by Maria Geraci
Betty threw her arms up in the air. “That’s the problem with your generation! Always flying by the seat of your pants. If the world is coming to an end, I need to be ready.”
“If the world is coming to an end, then I need to go to Confession,” Gus said. He caught Allie’s gaze and winked.
She giggled, but Betty scowled, so Allie quickly wiped her expression clean.
Viola leaned over and whispered in her ear, “If you haven’t figured it out by now, Betty Jean is one of those preppers.”
“How can we help?” Gus asked, making Allie smile at him in gratitude. Talking about the end of the world was all good and fine, but she had business to take care of.
“Have any of you ever seen or heard anything strange while in the senior center? Anything that would make you think it was haunted?”
“The buildings been closed up since summer,” Viola said. “Up to then I’m probably the one who’s spent the most time there. I used to teach seniors yoga, you know,” she added proudly, “but I never came across anything strange.” Sigh. This wasn’t the news Allie had hoped to hear.
“Well, can I ask a favor then? Would you hold on to this copy of the email and pass it around to the rest of your group? Maybe one of them might have heard something and just didn’t think it was important enough to share.”
Betty and Roger began to protest, but Viola silenced them. “How are we going to help Allie solve this mystery if we keep the email to ourselves?”
Roger frowned and Betty mumbled something about not blaming her if the whole thing blew up in their faces.
“You got this through your email?” Viola said, ignoring them. “Then send me the original through an attachment and I’ll forward it on. We communicate strictly through email or texting. Much faster that way.”
Now why hadn’t Allie thought of that? “Email, it is.” Viola gave her the email address and Allie used her smart phone to forward her the letter.
Viola pulled her phone from her purse. “Got it!” Her thumbs flew through the tiny keypad. A few seconds later the rest of the group’s phones began pinging. She winked at Allie. “Just because we’re retired doesn’t mean we’re technically challenged. If I hear anything from one of the Flamingoes, I’ll send you a text.”
Mimi walked up to the table. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got to get Allie to her car before it gets demolished by a wrecking ball.”
Allie thanked them and said her goodbyes. Hopefully, with any luck, one of the Gray Flamingos would know who had sent the email. She stepped outside to get in the van, when her gaze zeroed in on the shop next door to The Bistro, causing her to come to a halt. This had to be Lauren Donalan’s retro shop.
A sign made of white washed drift wood stenciled in bright pink and lime green letters highlighted the store’s name, Can Buy Me Love (Lily Pulitzer meets The Beatles!). She took a few seconds to peer through the glass window. A trio of mannequins dressed like something out of a Partridge Family nightmare formed the store’s front end display.
Once again, Allie was struck by how odd it seemed that Lauren would own this kind of place. But then, she really hadn’t known the former Mrs. Tom Donalan all that well in high school.
She was about to step inside the van, when Roger Van Cleave dashed out the door. He discreetly slipped her a piece of paper. “Didn’t want to give you this in front of the others, but call that number. I promise, you won’t be sorry.”
He disappeared back inside the restaurant before Allie could think of a response. She climbed into the back seat of the mini-van and stared down at the scribbled number. Good Grief. Was Eyebrows making a move on her?
“What did sweet old Mr. Van Cleave want?” Mimi asked.
“I think he just hit on me.”
Mimi met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Seriously?”
Kitty turned around to face her and said gravely, “You’ll have to let him down gently. He’s very fragile. His wife passed away last year.” Allie wished she knew Kitty well enough to know if she was joking. The twinkle in her brown eyes said she was.
“Okay, so he’s probably not hitting on me,” Allie said, feeling foolish.
Mimi and Kitty laughed, then Mimi put the car in motion.
“Mr. Van Cleave is a cool old guy,” Kitty said. “You should call him. He used to be a journalist, I think. Maybe he has some advice for you or something.”
Or something. If Roger Van Cleave didn’t have any direct knowledge about the ghost, then Allie wasn’t sure how he could help her, but she slipped the paper into her purse anyway. She’d call him later, just to be polite.
Mimi and Kitty began gabbing about their Bunco group which gave Allie an opportunity to check her cell phone for messages.
There was a text from Emma. How’s the story going?
Not so good. Allie responded.
Her cell phone broke out into Adele. Allie sighed. She was really going to have to change her ring tone to something more upbeat.
“What do you mean not so good?” Emma said before Allie could even say hello.
Best to get the bad news over with pronto.
“The senior center is definitely being demolished this morning.” Allie went on to explain how Steve Pappas had refused to intervene on her behalf. “I can still resurrect the piece,” she said trying to sound professional and optimistic. “I plan to interview all the locals. It’ll come together, I swear.”
“Oh, I know you’ll make it work. You always do. It’s just, the story would have so much more pizazz with the whole spending the night in the haunted house angle. Are you sure you still can’t swing it? Because I think you need to know that I’ve just got the go ahead from Ben to hire another full time writer.” Ben Gallagher was Emma’s boss and the publisher for Florida! magazine. This was the break Allie had been waiting for.
“That’s great!” Allie’s enthusiasm was met with silence. “Um, isn’t it?”
“You’re definitely my number one candidate, but Ben…well, he thinks to be fair we need to post the job, do interviews, that kind of stuff. He wants the candidates to submit three articles of their choice to an editorial committee. I was thinking you would include your Perky the Duck article, which everyone loves, and of course, the follow up story on the BP oil spill which is a lot meatier and more serious and a really well written piece.”
Allie let Emma’s words sink in.
It made sense that Ben wanted to post the job. There was probably some kind of company HR policy on that, but still. She really thought the next opening at Florida! was hers, no questions asked. In retrospect, that had been naïve of her. Nothing in this world was guaranteed. Especially a rare job with a sought out publication. Allie tried her hardest to squelch her disappointment. “And you think this ghost story would be a good third piece?”
“Well, here’s the catch. He wants the third piece to be an original. Something never published before. I think if you can take this story to the next level it would be perfect.”
The next level?
“Do you know who my competition might be?”
There was a long pause that made Allie’s throat go dry.
“I’m not going to lie to you. Chris Dougal is looking for a full time job and he’s working on this big illegal immigration piece. It’s effect on the Florida economy, that kind of stuff.”
In other words, serious stuff. The kind of stuff Ben loved. If it sold magazines, that is. Ben Gallagher was all about the bottom line. Chris Dougal had written several books on Florida politics. Boring stuff, to be sure. Stuff that didn’t sell so well, but he had the kind of credentials that gave Ben an editorial hard on. If Chris could write a story that would interest their readers enough to buy magazines then Allie was toast. Burned. To a crackly crunch.
She now knew exactly what Emma meant by the next level. This ghost story needed to be the best thing she’d ever written. Even better than the Perky the Duck story, which seemed near to impossible. Chasing this bogus ghost story to please Emma
Frazier was one thing, but having her career ride on it was something altogether different.
“Here’s the thing, I can find another story to write. As a matter of fact, before you sent me that anonymous email and I was doing research for a piece on the history of St. Augustine and I think—”
Emma moaned. “St. Augustine has already been done. One too many times as far as I’m concerned. No, I really think this ghost story is so you. And the magazine has never done anything like it before, so it will be fresh.”
“But—”
“I guarantee you,” Emma continued, “If you can take this ghost story and wring the emotion out of it—get it to really zing—then I’m positive I can swing Ben to your side.”
Allie had no choice. If she wanted to elevate this story to the next level, to make it zing, as Emma said, she was going to have to make this story personal. Which meant she was going to have to experience this “ghost” for herself. Which meant she needed to keep this building from coming down. Which meant…she was going to have to throw herself at the mercy of The Person In Charge. Who, number one, didn’t believe in ghosts, number two, was on a schedule, and number three, was the last person on earth Allie wanted to ask for a favor.
She didn’t get it. She was a good person. She smiled at strangers, didn’t cheat on her taxes, and recycled religiously. So how could fate be this cruel? In all her Tom Donalan fantasies, he was the one begging her for something. Not the other way around.
Twelve years ago, for one glorious summer, Tom Donalan had been Allie’s first boyfriend. Her first love. Her first…everything. Although technically, he was never her first lover because they never actually “did it”. It was not, however, for her lack of trying.
She’d wanted in Tom Donalan’s pants. Badly.
Not that she’d been one of those girls. Just the opposite. At eighteen, Allie had been a complete dork. She’d been on the volleyball team and the swim team and a pretty decent student but she’d never been one of the popular girls. She’d never even kissed a guy before Tom, unless you counted playing spin the bottle at Julie Howard’s end-of-the-year eighth grade party.
Tom, on the other hand, had been the kind of guy every girl dreamed of when she imagined her first big love. Handsome, smart, funny, kind. By senior year, he’d been practically a Whispering Bay High legend. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do better than anyone else. Star quarterback, starting pitcher for the baseball team, senior class president, Merit Scholar. All the guys wanted to be him. And all the girls wanted to be with him.
When he’d singled Allie out that first week of AP chemistry as his lab partner, she’d been flattered. And nervous and flustered. But they had quickly become genuine friends. Tom was the only other person Allie knew who loved Star Wars as much as she did. Even Buela adored him, and Buela wasn’t the type of woman who’d been easily fooled.
Then, one day out of the blue, something spectacular happened. Tom’s steady girlfriend, Lauren Handy, broke up with him.
Lauren Handy had been the female version of Tom. With long blonde hair, terrific boobs and a tight butt, she had most of the male population of Whispering Bay High salivating after her. And the crappy thing was, she was nice. So you couldn’t even hate her. They were the dream couple (gag). They were supposed to be Prom King and Queen. But the day after the senior awards banquet, a mere week before prom, Lauren dumped Tom cold.
Allie had spun by his house the instant she’d heard the news, ready to console him with her best friend shtick, which in those days consisted of a swiped six pack of beer from Zeke’s refrigerator and a shoulder to lean on.
But instead of being upset, Tom was relieved (or so he had said). They then proceeded to watch the full Star Wars trilogy on his parent’s brand new DVD player and down the beers (and no, Tom’s parents weren’t home). Sometime after the second beer Tom asked Allie to be his prom date.
Her! Allison Isabel Grant, the too tall girl with no boobs, was going to prom with Tom Donalan, the guy every girl in their senior class dreamed of. It was almost too good to be true. Which should have been her First Big Clue.
So Tom and Allie went to prom, a night that ended in her first real kiss. Which then led to an entire summer where they were joined at the hips, or the lips, or whatever other body part they had pressed against one another. When they weren’t working at their summer jobs trying to save money for college, they were at the beach, or at his parent’s house watching movies, or finding places to go make out.
Their favorite make out spot had been the back seat of Tom’s nineteen eighty-seven Crown Victoria, which they’d park along the end of the bay bridge. But just about any place they could be alone would do. It was during one of those make out sessions that The Great Humiliation Part One happened.
*~*~*
They were naked, all alone in an empty house, huddled beneath the covers of Tom’s too small twin-sized bed. Allie was trying to be quiet (just in case his parents came home unexpectedly), but it was impossible. Tom’s fingers were nestled between her thighs, doing something Allie had never even thought of on her own. Where had he learned to do that?
“Don’t stop,” Allie moaned. The words were no sooner out of her mouth that she realized she didn’t want him to stop at all. As in, she wanted him to take the next step. As in, the big step. “Tom, please, just do me.”
Oh. My. God. Did she say that out loud?
He laughed, but it sounded strained. “Allie, I don’t think you mean that.”
Yep. She’d said it out loud. But she wasn’t embarrassed.
She sat up, taking the covers with her. “I do mean it. I…I love you, Tom.”
He looked startled.
She gulped. Should she not have it said it first? Then he grinned, and a wave of relief washed over her. Of course he loved her. He just wasn’t ready to say it yet. He sat up and tucked a long stand of hair behind her ear, then leaned down to gently kiss her. “You make me crazy, you know that, right?” he whispered against her mouth.
Her mind immediately jumped to Lauren, Tom’s-ex. She shouldn’t compare herself to anyone else, but it was hard not to wonder what exactly had gone down between them. They’d dated almost a year. Had he said those same words to her, as well?
Allie tried not to think about anything other than the two of them. If he wanted Lauren, then he’d have tried to win her back. But he hadn’t tried. Not one little bit. “Not as crazy as you make me,” she whispered back. She glanced over at his nightstand.
He followed her gaze and shook his head. “I don’t have any condoms.”
She sighed. What eighteen-year-old boy given the proverbial green light refused sex? Tom Donalan. Mr. Responsible, that’s who. Allie should be grateful he wasn’t reckless enough to engage in intercourse without protection. It was just…she mentally shook her head. Didn’t he want her as much as she wanted him?
He jumped up from the bed, and Allie couldn’t help but sit back and enjoy the view. Six foot three, and all those lovely muscles. Allie hadn’t fallen in love with Tom because of his looks, though. Initially, yes, she’d been attracted to him for all the usual reasons, but it went far beyond that. He was the one person in the world she felt comfortable saying anything to, and the only person in the world who knew what happened the day her mother died. Allie had never been able to talk to anyone about it. Not grief counselors, not even Buela. But Tom? There was something so natural about their relationship. It was like there was this thing between them that didn’t exist with anyone else.
He began pulling his clothes back on. “My parents should be home any minute,” he warned.
“I thought church lasted till at least nine. Doesn’t your dad believe in long sermons?”
“It’s a meet and greet, not a service,” Tom said.
“Well, I wouldn’t want the Reverend Donalan’s son to be found in a compromising position,” she joked. Reluctantly, Allie began pulling her clothes back on as well.
He playfully swatted her on her ass t
hen pulled her against his chest. “Were you serious?”
“About…going all the way?” She nodded.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he said.
“We’ve been going out for three months now. Besides…” She let her next words drift off. She was going to say she loved him again. But she didn’t want to put him in a position where he said it just because she’d said it.
He cupped her chin with his fingers and stared down into her eyes. “I’m not very good at this. But…I’ve never felt about anyone the way I do about you. You know that, right?”
It was as if the sun had knocked down the walls to his bedroom and was shining down on top of them. They were all the words Allie needed to hear. She shamelessly rubbed herself against him, making him go hard.
He groaned. “Allie, are you sure?”
“Positive. And…we could use Zeke’s house. He and Mimi are taking Claire to Disney World tomorrow, so their house will be empty. And guess who has a key?”
“I don’t get off work till after eight.”
“I’ll meet you there at nine,” she said.
He slowly nodded, then smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”
She smiled back. “Bring a condom. No wait, on second thought, bring two.”
*~*~*
On his nights off from the police force, Zeke worked security at The Harbor House, Whispering Bay’s fanciest restaurant. That connection had helped Allie land a summer job bussing tables. In exactly two weeks, she’d be moving into her dorm at Florida State. The money she’d made this summer would help offset some of her living expenses. Eight more shifts and she’d be done here. Eight more hours and she’d be in the process of losing her virginity. She couldn’t wait.
Was Tom a virgin, too? Allie had never asked him and he had never volunteered the information. But considering his only real girlfriend before her had been Lauren Handy (little Ms. Perfect who never once colored outside the lines) then the answer to that was probably a resounding no.