All she needed, in her position, was for people to think she was some kind of elf.
Catching herself, she stopped. Then, tugged at her earlobe. Then, silently chided herself and brought the hand firmly down on the table. "O'Connor, on the other hand, has the potential to rise to higher levels. Did rise to higher levels, in fact, not long after the Ring of Fire, when he set up a steam engine business."
"So did Barlow," Eddie pointed out. "He's the partner and co-manager of the Grantville-Saalfeld Foundries and Metalworks—which is quite an important and profitable enterprise. More so than O'Connor's steam engine corporation, really."
Noelle sneered, forgetting momentarily her long-standing vow never to sneer on account of it made her look like an impudent elf. "Yeah, sure—but that's due to the other partner, Bart Kubiak, who's the brains of the outfit. I heard—never mind where—that the only reason Bart asked Jay to become his partner—and he doesn't have anything close to an equal share in the business, by the way, just a token amount—is because Billie Jean Mase sweet-talked him into it and Bart wanted her to relocate to Saalfeld to be his office manager."
She shook her head. "There's another mixed-blessing character for you. By all accounts, Billie Jean is a crackerjack office manager—"
"I thought those were a kind of cereal candy."
"What is it with your sudden obsession with learning every bit of American slang in one sitting? But whatever skills Billie Jean has in an office, she's a dumb blonde in the rest of her life."
Eddie was now eyeing Noelle's hair dubiously.
"Fine," she snapped. "It's sort-of blonde. It's just an expression. Some of the world's champion dumb blondes are brunettes and redheads. Trust me on this one, for just a moment. Who else but a dumb blonde would ever get hooked up with a guy like Jay Barlow? You can't even credit her with being a gold-digger, since she brings in most of the gold."
She raised the fingers of her left hand and began counting them off with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, forgetting also her solemn vow not to draw attention to her fingers because they were too slender and nimble and, well, sorta elflike.
"First, he's a loser. Second, he's a sleazebag. Third—"
"I thought the term was sleazeball," Eddie complained.
Noelle contemplated strangling him. Then, simultaneously concluded her hands were far too delicate for the task—Eddie was on the heavily-built side—and remembered her vow not to display them. Hurriedly, she put her hands back in her lap.
"Third," she said forcefully, "he's thirteen years older than she is. Remembering my charitable Christian nature—"
Eddie was looking more dubious by the minute.
"—I will forego pointing out that his potbelly matches his age and then some. Fourth, he's lazy. Fifth—since after two months Bart Kubiak gave him the boot and told him to enjoy his piddly little share of the partnership back in Grantville where he'd be out of Bart's hair—he spends most of his waking hours lounging at the 250 Club, trying to pretend he's a tough biker even if the only part of 'biker' he has down pat is the boozing. Sixth—"
She broke off suddenly, and stared at the wall. Nothing there to look at, just getting an idea.
"What is it?" Eddie asked.
She started scratching her chin again, forgetting her solemn vow to work on her memory so it wouldn't resemble Swiss cheese. Just what she needed, having people think she was as flighty as an elf.
"I was just thinking, now that I think about it, that Jay Barlow is the mirror opposite of Buster Beasley. There's a guy who has 'tough biker' down pat every other way, except he finds most bikers pretty boring. So he doesn't hang out much at the 250 Club, true enough—but I'll bet he knows where all the bones are buried and whose skeleton is rattling which bike. He's honest, too. Well . . . allowing for a certain casual attitude toward mind-altering substances and stuff like that, but who cares? Those laws aren't in force anymore and even if they were you and I are working for the Treasury department, not the old DEA."
"I am now completely lost," said Eddie.
Noelle flashed him a grin, forgetting her solemn vow to suppress her quick way of smiling since she thought that was probably the silly way that elves smiled if elves existed which they didn't but too many damn people had heard of them and thought they probably did and she was suspect number one.
"I'll introduce you." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's only eight. He's probably still at his storage rental place."