“What?” Charlie said, startled.
“You said it would be no problem.” Allie shrugged. “Put your money where your… mouth is.”
“Allie, that isn’t funny.”
Allie smiled at him, triumphant. “I rest my case. I knew you wouldn’t even try it.”
“Did you?” Charlie leaned back. “All right. Fine. We’re celibate until November first. No problem.”
“Really?” Allie said.
“Really,” Charlie said.
The phone began to ring.
Allie laughed nervously and stood up, putting Sam back in his basket as she rose. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat with callers, but I’ve got to be a producer now. You started this, you talk about it.”
He watched Allie leave the booth and then turned back to the mike. “She would pick a month with thirty-one days. Okay, folks, while Allie’s hooking up the caller…” Somebody tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see Stewart. “What?”
Stewart handed him a tape.
“Our engineer has just shown up with a tape in hand. Special request, Stewart? This isn’t like you…” Charlie’s voice trailed off as he read the label. “Oh, very funny. Okay, here’s Stewart the comedian’s request.”
Charlie shoved in the cassette, and the Rolling Stones blared out “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction.” He flipped off the sound and swung around to face Stewart.
“So now how much trouble are we in with this one?”
“I’m not in any.” Stewart grinned. “You’re the one that’s not going to get laid for a month in front of the whole city.”
“Oh, big deal.” Charlie stood up and stretched. “Lots of people go without for months, years, a lifetime. Priests do it.”
“Yeah, but you’re not a priest.” Stewart turned to go. “Listen, if you need anybody to meet your emotional needs, don’t come to me. I don’t do that wimpy stuff.”
“Thanks, Stewart,” Charlie said. “I knew you’d be there for me.”
* * *
Allie had his sheets and pillowcases on the couch for him when he got home.
“Here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten us into, Ollie,” she said, and he said, “Me? Wait a minute,” but she’d already slammed her bedroom door behind her.
He sighed and stripped down to his shorts, too tired to argue. At least from now on he’d be getting some sleep. There was an improvement. Of course, if he had to choose between cataclysmic, head-banging sex and sleep, he’d choose the sex, but since the choice was now moot, he could see the bright side.
An hour later, he couldn’t see the bright side.
He was so tired, he was punch-drunk, but he couldn’t get to sleep. He tossed on the couch, tried sleeping sitting up, stretched out and took deep breaths, counted sheep, goats and German shepherds, and finally, as the numbers on the digital clock rolled around to 3:30, he gave up.
He picked up his pillow and went in to Allie.
She stirred when he threw his pillow on the bed, mumbled something and then fell back asleep.
“Glad to see you missed me,” he told her body and then climbed in beside her, rolling so his back was to her and his rear end was warmly against hers.
He was asleep in less than a minute.
Beside him, Allie listened to him snore and gave herself the luxury of one wriggle against him. It was stupid to have missed just the weight of him in her bed, but she had. She smiled to herself and fell asleep for the first time that night.
* * *
When he woke up the next morning, Charlie found he’d rolled over in the night and had wrapped himself around Allie, his leg slung over hers and his hand over her breast. It was definitely one of his favorite positions, and the temptation to throw the bet was overwhelming, especially when she stirred against him stretching so that his lips were against her neck and her back slid against his front, and he went dizzy for a moment at the powdery, sleepy scent of her.
And then she woke up enough to mumble, “I knew you couldn’t do it,” and her voice was fat with sleep and satisfaction, and he remembered he’d have to concede in front of thousands of people, letting down not only his fans but his entire gender.
“Ha.” He rolled out of bed. “No problem.”
“Twenty-nine more days,” Allie murmured to his retreating back. “And you’re already groping me in the morning.”
* * *
The morning paper had a small notice at the bottom that due to misinformation, the picture in the previous day’s paper was not of Charlie Tenniel, but was instead Charlie Tenniel’s homosexual roommate.
“Now, this sort of makes me mad,” Charlie said to Joe. “Using you to trash me. Is this their idea of a slur, to imply I’m gay? It’s too subtle to tell.”
“It’s subtle enough to screw things up with David,” Joe said. “He’s already noticed that you and I are good friends. He just dealt with it because he thought you were sleeping with Allie.”
“I am sleeping with Allie.” Charlie put the paper down. “Which, by the way, I announced to Tuttle last night. You have no problems with David. Who’s doing this newspaper stuff?”
“My guess? The mayor.” Joe picked up his coffee cup. “The word is that the new city building is dead. You cost that man a lot of money. And then there’s Roger Preston, who is pretty sure to be indicted on price-fixing.” He frowned. “You really did tell the world you were sleeping with Allie? That’s not like you.”
“It slipped.” Charlie stared down at the paper. The mayor and Roger Preston were good guesses, but there were also these drug rumors about the station he kept tripping over. Anyone who wanted him fired would figure that bad publicity would make Bill get rid of him. Maybe he had another enemy. “Suppose it wasn’t the mayor or Preston. Suppose it was somebody else who was mad at me. Who else would have this kind of clout?”
“I don’t know.” Joe stood up and carried his coffee cup to the sink. “I should think the mayor and Preston would be enough for anybody. Why did you tell the world about Allie?”
Charlie groaned, remembering. “We have a bet. We’re going to be celibate for a month and see who gives in first.”
Joe snorted with laughter. “That should be a close call. Whatever possessed you to do something like that?”
“Allie,” Charlie said gloomily. “Ever since I met her, I’ve been doing one dumb thing after another.”
“A smart man would leave her alone,” Joe pointed out.
“Well, that’s what I’m going to be doing for the next month,” Charlie said.
Then Allie shuffled out, her hair all tousled. “You know, it took me forever to fall asleep last night. This is all your fault.”
Charlie winced. “Thanks, I needed that.” He tossed the paper to her and stood up to go. “Here. Read this. Things just keep getting better and better for us.”
* * *
Charlie was slightly more cheerful when he went on the air that night. “And a great big thank-you to all of you folks who called in last night to say that my significant other has rocks in her head and that men are much stronger than women. And for the other half of you who supported Allie, hey, just wait.
“I’d also like to thank Allie for wearing the most disgusting bathrobe she could find this morning and for not combing her hair before breakfast. Say what you will about the little lady, she plays fair. And now, just for Allie, here’s the Pointer Sisters.”
He shoved the slide up and “Slow Hand” began.
Harry ambled in on his way home. “You might want to keep your joviality level down a little,” he said, passing over Charlie’s coffee. “That way, when you get crazy later in the month, the change won’t be so noticeable.”
“So, you’re on Allie’s side.” Charlie said. “I’m hurt.”
“In general, no,” Harry said. “In this case, yes. You’ll never make it.”
“Hey,” Charlie said. “Look at me. Do I look tense?”
“It’s only been twenty-four hours,” Harry s
aid. “Give it some time. I got a lot of money on Allie, but I’m not worried.”
Charlie jerked his head up. “Money? They’re making book on this in the station?”
“The hell with the station. They’re making book on it on the street.”
“Oh, great.” Charlie slumped back into his chair. “So how am I doing?”
Harry shook his head. “You’re a very long shot, my friend. If she gives in first, there are going to be some very rich gamblers in this city.”
“What if we both make it to the thirty-first?”
“Practically no one’s taking that one.”
“A month is not that long,” Charlie said.
Harry turned to go, grinning. “Tell me that on the thirtieth.” He stopped at the door. “I probably shouldn’t do this, since it might screw up my bet, but I’m pretty sure you’re going to crack. So, if it gets bad, living with her, you can come stay at my place. I’ve got lots of room.”
“This is going to be no problem,” Charlie assured him.
“Yeah, well, the offer stands,” Harry said.
Charlie watched Harry stop to talk to Allie on the way out. She grinned up at Harry and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, and Charlie felt the old warmth that he always felt when she was around. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t going to see her. It was just sex. He had things to investigate, anyway. He really didn’t have time for her. No problem. “No problem at all,” Charlie said to the empty booth.
* * *
After the show, Charlie went home and tried the couch again, lasting until four-thirty this time before he climbed into bed with Allie again, closing his eyes as he felt her body warm and soft next to his. And waking up with her was doubly painful the next morning when she stirred next to him, and he felt dizzy even though he was lying down.
You’ve got to get out of here, he told himself as he headed to the shower. Dieters did not live at the Sara Lee factory. He picked up the phone and dialed Harry.
* * *
Harry lived in a split-level in a housing development full of tricycles and swing sets. Charlie dropped his duffel in the living room and looked around at the chintz furniture and flower paintings.
“You know,” he told Harry. “This is not how I pictured you living. Flowered couches?”
“Sheila picked them out,” Harry said. “Want a beer?”
“Always.” Charlie followed him out to the kitchen. “Who’s Sheila?”
“My wife.”
Harry opened the refrigerator, and Charlie saw a twelve-pack, cheese spread and a piece of pizza. He spared one longing thought for the glory of Joe’s refrigerator, and then took the beer Harry handed him. “You have a wife?”
“Well, I used to. I came home one day and found a note that she’d gone to her mother’s.”
“Oh.” Charlie followed him back into the spotless living room. “Well, she must stop by to clean. The place looks great.”
Harry stretched out in the recliner. “That’s Mrs. Squibb. Comes by twice a week. Don’t leave anything lying around. She throws it out.”
“Oh,” Charlie said again. “So your wife is… uh…”
“Gone,” Harry said. “I waited a couple of weeks and called her, and she said, ‘See, Harry, this is just what I meant. You don’t even notice me.’ And I told her I noticed her. I was just busy. The divorce papers came the next week.” Harry shook his head. “I still think it was a mistake. And who knows, she might be back.”
“Well, sure,” Charlie said, still lost. “How long has she been gone?”
Harry frowned, counting back. “Uh, thirteen years.”
Charlie stared at him for a minute, trying to decide if he was kidding or not. With Harry, it was hard to tell. “No offense, Harry, but if I were you, I’d make a contingency plan.”
“I’m thinking about it.” Harry stretched out in his chair, obviously a happy man. “What about you and Allie?”
“What about us?’ Charlie said guardedly.
“You still leaving in November?”
“Yep.” Charlie drank his beer. “What do you do for dinner around here?”
“Order out,” Harry said. “You want pizza, burgers, or Chinese?”
“Not Chinese,” Charlie said. “Anything but Chinese.”
* * *
Charlie decided that the only way to stay sane was to stay away from Allie. The bet was an excellent idea since he was leaving in November, anyway, so all he had to do was avoid her for the rest of the month, kiss her goodbye on November first, and leave her with great memories. At least he hoped her memories were great.
His were phenomenal.
But that way lay madness, so he deliberately shut her out of his mind and avoided her for the rest of the week, waving to her from the booth and making sure any conferences they had were in public. In his free time, he tried to track down the drug rumor and find out who’d sabotaged his tapes. The favorite for the last one was Mark, and Charlie would have loved to pin the drug charge on him, too-those were awfully expensive suits he was wearing on a DJ’s salary-but he couldn’t see Mark as the brains of a drug ring. Actually, he couldn’t see Mark as the brains of a Jell-O ring.
When Saturday came, he took a day off from detecting and went fishing with Harry at Grady’s.
It was really too late in the year to fish, but as Harry pointed out, catching fish wasn’t that important, anyway. Grady’s was just a good place to unwind. They had to take their own beer because Grady’s place was nonalcoholic, but other than that, it was a bachelor’s paradise.
Grady lived outside Tuttle on several acres of deliberate wilderness in a geodesic dome he’d built himself. “My father thought I was nuts,” Grady told Charlie as he showed him around. “Now I think he kind of likes it. My mom thinks it’s great.” The interior was all natural wood and windows, and aside from a disquieting lack of corners, it was a very comfortable place, full of old, mismatched furniture and state-of-the-art computer and stereo equipment.
“Great setup,” Charlie said, looking it over.
“My mom bought that stuff for me,” Grady said. “She says I’m tough to buy for, so if I want something, she goes all out.” He gazed around his dome lovingly. “It’s a great place.” Then he smiled at Charlie. “Come out anytime. Don’t wait for Harry to bring you.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said, but then he stopped, distracted by what he saw out the window. Hidden from the driveway by the dome and a stand of trees but in clear view from Grady’s back windows, was the biggest field of marijuana Charlie had ever seen. “Nice crop,” he told Grady.
Grady shrugged. “Personal use.”
You must have a habit the size of Texas, Charlie thought. If somebody was dealing drugs at the station, Grady had just moved up to the number-one suspect. But if he was doing it, what was he doing with the money? Aside from his stereo and computer, his place was furnished with hand-me-downs and Grady himself dressed like a bag lady. Charlie knew he was going to have to investigate it, but he hated the idea that it might be Grady. Grady was a truly nice guy.
But nice guy or not, if he was the problem, he was going down for it. That was what Charlie had come for. He spared a thought for Bill, who would not be happy if his only son was busted, and then shoved the thought aside. He really didn’t believe Grady was building a drug empire in Tuttle. Grady didn’t believe in capitalism. He wasn’t even sure Grady believed in money.
Harry came in the back door with two poles. “You ready?”
“Yep,” Charlie said “Lead me to them.”
“Too bad Allie couldn’t be here,” Grady said. “She loves to fish.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, shoving her firmly from his mind. “Too bad.”
* * *
After a week at Harry’s, Charlie was ready to crawl back to Allie on his hands and knees. And he’d have done it, too, if it had only been his honor at stake.
But the honor of all mankind?
Still, watching her sit outside the boo
th was torture. She had her hair yanked back in a pony tail, which made her face more moonlike than usual, and there were bags under her eyes as if she hadn’t been sleeping, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup for some reason, and he’d never wanted a woman more in his life. If he could have, he’d have taken her there on the production desk.
He closed his eyes at the thought of Allie round and warm, moving under him, his mouth on hers capturing her moans. Or Allie on top of him, her tongue caught between her teeth as she bore down on him, and his hand on the back of her neck bringing her mouth down to his. Or Allie sitting on the edge of the desk, her legs wrapped around him, her back arching her hips into him. Or-
The silence in his ears brought him back with a start, and he said something inane into the mike and punched in the next three songs. Then he took off his headphones and went out to see her.
“You look tired.” He sat on the edge of the desk next to her chair, using every ounce of self-control he had not to touch her.”You okay?”
“Yeah.” She leaned back in her chair and stretched as if her muscles ached, and he watched her breasts move under her sweater and restrained himself from leaping on her, but not from imagining leaping on her. “I miss you,” she said, and he snapped back to attention. “I miss you in my bed.”
“I miss you, too,” he told her when he had his breath back. “But I can’t climb in your bed and just sleep with you. It drives me crazy standing up fully clothed in public with you.”
“Really?” Her face folded into a smile, and he watched the lines there and reminded himself not to trace them with his finger. “That’s nice,” she said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The line of her cheek was so smooth. His hand went out, independent of his brain, and cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his palm, and he found himself moving toward her mouth, the lust to taste her as inescapable as gravity.
Charlie All Night Page 15