced down at what was probably fifteen, maybe even twenty pounds of disk and chain. "How much gold plating are we talking about?"
"Plating?"
"The percentage of actual gold?"
"There is no percentage. It is only one metal. Are we misinformed, that you do not value pure gold?"
"You have got to be kidding."
She wasn't sure what gold was priced at by the ounce these days, but knew a chain not even a tenth the size of the one in her hand could cost upwards of six hundred dollars, and not even be pure gold at that. She did some quick calculations in her head and realized they were talking about a lot of money-if he wasn't pulling her leg about it being pure gold. And what was she even thinking about? It was way too much for what he was suggesting.
"Look, it probably wouldn't take more than a week to find your guy, even less if he really is going to be hanging out around the mayor. I can take a week off from my jobs, and you can pay me with the currency of your country the equivalent of a couple thousand American bucks. This," she added, handing him back the medallion, "is worth a small fortune, far too much for one week's work. "
He pushed the medallion back at her. "It may require more than one week, and-it is all that I have to pay you with. I have not this currency that you speak of."
"No money, and here you are trying to dump a fortune in gold on me?" she rolled her eyes. "No offense, but you need a babysitter, big guy."
After a moment he grinned at her. "You have just endeared yourself to Martha."
"Who's Martha?"
"The voice in here." He tapped the earphone. "She suggests that 'baby-sitter' be added to the job you will do for me. What is baby-sitter?"
Brittany blushed. "You don't know? I mean, she didn't explain-? Never mind. I was just joking, really. But what happened to your money? Have you just run out, or were you robbed?"
"Neither. I had no requirement of currency until it became needful to hire assistance."
She stared at him long enough to draw her own conclusion and even thumped her head for not thinking of it sooner. "Credit cards, of course. And for some reason, you aren't equating them with money. Okay, no biggie. Your hotel might not advance you a couple grand, but the banks will tomorrow."
The look he was giving her said clearly that she was talking Greek to him again, but after the requisite pause while he attentively listened to Martha's explanations, he said simply, "I am reminded that I cannot return to my place of sleep until the new rising."
"Rising?"
He sighed after some brief coaching from the earphone and clarified, "Many call it a new day."
"Oh, tomorrow!" Brittany said, but then frowned. "Why not?''
He explained, "Because I was called back for an unneedful consultation, I have exceeded my limit for returning there on this rising."
This was said with a degree of grouchiness. Not that it mattered when she was completely baffled anyway. She understood now how frustrating it must be for him, needing translations for just about everything she was saying. That must have been one heck of a lousy language course he took, if such worldly things like credit cards, hotels, and banks hadn't been included. Talk about a simplistic definition for hotel-place of sleep. She mentally rolled her eyes again.
The only other conclusion she could draw was that he came from one of those countries that still got around on camels, where most of their population had never heard of such things. She hoped not.
And then it dawned on her and she asked, "Wait a minute, are you saying you have nowhere to sleep tonight, but tomorrow you will have?"
He nodded. She sighed, telling him, "I'm not even going to try to figure out how that could be possible, when it doesn't sound like you're referring to messed-up hotel reservations. But you're welcome to sleep on our couch, I suppose. My roommate Jan might object, after the scare you gave her. Then again, after she gets a good look at you, she might not. We eat around six. The bathroom is through that middle door behind you. In the meantime, how about telling me a little more about yourself, so I can better understand what's going on here and what's going to be expected of me on this temporary job?"
"And put this back on," she continued, tossing the medallion at him so he couldn't push it back at her this time. "Much as I could use what that thing will fetch, I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of foreigners. We'll find you a buyer for it tomorrow so you can pocket the bulk and just pay me the couple thousand I've asked for, to cover taking off from my regular jobs."
Brittany settled down into the chair to wait while the female on the other end of his earphone did her thing. Sooner than expected, though, Dalden smiled and said, "I am told you eat real food here. I look forward to sharing your meal."
Brittany burst out laughing. She couldn't help it, deciding it was probably his Martha who needed a translator, not him.
11
THEY DIDN'T EXACTLY GET AROUND TO TALKING ABOUT him as Brittany had hoped they would. Somehow, the subject got turned in her direction instead, because Dalden's curiosity had been pricked earlier by one of her remarks that didn't get addressed immediately.
"What is the job you have here that ties you up?" he asked her.
Just by the way he said it, she knew immediately that he had taken the word literally and had envisioned ropes twined about her limbs. "Err, that was ties up as in restricts, as in, I don't have much time left in the day after I get home from work for anything other than sleep. Was that easier for you to understand?"
"Indeed," he acknowledged. "But I would still hear of your job."
She had no idea why she was suddenly embarrassed, had thought she had long since reached the immune stage where her job choice was concerned. And it had been a long haul getting there.
Because she worked in a field that most men considered exclusively theirs, she'd been called a libber and every other nasty name you could think of. She'd heard it all and learned to ignore it. She'd had whole crews refuse to work with her. She'd had architects turn down her contractor because she was on his crew.
It was a wonder she hadn't lost her quirky sense of humor, but she hadn't. It was, at times, the only thing that sustained her.
So why didn't she find a job where she didn't get so much grief?
She could have moved on to something else after she had learned all she needed to know about construction. But she was good at it, and she had yet to find anything she was as capable at that paid as well, and that was the bottom line for her when she had such an expensive goal. And one of the nice things about her profession was that she could quit for a few months, even years, and then get back into it and not feel that she'd missed anything, because it was what she would be doing when she quit to build her home. Not much changed in construction. Better tools were made, union reps came and went, dues were raised, benefits got better, but houses were still basically built the same.
Her delay in answering him brought the remark, "I am told you are defensive about your job. Why is that?"
Since that voice on the other end of the earphone couldn't possibly have guessed that just from her prolonged silence, she was beginning to think that his "I am told" was just his way of stating his own opinion, rather than something Martha was telling him. Besides, her hot cheeks had probably been a dead giveaway, and only he was seeing that. Martha might be able to hear them, but that was all she could do.