Free Do or Di by Eileen Cook Page A

Like a chance to start over.”
     
    “Do you have a phone number for Diana?”
     
    “Does this mean you’re reconsidering your involvement in the program?”
     
    “Of course. In fact, the whole thing was a simple misunderstanding. If you’re talking to anyone else on your board or anything, you’ll be sure to mention that I was always keen on the program, won’t you?”
     
    “But you said you were too busy. You dropped out of the program.”
     
    “No, I didn’t.”
     
    “Yes, you did, I still have your message.”
     
    Good God, was I going to have to pay this woman off?
     
    “I was just feeling a bit overwhelmed at the time. I might have come across like I wasn’t interested in being involved in the program, but as anyone can see, Diana is a special young woman.”
     
    “Yes, she is.” There was a pause. “Certainly worth more than being a rung on a corporate ladder.”
     
    “I beg your pardon?”
     
    “Nothing, just a comment. Here is her number and address.”
     
    I bit back a retort while she rattled off the information, proud of myself for thanking her very sweetly before I hung up.
     
    * * *
     
    I called Diana’s number and it rang and rang. No voice mail and no one picked up. Who doesn’t have voice mail in this day and age? I tapped my pencil on the corner of my desk for a few minutes. I had a few options.
     
    I could focus on my job and assume that my hard work and effort would shine through and result in promotion and professional recognition.
     
    I could hunt down a possibly disturbed teenage girl and try to leverage a relationship with her in order to manipulate my boss’s unfortunate childhood into a better career move for myself.
     
    If I went with option one it would indicate that I was an individual of sterling character. If I went with option two it would most likely lead to the outcome that I needed. And, regardless of my motives, being involved with Diana would be good for her. Either she’s crazy, in which case I may be able to direct her toward the proper psychiatric support, or she’s thinking she can pull something over on me in which case she needs to learn that it is not that easy to fool someone. If she thinks she has a chance to help me, then it would give her a feeling of accomplishment, leading to increased self-confidence, which would of course lead to an improved overall quality of life. This is what those lifestyle books call a win-win situation. I put the pencil down and grabbed my car keys.
     
    The address Positive Partnerships gave me was in the Central District. The house looked like a soft rotting tooth. The roof was covered in moss and dipped slightly in the center. The house was covered in white stucco that over the years had taken on a dirty dishwater gray color. It had the decided “before” look in a home makeover show. You could see slivers of light poking out behind the curtains in the front. I made my way to the front door and pushed the doorbell button. It gave a squeak as I pushed it, but I couldn’t hear any chimes inside the house. I knocked. Nothing. I looked down at my watch. I had less than an hour before I had to be back at the station. I turned to leave and then the door opened.
     
    “What do you want?” a woman barked. She was painfully thin and had dark circles under her eyes. She wasn’t wearing any makeup or shoes. Her toenails were a nicotine-stain yellow. She looked like a creature extra from the Lord of Rings .
     
    “Hi. I’m looking for Diana,” I mumbled. I held out my hand and she looked down at it, but didn’t shake it. She gave a loud sniff and rubbed the back of her hand against her nose. My hand drifted down to my side. I’m getting a sense why Diana might not want to spend a lot of time here. She certainly didn’t look like the type who had a clipping file of Princess Diana articles.
     
    “What has she done now”? She looked at me. “You with welfare?”
     
    “Me? No. I’m just a friend.”
     
    She