Maura smiled at her friend’s Chicago accent, then redirected her smile to several regulars as she made her way to the opposite side of the dark wood bar top. She plopped coasters in front of the women Dawn had pointed to. “Hi, ladies. What can I get y’all?”
Y’all … Who was she to laugh about accents? She’d left North Carolina three years ago and, as much as she tried to suppress her southern roots, that y’all still popped out when she least expected it.
The tall blonde, still in her long overcoat, scarf, and gloves leaned over and whispered something.
“Honey,” Maura shouted over the din, “you’ll have to speak up. Friday night, you know!” The hundred-some people chattering at hightops and the twenty-foot ceilings didn’t help matters.
The woman turned to her friend, but not before Maura spied her rolling her eyes.
Maura tossed a coaster in front of an older gentleman, a consultant she’d spoken to a few times over the last few weeks. His contract was for six months, and then he’d be gone. In the meantime, he was friendly and a good tipper who deserved her attention more than the blond snob.
“Same as usual, Hank?”
He smiled and winked, so Maura snatched a rocks glass off the bar, ran a lemon rind around the lip, packed the glass with ice, and free poured Jameson.
She looked up at the women as she poured. “You ladies ready?”
“DO YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE AN OLD FASHIONED?” asked the tall blonde.
An old fashioned … An old drink that had recently made a comeback. Maura resisted rolling her eyes and telling the woman she didn’t have to yell. Instead of responding, she pulled another rocks glass off the counter as she looked up at the woman’s friend.
“Whisky sour, please,” said the brunette. You could tell just by looking at the two women who ruled and who followed. Maura did neither anymore. High school was one thing, but she couldn’t imagine following an obnoxious be-atch around Chicago. Maura smiled at the second woman, letting her know she’d take care of her. At least the brunette knew if you wanted a good drink, fast, the key was to be kind. Being a snob had no power here.
The evening rushed by since, literally, one person after another stepped up to the bar to order. Normally, she’d make at least one or two loops of the hightops to ask if someone wanted another drink, but Dawn was right. Along with their typical happy-hour crowd, Maura barely had time to look at her watch, let alone leave early.
The first chance she had to breathe, she lifted her hand, lighting up her watch. Seven. Damn, she missed the start of the play.
She ripped off her apron. “Dawn, I gotta dip, girl. Can you handle it from here?”
“Sure, hon. Want me to just put your tips in the safe?”
“That’d be great. Minus a fifty. Mad money, you know, in the event I need to pay a bill and skip out quickly.”
“Yeah. Been there, done that. Have fun!” Dawn said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Maura turned back. “I’m going to my son’s play.”
Dawn grinned. “I’m talking about the Christmas party later. You are going, right? I’m not covering your shift unless you say yes.”
Maura sighed.
“Girlfriend, you said it’s important. I don’t want to be hearing how …” She lowered her head and whispered, “That bitchy woman’s holding you back. Go meet some of the hotshots.”
Clearly, she had complained to Dawn once too often. “Okay … I’ll go for a bit. But first, I have to get to Ben’s play.”
Dawn swatted a bar towel at her. “Get!”
Maura slipped into the washroom and changed into her LBD. Yeah, the slinky black dress was too formal for a school play, but she didn’t have time to change after the play. She’d just keep her overcoat on and hope the wrinkles would fall out of the polyester dress before the office party.
As she exited the washroom, her phone buzzed through a text from Jessica. 911 – I need you in the office. STAT!
“Oh, God. What now?” She pressed call but, of course, Jessica didn’t use her phone to talk.
NOW! Another text came through.
Maura glanced at the time, then darted for the elevator.
Upstairs, Maura jogged down the corridor to Jessica Larson’s office, senior editor … and all-around pain in the neck. It wasn’t that she disliked Jessica. Jessica could actually be funny and charming when she wanted to be. But the woman worked her like a dog. Anything that went wrong was Maura’s fault, not Jessica’s or, God forbid, the talent’s fault.
Jessica stood outside her office, dressed to kill in an LBD that wrapped her slender figure, accentuating her waist and flat tummy. The black dress featured sheer embellished panels across the neckline and hem that made it look longer, even though the actual black part barely covered her breasts and rear.
Still, Maura had to admit the woman looked classy, even while fanning herself with a piece of paper, which was too far away for Maura to read. “Have you read this?”
“I’m not sure. What is it?”
“It’s supposed to be Jim Johnson’s article for the Lifestyle section.”
Maura slowed her pace as if slowing down the inevitable would lessen whatever she — rather, Jim had done wrong. It wasn’t her job to copy-edit the piece, but she had. What else could have gone wrong?
Jessica planted a hand on her hip, then held out the makeshift fan with her other hand.
Maura accepted the page as if it might burn her. “Yes, I read it.”
“Did you fact-check it? Check the text for plagiarism?”
“What? Umm … No, I didn’t.”
“Sixty-two percent, Maura. If you’d checked the article for those two issues, as I requested you do all articles, you would have discovered the error. Sixty-two percent is too high. I only ask a few things of you. Now I don’t have a Travel & Outdoors piece, and Christmas is only three weeks away. People need ideas this time of year. They want — Never mind. Just fix the error, Maura!”
Error … Jim’s piece wasn’t an error; he’d been lazy. Maura dropped her arms and stepped forward. This was her chance. She would never knock down another journalist, but Jim hadn’t left her enough time to check the article. Maybe he’d purposely held his piece in his rush to get to the party, hoping she wouldn’t check. “What about one of the articles I submitted? Oh!” Maura chirped. “What about the article I wrote: Chicago’s Christmas Lights on a Dime. I mentioned the ZooLights at Lincoln Park Zoo. Lightscape at Chicago Botanic Garden. The Holiday Train. There are so many free or inexpensive places for families who can’t afford …”
Jessica furrowed her brow as if she didn’t have a clue, so Maura stopped babbling. How many articles had she written for the woman over the last three years? Each time, Jessica had killed the piece before it saw the light of day.
The woman raised a hand. “I don’t want another article. Readers expect to see Jim’s story. I want you to rewrite the piece, so it doesn’t show up as plagiarized.” She turned and walked into her office.
“Now?”
Jessica turned back before she sat behind her desk. “No, I want you to rewrite the article after it’s supposed to be published online. Of course, now!”
“But …”
Jessica raised a thin eyebrow. “Is there a problem, Maura?”
“No, ma’am.”
Maura plopped down behind her desk and retyped the article, replacing words, adding words … She pulled up Google and searched the topics of ice-fishing and snow-shoeing, neither of which she knew anything about. She didn’t participate in sports, especially winter sports, where she could slip and break something. Even ice skating was a challenge, and she promised Ben they’d go before Christmas.
After re-writing and re-reading nearly half the article, she checked the file, and it was passable.
She emailed the file to Jessica, then texted her: Sent.
Thanks.
Maura didn’t bother to look at her watch; she didn’t have time. She pushed the dow
n arrow for the elevator. Now would be a good time for a fairy godmother to show up, along with a carriage and six white stallions.
She’d have to settle for a 4-cylinder Uber. She hated spending the money, but she didn’t have time. She ordered the service on the way down and shot a quick thanks to the heavens when the driver made it to the front of the building before she did.
“Working late?” the man asked as she got in.
“Something like that. I know it’s not far, but would you rush, please? I’m super late for my son’s school play.”
The man stepped on the gas and had her in front of the four-story brick building in ten minutes.
She stepped out into the biting wind, praising her luck that at least it hadn’t snowed yet. Her black pumps weren’t conducive to running across ice-covered sidewalks. “Thank you! I’ll add a big tip!”
Inside the building, she followed the discordant, but cheerful holiday music to the auditorium.
She carefully inched open one of the double doors, holding it so it wouldn’t slam. On stage, a handful of children marched across the wood floor, forming a parade line. Some pounded drums, others saluted as they made their way toward Ben, who stood on a raised platform, looking as solemn as usual. Of course, Mrs. Mills would pick Ben; he was the oldest elementary student in Chicago, she was certain.
The young man leading the parade stopped and held up a blue silk ribbon with a gold star to Ben. “For your bravery, son. We will never forget what you did to bring home our loved ones. Your father would have been so proud.”
Ben accepted the medal of honor and saluted. “I’ll never know, sir, because I wasn’t here when he died.”
Maura covered her heart with a cold hand. Tears brimmed, threatening to fall. She lifted her head to dry her eyes; she didn’t have time to redo her makeup.
The lights came up, and the curtains fell. The audience stood, sending up hoots and applause.
Mrs. Mills stepped from behind the curtain and called out the cast in pairs and groups, and then individually as she got to the leading roles.
Ben was the last to step out on stage and take a bow. Her son had landed the leading role, and she’d missed it. Because she’d been re-writing another journalist’s article.
Chapter 3
Maura waited patiently for Ben to receive accolades from friends, teachers, and parents. She’d made eye contact with him, and he seemed happy, so either he hadn’t noticed she made it at the last minute, or he was his usual altruistic self. Her son was a precious gift she didn’t deserve.
She checked the time. 8:45. By now, most of her coworkers will have had before-party drinks, before-dinner cocktails, and at least a glass or two of wine. If she did happen upon any execs, they wouldn’t remember her anyway.
“Mom!” Ben broke free of his adorers and rushed her. “What did you think?”
She stared down at him, more tears threatening to break free. “What did I think? You brought tears to my eyes. You’re a natural, baby.”
“Mom …”
“Oops. Sorry.” Ben wasn’t opposed to hugs in public, but he drew the line at endearments.
“It’s okay. I know I’m your baby.” He offered a little hop, his hands held up in entreaty. “Mrs. Mills is taking the whole troupe for ice cream. Can I go? Please?”
“Umm … I suppose. But … don’t you want me to come with?”
He rolled his eyes. “No … It’s the troupe, Mom.”
“Oh, right. The troupe. How will you get home?”
“I was hoping I could stay at their house. Billy’s a grade younger than me, but he’s cool.”
She forced a smile. “Sure, hon — Ben. What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”
“I’ll call you.” He hugged her, then ran off before she could respond. As much as she wanted to call out an I love you, she knew it’d only upset him.
“Hey, cuz. Glad you made it.” Brittany rested a hand on her shoulder.
Maura didn’t bother to turn; she didn’t want to see the disappointment in her older cousin’s face. “Did he know?”
“He was looking for you at the beginning, but then he was so into his role, I never saw him take his eyes off the other performers again. Ben’s some little actor. Before long, he’ll be using his talent on you.”
Maura sighed. “I doubt it. He has a heart of gold. Just like his father did. Thinks he can change the world.”
“Don’t tell him otherwise, and maybe he will.”
Maura turned and sighed. “The office party’s tonight, so I should go back. Ben is staying at a friend’s house.”
“Why are you so late? What’d that ho keep you for this time?”
Maura blew out a breath. “Jessica’s not a ho. Actually, lack of sex is probably her problem. Not that I’ve had sex in more than three years, and I don’t snap at everyone.” She shook her head. “I had to rewrite a plagiarized piece.”
“Oh, no, he didn’t.”
“Yeah, he did. But it’s my fault. Jessica instructed me to check the articles, and I only scanned it for errors.”
“Because he was late again, right?”
“Yeah.” Clearly, she needed to stop complaining about work to Brittany and Dawn … and her son.
Brittany folded her arms over her bountiful breasts. “Girl, you write circles around that man. Why do you stay with Jessica’s sorry ass … or the company? It’s not like we don’t have umpteen businesses in Chicago that could use a woman with brains.”
Maura shrugged. “I guess Ben doesn’t just get it from his father. I want to make a difference too. I still have hope that a locally based media company will care about its backyard.”
Brittany shook her head as she motioned to her son and daughter that it was time to go. “It’s not even your hometown. I swear you care more about Chicago than I do.”
Maura winked. “I know better. You play all tough, but you’re a big softie beneath that hard-candy shell.”
Brittany struck a pose. “Only my honey gets the sweet stuff.”
Maura waved her off. “I’ll see you later, Britt.”
“You better not see me later! It’s Friday night, and I know under that ugly old coat you’re wearing that little black dress we found. Go out and act like you’re single, Maura. ’Cause you are. And you ain’t getting any younger. And my apartment ain’t getting any larger.”
“Love ya!” Maura shouted over her shoulder.
“Uh-huh. You know I’m right.”
Maura ordered up another Uber, but this time, she had to wait. Ugly old coat or not, it was the only thing keeping her from freezing to death.
She glanced at her phone, happy to see the Uber was close.
Her cheeks and nose burned, probably turning an unflattering red. “Great. Now I’ll show up looking like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
A blue Ford Focus pulled up, so she glanced at the app and the driver. They matched.
She hopped in but didn’t give instructions to speed. She couldn’t afford another large tip. Truthfully, she couldn’t even afford Uber, but she didn’t have enough time to take the L.
The driver didn’t offer any conversation, so Maura sat back and searched trending topics. Oddly enough, Twitter was usually the most current with global events. Next, she clicked the Home tab on Google. Nothing new. Same news sites belaboring dead stories because they had nothing new to complain about.
The car stopped, and Maura opened the door. “Thanks!”
She sprinted to the elevator again, this time taking it to the top floor. A floor she’d only visited on two other occasions in her nearly three-year tenure: the previous year’s Christmas party, and the one preceding it.
Even before the doors opened, she heard the eighties music. Why are all the party songs from the eighties?
She stepped out, and the deliciously intoxicating scent of fresh bread and seafood hit her. Not a second later, a hunger pain stabbed her, nearly causing her to bend over. Oh, yeah! Other than a granola bar, I f
orgot to eat today.
Maura inched her way along the short corridor, inspecting the crowd from behind a tall topiary decked out with gold ribbon and glassy red ornaments. Like the previous two years, the enormous conference room was dressed to the nines, right along with all the employees, including a twenty-something-foot Christmas tree, embellished with more gold and red. How had they even got that beast up here?
Not that the room needed festive decorating. The floor-to-ceiling windows lining the back wall offered a spectacular view of not only Chicago, but also the lake. She couldn’t see Lake Michigan, but the lights from the thousands of other buildings filtered through the room, causing the crystal prisms on the chandeliers to bounce reflected light throughout the room.
Once again, she really wished she could have been three places at once. She would have loved to stand at the windows and gaze at the sunset, dreaming of the day she had a corner office overlooking this spectacular city.
Her stomach growled again, so she searched the room for food. Nothing but a dessert table remained.
The eighties song … Karaoke vocals, she realized, which meant that anyone who is anyone is already long gone. As the previous years, the brass had probably eaten dinner, said a few words, then hightailed it home. They didn’t hang around for drunken dancing and karaoke.
She headed back to the elevator. It dinged its arrival, so she stepped in. “A waste of an expensive dress,” she grumbled. Even as a knock-off, the dress had cost more than her weekly food budget.
“Hold the door, please!” a man called.
“Oh!” She stepped in the way of the closing doors, which continued to close, so she hopped out of the elevator, nearly losing a foot. She backed up as if the elevator planned to swallow her whole. “Sorry. I’m not sure what happened. Guess the thing was in a hurry. I always knew I was invisible, but that darn elevator …” She stared up at the man for whom she had nearly lost a foot, ready to blame him, but her words caught in her mouth. He was stunning. Not beautiful like an airbrushed magazine cover, but striking with shiny midnight-black hair and dark brows and lashes that framed hazel eyes.
Chicago Hope Page 2