“And you can call me Spence.” Though he shook her hand with a comforting sort of assertiveness, there was a small, slightly apologetic smile on his face as he let go. How could he have forgotten to introduce himself? Spencer Lazarus, PI usually rolled off his tongue automatically, and he rarely told clients to call him by the nickname usually reserved for friends and family. Eleanor Taft had just caught him off guard, he supposed – and in a way that had very little to do with her nervous behavior.
Between Coop’s sojourn in Twin Peaks and Spence’s own experiences combing through the darker parts of the reincarnate community, they were no strangers to strong personalities that only became stronger under heightened emotional states. With her parents gone (one way or another) and her brother missing, nothing about Eleanor’s demeanor struck him as unreasonable or even particularly odd. His discoveries via the usual avenues revealed very little information about her private life, but he could tell instantly by the way she zeroed in on him that she was going through this alone. No friends, probably no extended family. No support during what was undoubtedly the worst time in her life.
No wonder she was looking at him like he was a life raft. So many clients in her position did; people only came to him when they exhausted all other possibilities, making him their last bastion of hope. The realities of the job often tempered his and Coop’s mutually exacerbated White Knight complex. Couldn't go losing his head over every damsel (or dame) in distress that waltzed through his door. But there was something about Eleanor Taft. Too soon to pin down what, but already he found himself wishing that, just once, this wouldn’t be one of those cases where he’d have to be the bearer of bad news.
“Of course,” Spence answered, stepping aside and gesturing back toward his office. “Please, have a seat.” He kept his hand on the doorknob as Eleanor passed him, eyes following her until he felt another pair on the back of his neck.
Victoria, of course. She had an intuition that rivaled Coop’s own, and Spence had learned to trust it despite her youth and relative inexperience in the field. Some people were experienced in other ways, and he knew from the moment she stepped in his office for her interview that hers was just the kind he needed around here. His own Diane, with a little extra spooky oomph.
That said, he wasn’t particularly used to having that damn near clairvoyant gaze directed at him. Turning his head and seeing it now, he raised an eyebrow at her as he started pulling the door closed, but otherwise didn’t comment. He was sure he'd hear all about it later.
“Give it about ten minutes,” he said, keeping his voice low, “then bring in the usual.” The usual, of course, being coffee and doughnuts. Most clients didn’t think they wanted anything when they first arrived, but after telling the bulk of their stories and releasing all their pent-up anxieties, they tended to need a little refreshment, if only for the distraction.
Sending Victoria a final nod, he closed the door behind him and released a small breath. When he inhaled again, he was back to his usual professional self, turning down the joviality in favor of a quieter kind of compassion. He’d need it, for this conversation.
“After Victoria booked your appointment” he began, crossing the room to take his seat at the desk across from Eleanor, “I did a little research ahead of time. That’s pretty standard, us PIs always like to know what we’re getting into, but…” He offered her a sympathetic smile and leaned forward on his elbows. “Well, there’s no gentle way to say this, is there? I’m so sorry for your loss, Eleanor. Can’t be easy, what you’re going through, and it’s even harder to tell a perfect stranger all about it. So, please, take your time, and stop if you need to stop. Right now I’m just here to listen, however long it takes.”