Taste Of Home

Thanks go out to Ken for letting Renny come out and play. Thanks, Ken!--Maer

Sunday, 24 Jul 2011
Devereaux-Shields House B & B
Natchez, MS
2130hrs, local time

It was over 80 degrees and the humidity was too damn close to matching it, percentage wise, but Irina whiteknuckled it out on the porch all the same. Gotta acclimate to the damned stew sometime, DiSanti. Might as well be now, on the Agency's dime. She'd had the good sense to raid her closet for every single cotton garment she owned and pack it for her move south. She wore a pleated tee and modest cargo capris she'd picked up from Old Navy. Not exactly her preferred style but at the moment she was too hot to care. On no account am I going to swan around in a freakin' sundress like some brain-dead Stepford Wife. Hell no, I'd rather roast first.

She had an iced tea at her elbow, the paper towel she'd folded under it sodden from condensation weeping off the glass, and she paused in her typing to sip it. Sugared, unfortunately, but the hostess had added a sprig of fresh mint from her garden out back. Irina liked the zip it lent the drink and resolved to choose a place that afforded her a balcony to grow some of her own, no matter what. Putting down roots here. No reason it can't be literal as well as metaphorical.

She closed a window on one website and stared at the half dozen she'd narrowed herself down to. Grabbing a legal pad and a pen off the table beside her, she noted the directions and sketched their locations in on a rough map. The screen door to the front porch softly screamed and she flicked a glance in its direction. Ah. Mystery Man from the Gallery Suite. He lives. Dark brown on blue, 5'-5" to 5'-7", 150, pale even for a white boy. Damn, somebody get that man a sandwich. Aloud she merely said, "Nice night. There's a seat left if you need it."

She tipped her head at the other chair, the one not in the corner but closer to the threshold where the man stood with one foot on the boards of the porch.

Renny smiled as genuinely as he could, which was quite genuine, save that it wasn't. "Good evening," he said, in the smooth, pleasant voice he usually saved for customers. "Renyard Jacovich." He extended a hand. "Call me 'Renny' everyone does. From your voice, I take it that you are the other 'invader from the north'?"

"Damn straight," Irina said softly with a smile. She didn't want her voice to carry. She saved and shut her laptop, then rose to shake his hand. "Nice to hear a voice from home. Let me guess—Brighton Beach?"

There was that faint hint of the Slavic in his tone and just for an instant, a grue ran down her spine. No. Not the same. He's not one of them. But she couldn't help thinking, But he could be related... She steeled her expression to give nothing away and said instead, "What brings you to Natchez, Mr. Jacovich?" He’d pronounced it as it would be spoken in Brooklyn, yak-ko-vich instead of the more Russian yah-, and she repeated it back to him. She’d look deeper into it later.

Just keep things light and see how things go.

Renny smirked, holding up his hands momentarily in mock surrender.

“I confess. I was born at Coney Island hospital, but only because my mother went into labor while riding the Cyclone. I was raised in Brooklyn close to Gravesend, but mostly by my Grandmother who only practiced parenting on weekends. I spent a lot of time down on the beach. ”

He visibly scrutinized the woman sitting next to him cocking an eyebrow amusedly.

“And what about you? Mid-town by the accent, but something a bit more modest than Fifth Avenue from the clothes. Tribeca, maybe? Tudor City?”

"Clothes maketh man," Irina said, echoing his smirk and sitting down again. "Or so they say." She briefly thought back to the last time she'd been to Coney Island: a gang related scuffle that had called in half a dozen units from the area and put three punks and two officers in the hospital. She herself had gotten off light with nothing more than a bloody nose and sore ribs. She fanned herself as she'd seen the Southern belles of Natchez do, and said in her best imitation drawl, "Although I do declare, right this minute they do make it hard to enjoy the weather. A cyclone would be right welcome for the breeze." Switching back to her normal voice she added, "Would you like to sit down and shoot the breeze a bit, Renny? God knows how long it'll be before I hear someone from my hometown again. I've only been here for three days and I already miss it."

"Sure, but only if keep your accent somewhere in the boroughs." Rene moved his folded jacket to a nearby table and loosed his tie. "So what brings you to this fine outdoor sauna?"

"The economy. Duh." Irina said, slipping easily into that camaraderie that only exiled New Yorkers could enjoy. "You know how it goes. Follow the money and the money led here. So..." She shrugged. She took in his light grey button down shirt, his deep gold tie, the line of his charcoal grey jacket, all of which were limp from the humidity. His grey trousers had given up their crease ages ago. "Although I'm thinkin' I'm not gettin' paid enough to sit out here and get cooked. How about you?"

Was he nervous about something? Irina smiled at him even as she sharpened her focus. God knows, DiSanti, no one in his right mind would leave the North in the summer to come down here unless they had a damned compelling reason to. And as for her reason for being here? It was hardly something she could say aloud, if things were as she suspected.

Although sweat was no longer an option, the heat and humidity were simply not to be borne. Nor would it be good thing to be noticed to be not sweating.

Rene stood up with resolve. “I agree. Let us adjourn inside where there is a potential for air conditioning. Also, do I see apartment listings? Could I borrow those? I find myself in need of a place as well. A B&B is swell, but it doesn’t exactly fit my hours.”

"God, yes." Irina tucked her laptop under her arm and handed him the apartment finders she'd picked up around town. "Knock yourself out." She retrieved her drink and motioned toward the door. "Let's get inside."

Doesn't fit his hours? She tried to remember if she'd seen him check in. Nothing came to mind, but it wasn't hard to explain. She'd left early to recon the area for permanent living arrangements, the better to take advantage of the cooler temps before the sun got too high. If Jacovich had checked in while she'd been out, of course she wouldn't have met him til now. Still, there was something in his tone that hinted it was more than that. She waited until they were inside the front parlor—blessedly chilled by the AC—and settled before continuing the conversation.

"What sort of hours do you keep, Renny? I'm a night owl myself and in this heat, it's a wonder the entire down doesn't sleep til sundown to avoid collective sunstroke."

We couldn't finish this before lights out, will add more soon.--Maer

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