by Lia London
Nestled with his ear on the arm rest, Barth almost didn’t hear his phone.
“Ms. Parker!” he said, sitting up on high alert. He looked longingly at the screen as he muted it, knowing he’d not get to hear Chieko’s voice for the tag. He had it bad if he’d watch the boring local news on a Saturday night just to see her.
“Hey, Barth. How are you doing?”
“Great, great! Did the Christmas Valley segment come out okay?” Maybe she’d called to say he’d done a good job and would be off the phone before Chieko said goodnight.
“Yes, it took very little tweaking on our part. You did a great job. In fact, I like how you did so much of it with voiceovers.”
Barth chewed his lip. That had been an afterthought when he and Chieko realized they’d forgotten to conduct a real interview. Instead, by piecing together a script of quotes by the riders, they painted Jonathan in a heroic light. “So, can you use us for more segments?”
“Ugh. That’s what I called about. I don’t love saying this, but—”
“Wait, what? What do you mean?”
“I want to keep Chieko doing the voice work, but I think Guy and I can probably handle the filming and editing work.”
“Without me?”
“Um.” Parker grunted, making a foggy sound through the phone that dulled Barth’s senses. “The gas and paying for two of you added up a little faster than we thought, and the cable producers are still hemming and hawing about whether or not we’re going forward with this. Until we get a solid answer from them, we need to keep expenses down.”
“So …?” Barth lay back down, wrapping himself into fetal position. “I’m fired?”
“For the love of peanut butter, Barth. I told you when we started up it may not fly beyond a few segments—or it may take off and we’ll hire a whole team of people. But right now …”
“Yeah, I understand.” He understood he was once again out of work.
“We’ll cut the check to you digitally on Monday, okay?” She sounded hurried. “And I promise you’ll be the first person we call if we find a way around budget constraints. We really are looking into it. I’m not just blowing you off. In the meantime, you’re welcome to use us as references, and Guy will splice off portions of each segment you can use for your portfolio. You just can’t post them anywhere until they’ve been aired officially.”
“Right.”
“Okay, well goodnight, Barth. I’m sorry we can’t do more right now. Thanks for all your hard work. We’ll be in touch, I’m sure.”
“Right.”
“Think positive.”
“Right.”
“For the love of beachballs, Barth, you sound totally deflated.” She chuckled. “You’ll get another job soon. I’ll keep my ears out for anyone looking for a camera tech.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Barth disconnected the call and sagged further into the couch, wishing he could seep through the cushion cracks and become one with the nacho crumbs and grimy M&Ms that lived there. Worse than losing the job was losing the excuse to see Chieko again. Now she’d never want him.
“You gonna answer that?” asked his phone. “C’mon, dude. Answer that. You gonna answer tha—”
Barth silenced the ringtone he and his brother created for unsaved contacts. He glanced at the number. Somewhere in Portland.
No stranger worth talking to called on a Saturday night.
“What’s the matter, son? Your cutie girl say it was going to rain tomorrow?”
Barth rolled to his back. “Hey Pappy. I don’t know. I missed her closing remarks. Got a phone call.”
Pappy nodded, hesitating before reaching down and turning off the TV manually. “You look lower than a dragging muffler on a beat up old Pinto. What happened?”
“Ms. Parker doesn’t have any more work for me right now. Maybe not at all.” Barth’s body held the weariness of a four-hour workout without any of the benefits. “I’m broke again.”
Actually, the payment coming on Monday would be a substantial boost. Perhaps enough to get into an apartment with a roommate. But what was the point if he had no income to maintain it?
“Chieko, too?”
“Nah, she gets to stay on, I think. I’m a little fuzzy on the details, but they don’t need me.” He flopped backwards, resting his forearm across his eyes. “They don’t want me.”
Chieko wouldn’t want him either.
“Too bad, son. You liked that work a lot, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And it kept you out of the house, so MarLee liked it, too,” said Pappy with a wink.
“I’ll find me a place to live soon, Pappy. Maybe ’Maya knows someone.”
Pappy nodded. “Good idea.”
***
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re asking this right now!” Amaya gushed. “Your timing is a life saver!”
“What? Why?”
“Can I tell you a secret and have you keep your big blabber shut for a couple of weeks until we make the official announcement?”
“Official announcement.” Barth’s scalp crept forward, pushing his brows down over his nose.
Amaya’s voice sounded as though she were cupping her hand to the phone. “Frank asked me to marry him, and I said yes!”
“What?!” Barth rocked backwards with a holler, half shocked and half thrilled. “For reals?”
“Keep your voice down! Where are you anyway?”
“At 7-Eleven. Why?”
“Oh, I didn’t want you leaking the news to Grammy and Pappy.” Amaya’s tone relaxed. “So, anyway, we’ve got a lease issue because we’ll be combining households, and—”
“How soon are you shacking up?” Barth’s voice cracked.
“Not shacking up. Getting married. We’re eloping since neither of us have parents around.”
“Grammy’s going to kill you, ’Maya. You can’t do that to her.”
“Grammy can’t afford a wedding, and neither can we. But anyway,” she pressed. “Frank’s lease still has four months on it, but he has to move out, so he can grab this killer deal we found on a condo we want. He’ll set up house while I help Charlene get a new roomie to take my place.”
“Why don’t I be her roomie?” teased Barth. “You know she’s got a thing for me.”
“Uh, yeah. Keep dreaming about that one, Barth. But really, Frank’s place is nice.”
“How much is his rent?”
She quoted the price, and Barth whistled. “Too steep.”
“But you won’t have any start-up costs.”
“Nope.”
Amaya sighed. “If Grammy and Pappy wouldn’t have heart attacks, I’d actually say you should move in with Charlene. It’s cheap, and she’s totally not interested in you, but …”
“But Grammy and Pappy are already going to die when they find our you’re getting married. How can you sneak out on them like that? Can’t I be Frank’s best man? It’s not like he has a ton of friends.”
“Ha ha,” said Amaya without humor. “You’re so funny. Anyway, sounds like you and Charlene will probably need to be our witnesses. Let’s talk about this later. Maybe there’s some shuffling we can do.”
“But soon. I need to move out. I smell like Grammy’s couch.”
“It smells like you.”
He whined and meandered down the candy aisle. “C’mon, Amaya. Help me out here.”
“I’ll talk to Charlene, but don’t hold your breath on this. She’s probably got a dozen guys that would move in with her in a heartbeat, and she’d actually want them.”
“Rub it in, ’Maya. Nobody wants me. Not for working. Not for living. Not for loving.”
“Bartholomew Jefferson, will you please leave being the Drama Queen to me?”
“Can’t Charlene take Frank’s place, and I’ll stay with you? That’ll give me some time to find a roomie, and you could wait a little longer to get married until I convince you to let the family come, too.”
&nbs
p; Amaya didn’t answer right away. “Let me make some more phone calls, and I’ll get back to you tomorrow at Sunday dinner.”
Chieko wondered if the Vaseline-on-the-teeth gimmick really worked. She couldn’t summon a real smile, and the camera would be going live in three minutes.
“What’s wrong?” asked Ryan. “You’re not looking as chipper as you’ve been lately.”
“Huh? Oh.” It showed that much? “I got some bad news.” Parker’s voicemail about Barth no longer being part of the segment projects had tied her stomach in knots.
“You missed the sale at Nordstrom’s?” persisted Ryan.
She deadpanned him. “I’m more of a Walmart Wanda. Can’t you tell?”
“Meow!” He pretended to hiss at her as he adjusted his hidden mic. “Come on now. Cheer up. We get to talk about the triple homicide and the fire at the puppy farm.”
“I hate you.” They both knew she didn’t mean it, and Ryan laughed.
“Hate me with a smile. Come on, imagine you’re smooching that new boyfriend of yours. That always puts a stupid grin on your face.”
Chieko’s eyes popped wider as the theme music sounded and the camera light indicated they’d gone live.
“Hello, I’m Ryan Tyler!” boomed Ryan in his cheeriest tone.
Chieko spluttered. “And I’m Chieko Makiguchi. Thank you for joining us this evening on KGW weekend news. First off tonight …” She went on automatic pilot, infusing the right measure of perky interest or sympathy as the subject matter demanded. Occasionally, she almost reversed the two in her distraction. Perhaps she’d add emojis to the teleprompter to cue her tone in the future.
When she and Ryan swiveled right to cue the weather reporter to do her spiel, Chieko caught sight of someone standing on the side of the set watching her intently.
Charles!
“Oh no!” she whined just as the cameras refocused on her.
“Yep, looks like we’ll have a soggy week,” agreed Ryan, misunderstanding her outburst. “Make sure you keep those turkeys inside. I hear they’ll drown themselves in the rain when they look up.”
Chieko gaped at him. This was his idea of banter? What was she supposed to say? “Gobble gobble glug glug?”
Ryan snorted a laugh.
Chieko kept herself from crossing her eyes and resumed reading the teleprompter. “A group of kids at Doernbecher Children’s Hospital got a surprise visit today from none other than Charles Sato—”
“You mean Charles Barkley?” interjected Ryan with a cough.
“Of course! The star of the MBA.”
“NBA,” corrected Ryan, his eyebrows cracking their shellac.
Chieko let out a flustered giggle. “Sorry, Ryan. I’m tripping up over my own tongue tonight. Charles Barkley of NBA fame came to …” She got herself back on track verbally but knew the pound of powder on her face could never hide her flushed cheeks.
What was Charles Sato doing on the sidelines watching her work?!
Twenty-two painful minutes later, the final music played, and the lights switched off to save power. Chieko ripped the mic from her collar and stormed over to Charles.
“What are you doing here?”
“I like your tail.”
“What?” She spun to look behind her and found the mic dangling on its cord from the battery pack tucked into her skirt. “Ugh.” With a frustrated tug, she yanked it loose, hiking her skirt up a few inches in the process. “Rrrrgh!” She fumbled with the apparatus, trying not to drop or throw it while she clattered back to the desk to set it down, and then scurried back to Charles, tugging her hem back down from mid-thigh as she went.
Charles had the good grace not to laugh at her.
He did not, however, keep himself from gawking at her legs. He flashed his scrawny-man grin at Ryan. “I have this effect on women.”
Ryan cast a skeptical glance at Chieko as if to ask, “Who is this guy?”
Still struggling to fix her skirt, Chieko gripped Ryan’s arm and followed him further offset. “Don’t leave me alone with him.”
“He’s not your boyfriend?”
“How could you even think such a thing?”
Ryan shrugged, glancing over her shoulder at Charles. “I don’t know. He’s kind of stiff and proper like you.”
“That’s just the business suit. Inside he’s a flailing chimpanzee in the throes of puberty.”
Ryan chuckled and placed his hands on her shoulders to turn her around. “I think you’d better face the chimp. Looks like he’s got something for you.”
Charles pulled a bouquet of roses and a small jewelry box from behind his back with a knowing look. “Miss Makiguchi, may I have a moment?”
“This is not happening. This is not happening,” muttered Chieko. Louder, she said, “Um. Hang on. I need to… um. Hang on.”
She turned and bolted out the door and down the hall. A moment later, she burst outside and ran clacking in her heels across the crowded Pioneer Courthouse Square towards the Starbuck’s stand. “Andres!” she called out to the familiar barista. “Gimme my usual, and I’ll tip you an extra $20 if you let me hide behind the counter with you.”
Andres whipped his long bangs back from his sparkling black eyes. “I … uh …”
Chieko vaulted herself up onto the counter amidst surprised shouts from other customers, several of whom recognized her.
“Hide me!”
She landed, wrenching her left ankle, and dropped to a crouch beside Andres’ legs.
He looked down at her, eyes wide. “Uh, Chieko, I don’t know if I can do this. The food handler laws are—”
“Thirty bucks! I’ll tip you thirty bucks and give you a shout out next time I’m on the air.”
“One medium vanilla latte with cinnamon and an extra shot of full cream coming right up.” He busied himself with the preparation of her drink. “Everybody take a step back, please. Nothing to see here.”
Chieko grimaced up at the other barista. “Hi, Kristen. Sorry about this.”
“No worries,” said the young woman with pink, spiky hair and enlarged earlobes. “We get this kind of thing all the time.”
“Seriously?”
“No. But since I assume you’re running from a psychotic fan and not the police, I’m good with whatever.” Kristen didn’t miss a beat as she continued to fill someone else’s order.
“Thank you, sir,” said Andres to someone. “She’s right down here.”
Chieko frowned up at him, and a second later, Charles’ face appeared, peeking over the counter.
“There she is!” he cooed as if she were a kitten found hiding under a bed.
Chieko rose slowly and stood nose-to-nose with Andres. “How could you? After all we’ve been to each other?”
Andres flashed an apologetic smile. “This guy tipped me a hundred bucks.”
“You’re a mercenary pig. You know that, right?”
“A mercenary pig who can now afford to adopt that teacup Yorkie he’s been eyeing at the pet store for three months.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m going to name it Thor.”
“We are officially over, you and I.” Chieko glared at Andres, tucking in her blouse, lifting her chin, and flipping her hair. She hesitated and turned to Kristen. “How do I get out of here?”
“Through the closet thing there.” Kristen pointed with a bran muffin in her hand.
“Thank you.”
Ignoring Charles’ petulant calls to her, Chieko limped through the supply storage area, puncturing a flattened cardboard box on the floor with her stilettos before emerging into the narrow space between the Starbucks and the brick wall lining the square. In response to a sound to her left, she darted right as quickly as she could with her throbbing ankle, but before she could reach open space, a hand fell on her shoulder.
“Running away?” asked Charles. “I had no idea you could get so physical.” He pressed her with his proximity.
“I wanted to… um…
see Andres.”
Charles’ eyebrow arched, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “What’s he got that I don’t?”
Chieko drew in a deep breath and crossed her arms at her waist. The shadows in the narrow alley were thick, making it hard to read Charles’ expression.
“He knows how I like it,” she said with deliberate sass.
Charles’ chuckle revealed the direction of his mind. “I can learn. Teach me?”
Chieko shoved the roses out of her way, scattering them to the ground. “I’m talking about a latte, Charles. Oh my gosh, can’t you take a hint?” She marched to the end of the alley, bracing herself on the walls to favor her right leg.
“I took all your hints. I saw how you dressed for me at last week’s dinner. I heard you call out my name in your broadcast tonight. You can’t stop thinking about me, can you?”
“That’s not what I—” She stopped short, barred from escape by a small crowd of spectators who had shifted to the side of the Starbucks to view their local celebrity’s game of Hide-and-Seek. “Um, hello, everyone. Thanks for watching. Show’s over, and I need an ice pack.”
“Chieko Makiguchi needs an ice pack!” hollered someone from the back.
Before she could press through the throng, someone handed her a cup of crushed ice. “Will this do?”
“Uh, thank you.”
“Here, let me help.” Charles reached around her and took the cup. He held it to her forehead.
“My ankle, Charles. Not my—” Chieko squeaked as he knelt and slid the ice cup all the way down her leg, causing her to squirm closer to him. She gritted her teeth, knowing she couldn’t kick someone in public like this. Not when everyone recognized her.
“The other ankle, Charles.” Her voice lilted musically even as she plotted a way to claw his eyes out.
She stared in horror as he placed the cup on the ground and flipped open the jewelry box to reveal a diamond ring the size of a gumball.
“Charles, not here!”
“Are you kidding me?” called someone in the crowd. “This guy’s proposing to Chieko Makiguchi!”
Phones lifted in a flurry of flashes, and she knew her response would be recorded and posted all over social media. She couldn’t shame her family or say something inappropriate that might get her fired. But what could she do?