Run into Trouble

runners? They’re pussycats. I’ll tell you who she has to worry about.”
    “Who?”
    “Fred.”
    “You’re kidding me.”
    “No I’m not. During the Pageant he put his hand on my leg.”
    “I didn’t see—”
    “You were engrossed with what was happening on the stage. It was okay; I’ve faced down men bigger than Fred and ten times as vicious. I took hold of his little finger and bent it back until he decided that his hand would be better occupied elsewhere.”
    “You could have broken it.”
    “I considered doing that, but the crime didn’t justify that punishment. I think he’s learned his lesson. However, Grace doesn’t know the tricks I know. It might be a good idea if we got to know her better.”
    “I agree.”
    ***
    They took Grace to an Italian restaurant.
    When they were seated, Melody said, “I hope you like Italian food. We eat Italian a lot because it’s easy to get both protein and carbohydrates in dishes like spaghetti and meatballs.”
    “I love it. In fact, I love almost all food.”
    “It doesn’t show on you. You have a marvelous figure.”
    “Oh, thank you. I like to run—of course not as far as you two. I was on the track team in college. That’s one reason I got to work on the race. I wish I were as thin as you, though.”
    “No you don’t. You only get this thin by running fifteen or more miles a day. When the race is over, I’m going to become a glutton and weigh three hundred pounds.”
    The waitress came and took their order. Melody ordered iced tea, and Grace ordered a glass of red wine. Drake ordered the darkest beer they had, which wasn’t very dark. He had gotten used to drinking Guinness Stout in England.
    Drake knew that if he didn’t assert himself, he might be shut out of the conversation.
    “Grace, tell us about your ancestry.”
    She had the kind of complexion with a perfect balance between too light and too dark that you don’t get out of a bottle or under the sun, although he wasn’t about to give her another compliment and sound like one of the girls.
    Grace laughed. “I’m a mixture of just about everything: white, black, Japanese. I even have some Indian blood—Apache, I think. What about you, Mr. Drake?”
    “Please call me Drake.”
    Melody put on what Drake knew as her sarcastic smile. “He’s very humble.”
    “Oh…sorry…Drake. What’s your ancestry?”
    “Most of the European countries, if you go back far enough. With emphasis on English, Scottish, Irish, and German.”
    Melody said that she was primarily English, Dutch, and French. Drake wanted to steer the conversation to Giganticorp. He asked Grace how long she had worked for them.
    “Almost three years now.”
    “You joined right out of college?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you love it.” Melody said it as a statement, not a question.
    “It’s a wonderful place to work. I’ve learned so much.”
    The way Grace gushed made it sound like a conditioned response.
    “How do you like working for Fred?”
    Grace hesitated. “In San Jose he was several levels above me. I didn’t see him very much.”
    “But here you’re working directly for him.”
    “Yes.”
    Several expressions fought for control of her face, none of them happy. It appeared that Melody was onto something, Drake thought. Better that he didn’t interfere.
    When Grace didn’t speak for several seconds, Melody spoke again. “Let me tell you a little story. The other night at the ‘Pageant of the Masters’ I sat beside Fred. During the show he touched me inappropriately.”
    A look of fright had gained control of Grace’s face.
    “I was wondering if anything like that had happened to you.”
    Grace remained silent for long seconds. Then she spoke in a pleading voice. “I don’t want to lose my job.” She looked at Drake.
    Melody saw the look. “You can talk in front of Drake. He’s safe. Nothing you say leaves the table.”
    Grace’s expression changed to one of determination. “Several nights ago when I was in my room there was a knock on the door. I asked who it was. It was Fred. He said he had something to tell me. When I let him in, he said something inconsequential. Then he said how good the Running California shirt looked on me. He began to trace the letters on the shirt with his finger. I jumped back.”
    Grace stopped to gain control of her voice. “He told me not to be afraid. I let him trace the letters, hoping that was all he was going to do. But then he put both hands under my