Crazy in Chicago

by Norah-Jean Perkin

  “No, spoken like someone who’d like to lose five pounds. Here, help me shove the couch back to the wall.”

  Cody complied, and they had the couch back against the wall with a minimum of effort. When he straightened, he studied her. “Why do you want to lose weight? You look fine to me. Very fine, actually.”

  Roberta turned away to hide the color she could feel rushing into her face. It was nice he thought she looked good. But men always said stupid things like that. Then ran off after the next tall, gorgeous woman to come along. “Here, I’ll get that milk for you now,” she said. “Why don’t you go out and sit in the garden?”

  As she poured Cody a tall glass of milk, and herself a diet lemonade, she heard the sliding door open. The sounds of the city at night permeated her apartment. She sighed. She’d feel a lot better if she knew why Cody was here. Did he want to talk about UFOs? Was it as simple as wanting a little company? Could he possibly be interested in her?

  She snorted at the last thought. Men who looked as good as him, and were as charming and well-employed, usually didn’t need to knock on a neighbor’s door for company. And as for being interested in her, he probably had women lined up from here to his office. No, it had to be work-related.

  She lifted the tray and headed for the garden. But still, Cody puzzled her. For someone she’d just met, he seemed far more familiar than he should. As if she’d known him. But from where?

  She slid open the door and slipped out. The object of her thoughts stood by the parapet, his back to her, broad shoulders filling the Bulls T-shirt, and legs akimbo in a blatantly masculine stance. Only the rich brown hair curling in little-boy fashion at the nape of his neck hinted at some sort of vulnerability, a chink in the perfect picture—the kind of thing that always, unfortunately, attracted Roberta. She frowned. And why did he seem so familiar?

  She shook her head and set the tray on a white metal table. “One milk, coming up.”

  Cody slid into a chair across from her, grasped the glass, then looked up with mock surprise. “What? You didn’t heat it up?”

  Roberta rolled her eyes. “Don’t push your luck. At least I had two per cent milk for a change, and not that watery skim milk I drink most the time.” She made a face and muttered, “Heat your milk. You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Actually, I’m not. I love warm milk. But this will do just fine.” He picked up the glass and downed half of it in one long gulp. When he set it down, he wore a milk mustache. Unself-consciously he licked part of it off, then wiped off the rest with the back of his hand.

  He looked up and caught her watching him. She flushed; he grinned.

  “Oh no. Are you going to throw me out because my table manners are bad?”

  Disconcerted, Roberta scrambled for a plausible excuse for staring. “No, I was just thinking you’d look good in one of those milk commercials. You know, the ones where famous people are shown wearing milk mustaches?”

  “A commercial, huh? That’s probably more up your boss’s line. He seems to love the spotlight.” Cody’s eyes twinkled. “Too bad you’re not drinking milk. We could compare moustaches.”

  Roberta smiled nervously. Was he flirting? Why didn’t he just get down to business? He’d already made a comment about Garnet. Maybe she should ask him outright.

  Before she could say anything, Cody resolved the question. Pushing his glass aside, he crossed his arms on the table top and leaned towards her. “Speaking of your boss, how’d you ever come to work for the illustrious Dr. Garnet Jones?”

  Something in his tone made her wary. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d defended her boss. She was used to Garnet’s peremptory and sometimes arrogant ways; he often offended people who didn’t know him. “I answered an ad in the paper,” she said. “It sounded interesting, so I took the job.”

  Cody unfolded his arms. He looked at her searchingly. “So you weren’t drawn to SUFOW because of some personal experience with aliens or UFOs?”

  Relieved that this wasn’t an attack on her boss, Roberta shook her head. “No. Not me, personally. But I did know someone who believed she’d been abducted by aliens. It was my roommate in college. She had a nervous breakdown.”

  Cody frowned. “And?”

  Roberta bit her lip. To this day, she felt guilty about her skeptical response to her roommate’s story. “I don’t know whether she fell apart because she’d been abducted, or because no one believed her at the time. I know I didn’t. No one did. She ended up in a psychiatric hospital, and eventually moved back east to her family.”

  “That must have been pretty upsetting for you,” observed Cody. “Do you think it’s affected your attitude to the idea of aliens coming to Earth?”

  “I know it made me question a lot of my beliefs.”

  “But now?” Cody persisted. “I’d like to know. Do you actually believe UFOs and aliens are visiting Earth? Garnet apparently does, and makes a good buck from his belief.”

  “I make a good buck from it too,” Roberta answered quietly. Besides her salary, she received a portion of Garnet’s royalties from the last book, the one she’d helped him research and write. She wasn’t ashamed of her role, but neither was it any of Cody’s business. Not yet, anyway.

  “That’s fine. But what about you?” Cody repeated.

  Roberta paused. She wanted Cody to think well of her. She didn’t delve into why. But she didn’t want to lie either. “This isn’t for publication, is it?”

  “No. I’d just like to know. I’m curious.” Cody sat back in his chair. His voice took on a speculative edge. “What exactly do you think of all this crapola?

  “Crapola?” Roberta bristled.

  “So you do believe?”

  “There are thousands of unexplained events, strange happenings that have no parallel in our Earthly experience,” Roberta retorted. “Maybe one at a time they can be dismissed, but when you add it all up, there’s just too much evidence to ignore. So if you’re asking, yes, I do believe. I believe aliens and UFOs have come to Earth and will continue to do so, despite the negative, disbelieving attitudes of people like you.”

  “And it’s not just guilt over your roommate?”

  Cody’s perceptive question jarred Roberta. “No!”

  “Hmm.” Unruffled by her denial, Cody posed another question. “So you really meant it the other night when you lay out here asking aliens to take you?”

  Roberta’s temper flared even as she saw the tiny smile play around Cody’s mouth. He was teasing her, but she couldn’t prevent herself from rising to the bait.

  “Stop it,” she snapped. She’d been ridiculed one too many times, by everyone from her family members and friends to absolute strangers. She wasn’t going to take it now, here in her own home. It didn’t matter how charming or good-looking Cody was.

  “It’s people like you, sensationalizing perfectly reasonable events, making fun of people with weird headlines and stories about two-headed babies, twisting what’s said. You open up the words and experiences of perfectly sincere people to nothing but ridicule.”

  “Two-headed babies?” Cody’s brow puckered. “What do two-headed babies have to do with what I’m talking about?”

  When she ignored his question, he continued. “Besides, doesn’t your Dr. Jones and SUFOW play to the media? Isn’t Jones the one who tells the stories of the scary abductions, the frightening medical examinations by aliens, the sinister inter-breeding plans by extraterrestrials? If anyone’s to blame for sensationalism, it’s him.”

  Stung by the criticism, Roberta lashed back. “As usual, you’re exaggerating. But that’s what the media always do, don’t they? Blow everything out of proportion.”

  “No they don’t.” Cody’s even tone started to fray. “Maybe the National Enquirer or The Globe. But not The Streeter. And not me.”

  His eyes glittered dangerously but Roberta ignored the warning. “If you’re so principled, why do you work for The Streeter?” she challenged. “It’s just another sensationalist
ic rag, doing anything to make money.”

  Cody opened his mouth, then shut it. A spark of shame niggled at Roberta for her attack, but she shoved it aside. Why should she always be the one on the defensive?

  “The Streeter is not a rag,” Cody finally said in a slow, deliberate voice. “I work there because they pay me well and allow me freedom to write about anything I want. I used to work for The Tribune, and it was great, but the people there aren’t any more principled than at The Streeter. The Streeter gives my work good play and is starting to command more respect all the time.”

  Roberta watched the grim set of his jaw. The picture tripped a switch in her memory. Her eyes widened.

  She knew where she’d seen that handsome face before. She knew why he seemed so familiar.

  She’d seen that face plastered on newspaper after newspaper, and on the morning and evening TV news. She’d read all about him in great detail, day after day, along with everyone else in the Chicago area. She had a file with every word written about him in the cabinet in her bedroom, and another complete set of clippings at work.

  She stared at him, her eyes round. “I know who you are,” she said. “You’re that reporter—the reporter who mysteriously disappeared last year for six weeks!”

  Chapter 3

  Defensiveness and anger drained out of Cody, replaced by a deep weariness. He shut his eyes. He hated talking about his disappearance, but there was no point denying it.

  He sighed and opened his eyes. “Yes. That’s me.”

  His gaze settled on Roberta’s expressive face. He watched as a myriad of emotions crossed it. Surprise. Curiosity. Eagerness. Excitement. Was she remembering what she’d read about him? Had she read about his string of girlfriends, his life in the fast lane, his flirtation with dangerous sports? His former fiancee, a columnist at The Streeter, had written about every aspect of his life, including his many faults, in the paper’s extensive coverage of his disappearance. On his return to work, he’d read every article and cringed more than once.

  “So what happened to you?” Roberta interrupted his thoughts. “I don’t remember hearing or seeing much afterwards except that you’d been found. And something about you losing your memory.”

  “Yes.” He paused. What was the quickest way to answer her question and end this discussion? “They found me in a waterfront park, walking around in a daze and muttering incoherently. The first thing I remember, though, is waking up in the hospital, surrounded by doctors and nurses.”

  “But don’t you remember anything about the time you were gone? Not even now?”

  “No. Not a thing. Even after being poked and prodded by numerous doctors and therapists. They gave me pills, injections, even tried hypnosis, but didn’t come up with a bloody thing.”

  He rubbed his jaw as he recalled the unpleasant weeks and months after his return. He didn’t mention that he’d cut his treatment short because the therapists had tried to delve into his childhood whenever they reached a blocked path. Hell, he didn’t want to talk about his childhood or his relationship with his parents. He wanted to know where he’d been for six weeks, dammit. Six weeks of his life had been stolen, and he wanted them back.

  Bitterness flooded through him. He blinked. He hadn’t realized before just how resentful his disappearance had made him.

  “But the police? Didn’t they come up with anything?”

  The concern in Roberta’s voice pulled him back to the present. He looked up, surprised to see tenderness shimmering in her eyes. Outside of a purely professional concern, it had been a long time since anyone outside his immediate family had cared about him, or he had cared that they did. His reluctance to speak faded.

  “Well, the cops found my car by the roadside, supposedly the day after I disappeared. There were no signs of violence and nothing had been stolen. Eventually, in the absence of any clues, the paper consulted a psychic. The best she could come up with was that I was in a strange, cold place. But if you read the stories, you already know that.”

  He halted abruptly. His stomach had started to roil, and a damp chill slid down his spine, signs he now recognized as the first warnings of the debilitating nausea that had been sweeping over him for days.

  He stood up and walked over to the parapet, hoping to circumvent the attack. But it was too late. He gripped the railing like a life raft as waves of nausea assaulted him. He took deep gulps of air. Finally, after about forty seconds, the sickness passed.

  He sighed in relief. As he breathed in again, the comforting heat of another body infiltrated his senses. Roberta’s bare arm brushed his arm, and she closed her hand over his. She squeezed it gently, and gazed up at him.

  “I’m sorry if my questions upset you. It must be awful to be missing for such a long time and have no idea where you were or what you were doing. I can’t even imagine how that would feel.”

  Cody remained silent, letting the equal comfort of her words and the heat of her hand seep into him. Finally he spoke. “It’s all right. It’s natural that you’d want to know. Most people do.

  “But you’re right. It is awful not knowing. I think this is the first time I realized just how much I resent not knowing. Not knowing where I was or why. Not knowing why I was wearing the same clothes I disappeared in, and yet they didn’t seem the least bit worn or dirty. Not knowing why my hair seemed the same length, or why I had only one day’s growth of beard after six weeks. Not knowing anything!”

  He shook his head, fighting off the nausea that seemed to be hovering just outside him, waiting for a chance to assault him yet again. She squeezed his hand and he smiled, momentarily forgetting the struggle.

  “It’s all pretty strange,” she said.

  “Yes. Strange that the doctors could find nothing wrong with me, no evidence of drugs or foreign bodies, and yet I had changed in some very basic ways. For example, I used to be a slob. Not untidy. A slob. But not any more. Ever since my return, I can’t abide messes.”

  “Maybe you just matured,” offered Roberta.

  Cody snorted and his smile grew more deprecating. “And you may have read that I was, to put it kindly, something of a womanizer. Now, well, I haven’t been out with a woman for a year. Even worse, I haven’t been the least bit interested in starting anything up.”

  But I am now! The thought hit with absolute certainty. He raised his eyes to Roberta’s, and read the question shimmering in the deep blue depths, a question he neither wanted to nor could ignore. Deliberately he clasped her hand between both of his. He drew the rough pads of his fingers along the smooth silkiness of her skin. Slowly he tilted his head, intent on capturing her sweet lips and exploring the attraction between them.

  His mouth brushed hers. She trembled. Encouraged, he pressed forward, slanting his lips over hers for more of her sweet taste. Warm and pliant, she returned the kiss, with a tenderness that sent his heart soaring.

  His pulse quickened, sparking fire in the long-dry tinder of his desire. Suddenly ravenous, he slid his hand behind her head to bring the sweetness closer. Her lips opened under his. He took what she offered, with a joy and openness he’d forgotten existed.

  Without warning Roberta pulled back. She stepped away from him, her eyes round, her lips wet.

  Loss swept over Cody. He raised one eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

  “No . . . Yes—” Her face flamed, reminding him vividly of the night he’d surprised her in the garden. “It’s just . . . we have a professional relationship to maintain.”

  “I hadn’t realized you were my doctor,” he quipped.

  “No! That’s not what I mean. I’m . . .” She looked away. “I’m a source for your stories. You can’t—well, we just can’t do this.”

  “All right then,” he said agreeably. “I won’t ask you any more work-related questions. I’ll have the professional relationship with your boss, and a personal relationship with you.”

  He took a step towards her. She backed up. He scowled.

  “No,” she said. Sh
e raked her hand through her hair. “Besides, I’m all wrong for you. I’m not the kind of woman you usually go out with.”

  “No?” His scowl deepened. “And how would you know that? Do you believe everything you read in the papers? Besides, I told you I’ve changed. I haven’t been interested in any woman since my disappearance. But that all changed the night I met you. Ever since I saw you that first night, out under the stars, you’ve fascinated me.” He took another step towards her.

  “Me?” she squeaked, grasping the back of a metal chair.

  “Yes, you.” Cody reached out and covered the hand with which she grasped the chair.

  “Uh, you’re making a mistake.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Cody was taken aback by her reaction. He’d been certain he read attraction and interest in her manner. Had he been out of the game so long he’d misread the signals?

  “Why do you keep backing up?” he persisted. “Do you already have a boyfriend?”

  Roberta pulled her hand out from under his. She retreated to the hedge separating their gardens. She didn’t look at him. “No. There’s no one.”

  Her answer perplexed Cody. Why was she moving away from him? A slight professional relationship seemed a flimsy excuse for breaking off a kiss. Especially a kiss that he felt certain she had wanted every bit as much as he had.

  “I just wanted to kiss you. And then . . .”

  The unspoken possibilities in his unfinished sentence hung in the air between them.

  She turned away. “Well, I don’t want to kiss you. I want us to be friendly neighbors, and that’s all.”

  She faced him again, her expression stern. “I want you to drink your milk and go. Now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Cody grinned. He knew when to pack up and leave. For now.

  He reached for the glass of milk, raised it to her, then drained the glass in one long swig. A line of milk remained above his upper lip and once again he licked it away with the tip of his tongue. A thrill of pleasure rushed through him when he glanced up and caught her watching once more.