Charlie All Night

by Jennifer Crusie

  “Allie? Allie, love?”

  She buried her face against his chest and tried to stop gasping, but the waves still lapped gently inside her, like little aftershocks.

  “Allie?”

  She clung to him, trying to find her voice, any coherent thought. “Oh, God, Charlie.”

  He held her tighter. “I thought you’d gone mute on me. You didn’t say anything for so long.”

  Allie took a long shuddering breath and then another until sanity returned. The heat and the release settled into her bones like a narcotic. She stretched against him, all her muscles aching, her skin sliding warm against his. “Oh.” She drew another deep breath. “I may never talk again.”

  Charlie brushed her hair back from her face. “Can you sleep now?”

  “Only if you don’t touch me,” she said, and he laughed and pulled her close, and she curled into him, and then they both fell asleep.

  * * *

  Allie woke up when the sunlight flooded the room. She’d rolled away from Charlie in the night, but his hand was still on her waist, and she liked the weight and heat of it there. She lay very still and savored how good her body still felt, and only gradually did she become aware of Joe in the kitchen, banging pans.

  As flings went, this one had been a beauty. No guilt, no fear, no emotion at all, really, except pleasure. Bless Charlie.

  And now she was going to make him a star. Life had done a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn on her overnight. She couldn’t wait to get started again.

  She stirred a little and felt Charlie’s hand tighten on her waist in his sleep, and she moved her head on the pillow to look at him. His blond-brown hair was tousled and his eyelashes were like smudges on his cheeks, and he looked like a fallen angel.

  It really was too bad they weren’t doing TV.

  She eased a little closer, and his arm gathered her to him until his cheek brushed against her hair.

  “Morning,” he said without opening his eyes. “How do you feel?”

  Allie grinned against his chest. “Very smug, now that I know what all the shouting was about.”

  Charlie laughed softly. “You should know. You were the one doing the shouting.”

  Allie jerked her head back. “What?”

  He smiled at her and kissed her forehead. “You scream when you come.”

  “I do not.”

  “The hell you don’t.” He gathered her back to him and sighed happily. “But it takes a lot of the guesswork out of making love to you, so I’m not complaining.”

  Allie thought about pushing him away and decided against it. “Very funny.”

  There was another crash from the kitchen.

  Allie smiled again. “Joe’s making breakfast. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Yes.” He kissed the top of her head. “But I’ve got to check out Tuttle in the daylight. So I’ll just take a rain check, if that’s okay with you.”

  “And miss Joe’s waffles?”

  “Hell, no. I’m eating waffles.” Charlie rolled up on one arm and looked down at her. “I’m taking a rain check on you. Until tonight.” He slid his hand under the sheet and cupped her breast, caressing her. “Same time, same place, same screams?”

  He was gorgeous in the sunlight, and he had golden hands. She felt dizzy under them right now. But he was also her career. Mixing sex and business would be bad. Look what had happened with Mark.

  “I thought we were a one-night stand.” Her hand closed over his to stop his caress, but somehow she ended up pressing his hand against her, instead.

  “We are.” Charlie climbed over her to get out of bed, pulling the sheet down to kiss her breast on his way. “One night at a time.”

  She pulled the sheet back up and squinted myopically to watch him put on his sweatpants, admiring the muscles in his legs and his rear while she told herself she should stop now, that sleeping with Charlie was not a good idea, that he was leaving in November. Her brain told her to tell him she didn’t want another night.

  Her mouth flatly refused to say anything that stupid.

  Something in her face must have tipped him off to her quandary because he stopped tying the string on his pants and grew serious. “You can always say no,” he told her.

  To you? The thought was so ludicrous, she laughed. “I’ll try to remember that,” she told him, and her spirits rose again. Enough of this chitchat. She had a career to resuscitate, and Charlie was a one-man rescue squad. She threw off the top quilt and got out of bed, fighting to keep the sheet wrapped around her, but it slipped as she yanked it free from the mattress.

  Charlie approved. “The hell with the waffles.” He reached for her, but she danced out of the way, blushing and covering herself with her hand and the corner of the sheet.

  “Go eat.” She flapped her free hand at him. “You need fuel for that body. You must be running on empty now.”

  “We get off at 2:00 a.m.” He grinned while she grabbed her robe and tried to put it on without dropping the sheet. “We can be home by two-thirty. You don’t want my side of the bed empty, do you?”

  She tied her robe closed and stuck her chin out, taking control. “You don’t have a side, and I’ll be asleep by two thirty-five.”

  “Then you’ll be awake by two thirty-six.” Charlie grabbed the belt on her robe as she sidled past and caught her to him. He kissed her thoroughly, and then, while she was still reeling, he let her go and walked out of the room, whistling.

  Hurry up, two thirty-six, she thought, and then she sat down on the edge of the bed again to get her thoughts back to her career, where they belonged.

  * * *

  “Pecans, right?” Charlie said to Joe who was pouring batter onto the griddle.

  “Pecans.” Joe closed the iron and turned to Charlie, his arms folded. “So, how did you sleep?”

  Charlie sat down and tried to look innocent. “Am I going to get a lecture? Because she made the first move, I swear.”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “I know. She had a plan.”

  “Getting over Mark.” Charlie nodded and poured some orange juice. “What a loser that guy is.”

  Joe leaned against the stove. “She has a tendency to pick losers. She has what might be described as a real genius for it.”

  Charlie winced. “Don’t beat around the bush. Say what you mean.”

  “The only thing that’s saved her is that her exes were lousy lovers. When they went, she wasn’t missing much.”

  “I kind of got that impression last night.”

  “That’s not all you got.” Joe opened the iron and pried the waffles out onto a plate. “You don’t exactly make love quietly.” He put the plate in front of Charlie.

  “That’s Allie.” Charlie was lavish with the syrup. “She’s a screamer. Surprised the hell out of me.”

  “Allie’s not the only one. “You’ve got a nice deep moan yourself.”

  “Me?” Charlie stopped, surprised.

  “The walls are thin here.”‘ Joe said charitably.

  “I’m sorry we kept you up.” Charlie took a bite of waffle. “You make a mean waffle. Do I get seconds?”

  “Of the waffles, yes. Of Allie…” Joe shrugged. “That’s my question. Was last night just an extremely vocal one-night stand or will you be back?”

  Charlie stopped chewing. “Well, I was planning on coming back. We can go to a motel if we bother you. That’s only fair.”

  “The noise isn’t what bothers me.” Joe sat down and started onhis own waffles. “What I’m worried about is Allie. Areyou going to hurt her? Because if you are, I’m against it.”

  Charlie stopped chewing, shocked. “I don’t hurt people.”

  “What if Allie’s in love with you?”

  “She’s not.”

  “She will be if you hang around.” Joe pointed at him with a waffle-filled fork. “You’re smart, you’re funny, and you obviously know how to make her happy in bed.”

  Charlie thought about the job he’d come to do, and about how fa
st he’d be out of town when it was done. He sighed.

  “You’re right. I have no serious intentions about Allie. I just like sleeping with her. So I’ll do a fade.” The thought was extremely unattractive, so he changed the subject. “You know, it’s a shame you’re gay. You’re probably the perfect guy for her.”

  Joe grinned at him. “It’s a shame you’re not. You could be the perfect guy for me.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Probably not. I’m not the perfect guy for anybody.”

  “Good morning, all.” Allie drifted into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of orange juice, smiling a lovely serene smile at both of them. All her tightness was gone. She looked confident and sexy, and they stared at the transformation.

  Her smile faded as they stared. “Can I have waffles, too?” she asked Joe finally, and he blinked and then got up to make them for her.

  “I’ve got to find my shoes and then we can make plans,” she told Charlie. She smiled at him again, igniting him, and then she drifted back to her bedroom.

  Charlie was halfway out of his chair to follow her before he realized it. “Oh, hell.” He turned and looked at Joe. “You were right. I should have stayed on that damn couch.”

  “Maybe you’d better forget about doing the fade.” Joe turned back to the waffle iron. “This could be a good thing. She looks invincible.”

  “She looks like…” Charlie stopped.

  “She looks like she’s had great sex,” Joe said. “It’s a new look for her. I’d pay money to see Mark’s face when he sees her.”

  “Yeah? Well, what happens to that look when I stop sleeping with her?”

  “Hey, I also saw the look on your face. What makes you think you can stop?”

  Charlie put his fork down. Allie was absolutely not part of his plan. His plan was to do the job and get out. And now there was Allie. The look he gave Joe was pathetic. Joe laughed.

  * * *

  When she came back, Allie was wearing her day clothes: a plain, long, brown jersey dress and a man’s brown and cream tweed jacket. She looked extremely round and soft, and Charlie reminded himself sternly that from now on, they had a working relationship only.

  Then he watched her lick syrup off her fork and for the first time in his life, he envied silverware.

  “We don’t have to be at the station until four,” she told him around bites of waffle.

  “That’s fine,” Charlie replied. He needed some time alone to get his act together. “I want to wander around Tuttle on my own for a while. Get the feel of the place.”

  “Okay.” Allie nodded at him. “I’ll meet you in front of the station at four.”

  Joe left for an appointment, and Charlie and Allie talked about Tuttle and waffles and washed the dishes, and Charlie fought the feeling he was slipping into, that he’d always known her, that he always would. She was having a weird effect on him: she felt comfortable. Every internal alarm he had was screaming, but she smiled at him and he didn’t care.

  Out on the street, Allie twirled around on the sidewalk and her dress swirled out around her and she looked so happy, and she had such great legs, that Charlie abandoned all his qualms for the moment and just enjoyed the sunlight and Allie. If he wanted something to worry about, he didn’t need to start with Allie; he had the anonymous letter and his first-ever radio show that night.

  “Don’t forget to meet me at four so I can introduce you to everybody before they leave at five,” Allie said, and he promised and then escaped.

  Stay away from that woman as much as you can, he warned himself.

  Then he thought about meeting her at four and grinned.

  * * *

  WBBB was on the fourth floor of a bank-“Bill’s bank,” Allie told him-and Charlie watched her smack open the double glass doors of the station as if she were attacking the place.

  Instead of running for cover, the people inside converged on her like a last hope.

  The dark-haired receptionist was the first to shriek at her as Allie blew past her with a “Hey, Karen.”

  “Wait, Allie, I need to talk to you,” Karen said, but then the rest of the people began to come out of the narrow hall in front of them, one by one, like clowns out of a toy car.

  Lisa darted out first. “Allie, can I have a minute? I need-”

  “Allie!” A towheaded man the size of a small mountain lumbered toward her and slung his arm around her shoulder. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

  A much smaller man in a too-tight tie with a too-tight face pushed between them. “Not now, Harry. Alice, the ratings-”

  A steely-eyed brunette appeared behind him and shouldered him aside. “Forget it, Albert. I just heard about this mess. I don’t give a damn if Mark is dumb enough to dump you, I’m not.”

  Charlie watched Lisa wince, and then saw Allie pat her arm. “One at a time,” Allie said, and Harry said, “Wait a minute,” and Karen said, “Please, Allie,” and Lisa said, “Oh, Allie, I need your help,” and Albert said, “The ratings, Allie,” and then from the hall someone said, “That’s enough,” and the whole room froze.

  Charlie looked beyond the clump of people to the small, slender, older woman standing in the hallway.

  “Nothing is changing,” she said. “Alice is not leaving her position as Mark’s producer.”

  “Well, actually, Beattie, I am.” Allie reached out through the throng that surrounded her and grabbed Charlie by the biceps to drag him to her side. “This is Charlie Tenniel, our new DJ. I have some very exciting ideas for his program.”

  Charlie opened his mouth to object, but then Beattie spoke and it seemed like a bad idea to interrupt her.

  “Bill did not discuss mis with me first.” The look in Beattie’s eye said that Bill had paid dearly for this. “I was most disappointed in him.”

  “Well, I was, too,” Allie said, and Charlie raised an eyebrow at her, surprised at her candor. Then his eyes went back to Beattie. Neat iron-gray hair, trim iron-gray suit, sharp iron-gray eyes. Not the kind of woman you lied to, Beattie. “But now I’ve met Charlie,” Allie went on. “I think this is going to be interesting.”

  Beattie turned those gray eyes on Charlie, and he tried not to swallow. She surveyed him, starting at the top of his head and moving slowly to his feet before she started back up again. She made the return trip with a gleam in her eye.

  Then she turned to Allie. “Oh. I see. Very well.” She held out her hand to Charlie. “Very nice to meet you again, Charles. The last time we met, you were five, so I doubt you remember, How are your father and mother?”

  Well, Mother is still insisting that Ten was framed when some undesirable planted all that coke on him, and Dad has lost his mind to the point of sending me here, but otherwise they’re still golfing and drinking rum punch. “Just fine, Mrs. Bonner, thank you for asking.”

  Beattie’s eyes narrowed for an instant, and Charlie reminded himself not to take Beattie Bonner for granted. She anight be pushing seventy, but she was probably sharper than anyone else in the room, himself included.

  Sharper than anyone, with the possible exception of Allie. When Charlie turned back to her, she was dispatching people with a warm efficiency that got them off her back without leaving them exasperated. She promised Marcia all the help she needed, Lisa a meeting as soon as she’d shown Charlie around, Harry a conference later that night before his show, Albert an analysis of the ratings by morning, and Karen the first minute she could spare. By the time she was finished, they were alone in the lobby except for Karen looking woebegone behind her desk, and Charlie had a new appreciation of how he’d ended up in Allie’s bed the night before.

  He also had a new apprehension for his immediate future. “Listen,” he told her sternly. “I don’t want to be famous.”

  “Of course not.” She smiled up at him. “Let me show you the station.”

  Charlie followed her with foreboding, but the station itself was innocuous. Aside from the offices, the place was small, white, clean and unclutter
ed. One dedicated broadcast booth with a production room outside it, one combination broadcast and production room, one tape library, one room with the satellite feed, one conference/break room, and finally Allie’s office.

  Allie opened the door at the end of the hall of offices and gestured him in. “Welcome to my world.”

  “This is nice,” Charlie said doubtfully as he looked around the tiny cubicle. Every square inch of three of the walls was covered with photos, handwritten notes, magazine articles, old scripts and anything else that Allie felt was valuable and that could be push-pinned up. It was like being inside a very messy desk drawer. The last wall was bookcases filled with reference books and loose-leaf binders and various treasures that Allie had stuffed there for some reason: a soapstone seal, a large rock, a ceramic goblet, a china doll, a bowl of shells. The center of the little room was crowded with an old teacher’s desk, two thrift-store carved walnut chairs and a white filing cabinet with a stuffed owl on it. Charlie stared fascinated into the owl’s eyes while Allie sat down behind her desk and began to search through the piles of papers.

  If they ever made love in this office, he was going to throw his shirt over that owl so it wouldn’t watch them. Not that there was room to lie down in here. They’d have to use the desk. Or against the wall… Charlie shook his head to clear it of the thought. He was definitely not going to be pressing Allie up against that wall-

  “Your first appointment is with me to talk about how you’re going to structure your four hours. Ah ha!” She held up her coffee cup, triumphant. “Also, you might want to start thinking about explaining your program ideas when we meet with Bill at five.”

  Charlie frowned at her, glad to bring his mind back to the problem at hand. “What’s to explain?”

  “He likes to preapprove the ideas.” Allie looked dubiously into her cup and turned it upside down to shake it. Nothing fell out.

  “He approves everything that goes out from this place?”

  “Well, not Mark’s stuff. Bill loves Mark.” Allie got up and took a loose-leaf binder from her bookshelf. “Here’s the WBBB handbook-Bill’s personal philosophy of broadcasting. You’re going to hate it.”