Fade In

by Mabie, M.

The only thing I can think to say is, “Bingo.”

  “Bingo? Who the fuck says bingo?” Winnie shrieks over the phone when I call her about five minutes after Ben left to get her take on the matter. “I think it was nice. Why'd you have to be such an ass?”

  “Because! He just took it upon himself to make ‘adjustments’ to my house! Why didn't he ask first? Don't you think that it was a tad presumptuous? I said to organize! Who does that?”

  I talk to her as I tidy up the mess left in my kitchen, unable to sort the anger from the gratitude in my head. I really want her to be as annoyed with him as I am, but I've totally under-calculated her temper.

  “All I'm saying is maybe he wasn't even going to tell you. You told him you usually work late and he was probably going to have it all cleaned up and done before you ever noticed. For real, Tatum. If you hadn't caught him doing it, you probably would have thought they always just did that! He's either a really perceptive PA or that man has the hots for you.”

  “He was overqualified!” I don't even know how that applies to my argument, but I shout it nonetheless.

  “Oh for crying out fucking loud. Drop it. He wasn't being a jerk. How is your head anyway? I saw it today and it looked a little better, but hell, that thing looks painful.” Winnie knows I won't complain about or mention it unless she asks.

  “It's sore, but better. Think I should call him?” I rub the sore spot and feel the bump finally receding some.

  “No. Talk to him tomorrow. You just want to argue anyway.”

  Cut from the same cloth are this girl and I. I do want to argue. I've only known this guy for a hot minute and he is already so far under my skin that I can't think straight.

  “You're right. What's Cooper doing?” I ask as I finish cleaning up the last of the small renovation mess and help myself to a bowl of the chili Ben left warming on my stove.

  “Hi, Tate. I'm right here.”

  My eyes roll of their own free will at the knowledge of him listening this whole time. “Shit. What do you think about all that? And you two twats should tell me when I'm on speakerphone.” See? What I did I tell you? There is absolutely no confidentiality between those two and me.

  “Can I be honest?” And he waits for the answer to his stupid rhetorical question.

  “No,” I deny, facetiousness getting the best of me.

  “I thought about doing that a while back. I was showing a house that had them a few weeks ago and I think they're cool. Winnie's right though. He's either a super assistant or he likes you.”

  Typical.

  “He's a stupid jerk.” And then I chuckle. I sound so childish.

  I take a bite of the chili and moan. It. Is. Amazing.

  Winnie has to hear me. Hell, my next-door neighbor probably thinks I have a cow in my condo with the noises that leave my body. “What's that? Are you moaning?”

  Talking with a mouthful of heaven, I sputter, “Ben made me chili.”

  In unison, I hear them say, “He's likes you.” That suits me just fine in that moment. His chili almost makes up for my bruised ego. It was first class.

  After I finish the bowl—okay, two bowls—of chili and go over some wedding stuff with them, I lie in bed watching entertainment news. While flipping through countless tabloids and taking a few notes for the show, I notice that I'm looking at my phone. A lot.

  I want to call him. I think I can just call and thank him for the chili. That won't be weird, right? Dinner is a nice gesture, and it might let him know that I can be appreciative.

  After picking up my cell and putting it down a half dozen times, I just do it.

  “Hello.” Ben’s voice sounds gravelly like he's been sleeping.

  “It's Tatum. I'm sorry. Were you sleeping?” Pulling the phone out, I look at the time. Shit, it is eleven thirty. Real smooth.

  “Yeah, but that's okay. I fell asleep reading. Is everything all right?” I can hear him shifting around and further waking up as he yawns. “What time is it anyway?”

  “Oh, not that late. Anyway, I was just calling to thank you for the dinner. It was delicious.” I am derailing quickly. Short and sweet, Tatum. Why did I think was a good idea?

  “You're welcome. But you could have just thanked me tomorrow. It is nearly midnight. Why aren't you sleeping?” Busted.

  “I know. Listen, I'm sorry for waking you up. I didn't realize it was this late. I was just watching TV and lost track of time. You're right. I need to get to sleep.”

  “No. No, it's fine. You just surprised me is all.”

  “Touché.” Now that I'm talking to him, I've softened. I don't want to argue at all. I'm pulled more towards apologizing. “I sort of overreacted earlier about the cabinets. I do appreciate it. I'm just... I don't know.” I click off the television and lie there in the dark on the phone with Ben on the other end of the line.

  “No. I should have asked you if I should do that. It was rude and insensitive of me.” I hear the sincerity in his low, sleep-cloaked voice. “That's my grandmother's recipe.”

  “What?”

  “The chili. She taught me how to make that when I was a kid. I've always loved it.”

  “It was wonderful. You have to let me repay you for that. You're not my cook or whatever. You don't have to do all of that.”

  “I wanted to. Besides, you had most of the ingredients. I just had to grab a few things when I was out on the way back from the hardware store.”

  My hand absentmindedly picks and fiddles with the fuzzy knots that adorn a nearby throw pillow. “Well, it was thoughtful. Let me buy you lunch tomorrow. I'm not used to all of this, I don't know...?”

  “Assistance?” he offers, and we laugh.

  “Yeah, I guess.” I nod then realize that I'm stupid because he can't see me. “It's just weird having someone in my space who I don't know, you know? It is a bit intrusive.” Here I go again. “Not that you're an intruder or anything, Ben. I'm not making any sense.”

  “I get what you're saying and I understand. It can be awkward getting used to new people, but we have time.”

  “Are you always like this? So insightful? What are you, some kind of life coach? You're very Yoda-like.”

  He laughs loudly, and it's music to my ears. Some people love the sound of babies cooing or the ocean. I love the sound of a laugh that I've earned. “Yoda-like? That's a new one. I've just spend a lot of time examining people. Sometimes I don't realize that I'm doing it.”

  “Hmmm, well you'll have plenty of time to examine me. I guess.” Shit. I'm almost flirting again. Why do I always want to flirt with him? Oh, that's right. Because he's fucking hot as sin.

  “Trust me, I know. And I'm looking forward to it.” Is he flirting back? Because it sounded like he was.

  We talk for over an hour about our favorite places to go in the city and college. He's easy to talk to and even easier to listen to. As it gets later, his voice grows even lower and quieter, making me pay even more attention than I normally would have. It's grainy and smooth at the same time. I think about recording him and side with my peek-a-boo sanity not to.

  “Well I've kept you up long enough. Your boss will be upset if you're late,” I joke, trying to get off of the phone before this call turns down a road I'm not sure I can handle facing in the morning.

  “Well, what if it was sort of her fault I was up all night.” His voice takes on a sensual tone, and my body reacts when he says “up.”

  I don't know if it's the few beers I've finished in the time we've been talking creeping up on me, but my head is swimming and I'm glad I'm already lying down. My thoughts turn to what part of him I'd like to see up.

  I facepalm myself in the forehead and wince as I hit my injury. That's what I get.

  I backpedal. “She wouldn't do that. She's very professional.”

  “Pro-fess-ion-al,” he repeats back to me slowly.

  “Yes. Professional. She takes her business very seriously and she doesn't like to be kept waiting.” Shit. That one was all me. I hear a
hitch in his breath, and I know this is having the same effect on him.

  “I wouldn't want to keep her waiting, now would I? That would be frustrating.”

  “Ben?”

  “Tatum.” Hearing my name cross his lips in that sultry voice is more of a turn-on than I could have ever imagined and I need to shut it down. “You looked really pretty this morning.”

  “I did?”

  “Yep. And I bet you look even better right now in bed.”

  My pulse races. How does he know I'm in bed?

  He yawns, and that makes me yawn too, even though now I'm wide awake.

  “Thanks. You weren't that bad to look at yourself. What makes you think I'm in bed?”

  “I don't know. I was just guessing. It is the middle of the night.” He pauses before adding, “And that's where I've been picturing you.”

  I blush. “You're picturing me? What am I wearing?” I laugh to myself, thinking that the cliché question is suppose to be “What are you wearing?” But we're in his imagination and I'm eager to know what he keeps there.

  He makes a humming sound that vibrates all the way through me. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.” My one-word answer comes out slowly and wavers in and out, sounding like a question.

  I hear the air hiss through his teeth before he says, “It isn't much. Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning.” Then he's gone before I even say goodnight or talk him further into a pay-by-the-minute type of conversation.

  I won't bore you with the details, but my faithful device, Mr. Right, just didn't cut it tonight. Maybe it's time for a new one.

  Or new lots of things.

  The next morning, I wake up feeling amazing, even with the little sleep I got. In the shower, I think back to chatting with Ben the night before, glad that it stopped where it did. I know where last night could have gone, but thankfully it didn't. I ready myself to take on the day and whatever it might bring, as long as isn't late-night telephone calls with a smoking-hot employee of mine. I know I'm begging for trouble.

  As I fill my coffee mug, I hear him unlocking my door. Pausing in my tracks, I note my excitement at the thought of seeing him. It doesn't hurt that I dressed up a little extra again.

  “Good morning, Ben. Coffee?” I turn to see his tired face. It offers the sweetest of smiles. He's still dressed well, but it's a little more casual than yesterday or the day before.

  “I'd love some. Thanks. Did you have time to review your schedule?”

  “I did. I think that it looks great. I have a few things that need to go the cleaners. And I'd really like to have a cleaning service hired in the next week. So you can look more into that if you want. Ugh, and I need to start on plans for Winnie's bridal shower.” I know it's a long shot, as he is clearly a man and probably won't want to be bothered with things like that, but I most definitely need assistance with it.

  “Sure. I can help with that. We'll just need to discuss what you're looking for and I can get the ball rolling.”

  I hand him a mug, saying that it's only black but I have cream and sugar if he wants it. I suppose that's silly because apparently he's already very familiar with my kitchen.

  “I'm gonna go now. No need to walk me down. In fact, relax and wake up. You look a little tired.” I offer an apologetic smile. I can’t stop myself.

  His hazel eyes look at me with kind acknowledgment and he huffs a short laugh. “I'm plenty rested, thank you. You look very professional this morning.” His full smile takes my breath away. Damn. Tired Ben Harris is hot in the morning.

  “Yes, and oddly not the least bit frustrated.”

  He's amused, and he shakes his head at me a little. We lock eyes right before I close the door behind me. I smile back at him and wink. I suppose I am a winker in real life.

  Once in the car, I send him a text.

  Me: I still owe you lunch. Eleven. You pick the place.

  Ben: I'll pick you up.

  About ten minutes later, I'm strutting into my office and predictably meet with a very perky Cynthia.

  “Good morning, Tatum. You only have one message and you have flowers in your office.” Her face looks like the cat that ate the canary. Then she peeks into the corner office that now belongs to the Devons and I observe that little Devon's desk is strategically in view of hers...still. Cynthia blushes, and I tell her, “Thank you,” before turning to walk back towards my office.

  When I reach my door, I'm not exactly sure what I’ll find. My first thoughts go to Kurt. Maybe he is sorry and wants me back. They could be from a friend or a thank-you, but deep down I secretly hope they are from Ben.

  They are. The beautiful rectangle pot hosts two huge, dark plum orchids. They're stunning. I see a note attached at the bottom and round my desk to read it.

  I can help but cackle out loud as the delicate card contains a recipe titled, “My MooMoo's Chili.” Ben is funny. I'm in deep shit.

  But then I turn it around and read another little note.

  Tatum,

  I was right. You looked beautiful this morning, too.

  Ben

  I call up to Cynthia to find out how long the flowers have been here. She tells me that the delivery man walked in with her over an hour ago. Warmth surrounds me as I realize that he probably sent them before he even saw me this morning. Ben is sweet. I'm in the deepest shit.

  Winnie enters, giving me a knowing expression that says, ‘I told you so.’ “Those are sweet. Are they an apology?”

  “Nope.” I quickly put the card down and pretend as if the flowers aren't even there. “Is everything ready for the morning hoedown? I want to go down to the set and make sure everything is shaping up for air tonight.”

  “Yeah, everyone is here. Tatum. Who are the flowers from? They're not from Kurt, are they?” Now she's backpedaling. She is so fun to play with.

  I maintain my nonchalance about the gift. “Nope. Are the digitals edited yet? We should watch them this morning, too.”

  “Tatum! Where did the Goddamned flowers come from?” It's driving her crazy. I can almost see her curly hair grow tighter as her blood pressure rises.

  “Ben,” I say, as if it's totally normal for a boss to receive flowers from an employee after his first day on the job.

  “What does the card say?”

  “Oh, it's delicious. Probably the most mouthwatering thing I've ever read.”

  “I knew it! He wants to bend you over! I have to see this guy. You have to fire him. When can I meet him? Neil says he's a God. Ahhh! Gimmie. Let me read it. They're so pretty.”

  I hand her the card and just wait for it.

  “What is this? His MooMoo's chili recipe? What in the fuck!? How did he know you liked...?” Then the light bulb goes off. “You called him. What did you say?”

  I tell her to shut the door. Then I make her swear on her Prada pumps. You see, we need something sacred. I tell her what happened last night and about what could have but didn't.

  On my way downstairs at about ten before eleven, I swing into the Devons’ lair to see what they're up to. They are debating the pros and cons of pubic hair. Thoroughly, I might add. They have a list on their whiteboard, and big Devon has his glasses on. It's all business in here.

  “How's it going in here, fellas?”

  “She can tell us,” big Devon gestures at me. “Do women like it when a man has hardwood flooring or a manly shag quaff? I myself like the way my rig looks sans merkin.”

  “Merkin? What's a merkin?” I ask. Do I even want to know?

  “You know, it's a dick wig. It's peni-flage. I guess it could also be vagi-flage, depending on gender. But in this case, it's a dick wig,” explains big Devon.

  I love it here.

  “Well, there are pros and cons to both varieties I suppose. A well-groomed rig, as you call it, says ‘I'm aware of how this operates and I pay attention to detail.’ However, a wild downstairs dick-do says ‘I'm up for just about anything,’” I deadpan. “See you after lunch. Get your sh
it ready for tonight. I'll see you on set at one.”

  Like I knew he would be, Ben is waiting for me in the lobby. He looks so naturally attractive. His jeans fit him in all the right places, and his gray v-neck shirt rests just above his belt. Is this a swoon? Am I thirteen again?

  He seems to be much more awake than he did just a few hours earlier, and I'll admit that now I'm sort of dragging.

  “Do you like Greek food?” is the first thing he says.

  “Yes. And it's close. Greek sounds perfect.”

  He leads me out of the building, and I can feel him watching me closely.

  “Do you go to lunch alone much?”

  “No, usually I go with Winnie or Neil. You've met him. Or we have something brought up. Why?” I ask as we walk out into the beautiful day. Horns honk and people wait for lights to change. Only, ‘red light, green light’ isn't as much fun when you're older and you’re standing with total strangers and not your friends.

  “Just curious. How's the show coming along this week? I watched a bit of it last week. Very funny.”

  “It’s going really well, truthfully. This week was sort of a cakewalk. We had most of the segments lined up on Monday and we’ve just been polishing work really. You can come watch it at the set any time you'd like.”

  Our show tapes live in front of a studio audience. Well, it is time-delayed for obvious reasons, but it’s as live as live is these days. Thanks to the boob plop heard around the world a few years back.

  “I'd come to the show. Sounds like fun.”

  He walks so close that our arms brush against each other every few feet and I like it. I enjoy it so much that I manage to 'accidentally' do it on purpose when his arm misses mine too many times in a row.

  “So have you lived in New York long? Does your family live here?” I curiously ask. I want to know more about this man. My life is sort of an open book to him and I don't even know very much about him.

  “No. I stayed in D.C. after school for a while. I just recently came back. I have a few relatives who live in the city, but most of my family lives up the island in Amagansett.”

  “I've been through there a few times on our way to the Hamptons. That town is beautiful. It's like a postcard. Did you grow up there?”