Plum Girl (Romance)

by Winters, Jill

  "Tonight?" she repeated incredulously. "What are you talking about?" Oh, no, he wasn't in town again, was he? She knew Terry wasn't a horrible human being or anything, but she just didn't want to see him now. She didn't want to hurt his feelings though, or ruin the chance for them to stay friends. "Are you in Boston?" she asked, keeping the dread out of her voice.

  "No, no. I mean, I want you to come to New York tonight," he said. "Come on, Lonnie, it's only a four-hour drive. If you leave by five, you can get here in plenty of time for New Year's."

  "New Year's?" she repeated absently.

  "Duh!" (She detested that.) "Tonight's New Year's Eve! What'd you forget?" Obviously she'd tried to. Not only did she hate New Year's on principle, but also, she was hoping she and Dominick could spend the night together, like he had hinted at the holiday party. She hadn't spoken to him yet about it, though, so at this point, she was free. That still didn't mean she'd go to New York.

  "Terry, I can't do that," she said, with more unyielding resolve than she'd meant to reveal. There was a pause.

  "Why not?" he finally asked, his voice bordering on curt again. Peeved was a side to Terry she'd never really seen. Even when he'd gotten grouchy on the night he'd visited, he'd had the jokes rolling again by the next morning. "Why not?" he repeated.

  "Because..." I don't like you enough. I'd rather watch TV in my underwear than pay a few tolls. I'm falling for another man. "I just can't."

  "So what are you going to do for New Year's, then?"

  "Nothing," she said honestly.

  "You'd rather do nothing than come to NYC?" (She wasn't crazy about the singsong way Terry always drawled "NYC," but at least it was better than "duh.")

  "Terry, it's nothing personal. I just... I don't want to go to New York tonight." There was another pause.

  Then: "Fine."

  "Terry, are you mad?"

  "No, no. Of course not."

  "Oh, good," she said sincerely. Another pause. "Well... have fun!" she added in an overly enthused voice. "Whatever you end up doing."

  "I will."

  "Okay... well..."

  "I gotta go," he said quickly. "I'll talk to you later."

  "Okay, no problem! Bye!" Lonnie heard his click before she'd finished her over-the-top closer. She wondered if he'd noticed she was trying too hard. She slid the receiver in its cradle, let out a sigh, and tried to remember what she'd been working on before he called.

  Her phone rang again.

  "Beauregard Twit's line." She knew she was omitting the "Twit & Bell" part, but it seemed too morbid to say Lunther's name like that, now that he was dead.

  "Look, Lonnie, this isn't easy for me to say." It was Terry again.

  "Ter—?"

  "I've been doing some thinking and... the truth is..." He sucked in a deep, audible breath.

  And then he blew.

  "Lately you have begun to flare a temper in me"—his voice rose angrily—"that I can barely CONTAIN!"

  What is this? New material? "Terry, what are you talk—"

  "Look, I've been thinking a lot about this, and I've decided that we just don't have boyfriend-and-girlfriend potential. Do you realize that I could have lots of women! And I plan to!" Apparently, he was serious, and he meant every hostile word. "Okaaay?" he taunted bitterly. "Do you get it?"

  "But—" She got everything except the part where he was the one giving this speech. She'd known all along that they didn't have long-term potential, but what was he so angry about? Was this because she didn't want to go to New York for New Year's?

  "And if you think this is about New Year's, it's not!" he shouted. "I just don't see you in my future, and the truth is, I NEVER HAVE!" Her eyes widened to match her shock. She never knew that Terry realized their incompatibility in the long run. But by his tone, it sounded like he'd done one better: he'd not only noticed, but managed to nurse an intense loathing for her, as well.

  "Terry, please, calm down," she said evenly. She wanted to stop his tirade before he said something that made it impossible for them to stay friends. Well, friendly. It didn't work anyway.

  "You don't know two shits about me, Lonnie!" he went on at the top of his lungs, while she remained agape. "You think I'm just this happy comedian, twenty-four seven. Well, I'm NOT! I have a darker, more complex side that you don't even get! That you don't even stimulate! And lately, the mere thought of you makes me so angry—"

  "Just wait! Tell me why you're so mad all of a sud—"

  "Look, I don't want to get into all this now, all right? The point is: you flare a temper in me. That's it. Just get it through your head once and for all: I do not want to see you anymore! Do you get it? Do you—"

  She hung up on him. Exactly how much of the insane, belligerent diatribe was she expected to listen to? The guy obviously had issues. She should've known that being a comedian, he had the potential to be too eccentric—i.e., nuts—for her.

  Still, part of her wondered if she should start panicking; this was the second guy who had dumped her cold. First Jake, now Terry.

  But as Lonnie slumped back in her leather chair and tried to take in what just happened, she experienced an odd sense of liberation. Of relief. Even though Terry's demented decree should have been terribly insulting, she couldn't take his rejection that personally since she'd never really opened herself up to him. And now that he was no longer dangling in the background, she had zero baggage impeding her relationship with Dominick. No guilt, whatsoever.

  Still reeling with surprise, wonder, amazement, and exhilaration, she shook her head and thought to herself, Big changes ahead.

  * * *

  "Butt break?"

  Dominick looked up from his monitor to see Mo standing in his doorway. Her hands were braced on the doorjamb, as she leaned her upper body over the threshold to his office. She had a cigarette already in the corner of her mouth, which could've looked semi-trashy, but she carried it off well, and just looked very cute.

  "Hey, Mo," he said, smiling. "Uh... I'll have to pass. I don't smoke"—after a two-second pause he added—"anymore. I quit."

  "You quit? Congratulations," Mo replied sweetly. "Some of the girls and I are going outside now, so I just thought I'd ask." Dominick couldn't help but be impressed that she was able to keep the cigarette firmly in her mouth the whole time.

  Mo lingered a few more moments, and then smiled sheepishly and said, "Well... good luck with your work. I'll see ya later." And she left. Dominick was flattered by her interest, but to him, she was still a kid. Well, she wasn't a kid in some very obvious ways, but still... she was too young for him. He didn't want a girl fresh out of college. He wanted someone more mature. A full-grown woman. A luscious, brainy, adorable, full-grown woman. Three months ago, he didn't have a clue what he was looking for, but now it seemed so clear. So urgent.

  Dominick pushed back from his desk, and rose out of his chair, determined for the moment to forget all the work he was supposed to catch up on. He was going upstairs to see Lonnie, because he hadn't seen her since the night of the party, and that was way too long ago. He missed her voice. He missed the expressions she made when she was teasing him. And the expressions she made when she was being serious. He missed her. Phone conversations weren't cutting it, not for one more second.

  Dominick headed to the elevator and passed his protégé, Harold, on the way. "Where you headed, D?" Harold asked expectantly. In truth, Dominick felt sorry for the poor bastard. He was always bored, because he frenetically zipped through his projects way ahead of the deadline and then had nothing to do. If only he weren't so damn irritating!

  Dominick immediately felt guilty at the thought, because he knew Harold didn't mean any harm. He was a smart kid, ambitious, too, but he wasn't Dominick's first choice for the position. He was Dominick's mother's first choice. Harold's aunt's neighbor played bridge with Mrs. Carter's former accountant. Of course he didn't have to bow to his mother's pressure, but she would've been an unbearable martyr if he didn't, and Harold was clea
rly qualified.

  Sure, Harold was qualified when it came to computer languages (and overqualified when it came to his wardrobe), but the kid was less than swift in other ways. For instance, during a critical meeting with E-Bizz's CEO, Mitch Jay, Harold unabashedly corrected the pompous old guy's pronunciation of the word "banal." In turn, Mitch Jay had responded with a brittle smile and a voice laced with contempt: "Pardon me." Harold had replied: "No problem. Don't worry about it, M." There were countless other episodes like that. (Although, if Dominick didn't have to make it his business to keep high-powered sponsors like Mitch Jay happy, he probably would've found it all somewhat funny.)

  "I'm just heading out for a few minutes," he said to Harold. His protégé's face dropped, and Dominick took pity on the guy. "Uh... would you do something for me while I'm gone?" Harold straightened up eagerly and shifted his Hermes tie. Dominick said, "Check the preliminary commands I've written for that new link. The file's open on my screen."

  With ecstatic affirmation, Harold turned on his heel and headed to Dominick's office. Dominick just laughed to himself. He was certain that Harold wouldn't find any errors in his work, but hey, at least it gave him something to do for about half an hour.

  The elevator doors opened on twenty-three, and Dominick felt anticipation pool in his chest. He'd been to her office once before to get her for lunch, so he knew where her desk was. Not that he would've missed it anyway; it was the one you passed as soon as you entered Twit & Bell, with the six-inch-thick layer of papers covering it.

  She wasn't there. He noticed that her computer's screen saver was on, so she must have left at least several minutes before. Now what? He looked at his watch: 10:43 a.m. He decided to wait five more minutes, and leaned against her desk, feeling slightly like an idiot with each passing second. Not that there was anyone to feel like an idiot in front of, since the office seemed deserted. Finally, he gave up. He spotted the end of a red pen peeking out from under a stack of papers, so he snatched it up, scrawled a note to her on the first blank Post-it he spotted, and headed back to the elevators.

  He'd been hoping like hell she'd be there! He wanted to persuade her to take a little break with him. They could go to a coffee shop. Or to an empty conference room. He'd leave that choice up to her. He knew he couldn't have lunch with her because he already had a lunch meeting scheduled with GraphNet's copresidents, and he was being very careful to maintain his good standing despite his intention to leave the firm. It was absolutely critical to maintain a high-quality job performance right up until the end if he wanted to lend credence to his own business.

  Shoving hard on the glass doors to GraphNet, he headed back to his office. As soon as he entered, he had to hold back a frustrated sigh. He'd forgotten that he'd just given Harold a project, which involved the overanxious putz sitting at his desk. "Bad news, D," Harold stated grimly... but, oddly, with some perceptible glee in his eyes. "So far, I've come across quite a few errors. Four to be exact, and I'm only halfway through this file." What? That couldn't be; Dominick never made mistakes, and certainly not with basic programming code!

  He went to look over Harold's shoulder. Harold had printed out the file and marked it up with a red pen. My protégé marked up my work with a fucking red pen! Dominick looked at it.... I'll be damned. Harold was right.

  But how? How had Dominick made such careless mistakes? Where had his concentration gone lately? True, he'd been thinking about Lonnie more, but...

  Just then an image of her dark, wet mouth came into his mind, and his dick started to harden.

  He just answered his own question.

  Chapter 16

  Everyone sat uncomfortably around the conference table. Twit was ten minutes late, and that was positively unheard of, because Tuesday-morning staff meetings were his top priority. Lonnie tried to use the time constructively, though, by looking around, trying to read her coworkers' faces, and noticing anything that seemed—as Detective Montgomery had put it—"off." Everyone appeared somewhat fidgety, but then, that wasn't much to report since she felt the same way. Where was Beauregard already?

  Speak of the devil. Twit bustled through the glass door, gripping his legal pad with one hand and holding the other hand up to the staff. "My apologies," he said, and took a seat at the head of the table. "This is going to be a very quick meeting," he added, and shuffled his papers. So far, Lonnie had yet to see Twit actually refer to any of the papers he shuffled during staff meetings.

  The conference room was filled, and everyone seemed curious about Twit's purpose. Lonnie was curious, too, but in a less invested way, which was the great thing about being a temp. Of course, Twit loved the attention he was getting, as the Twit & Bell staff looked quizzically and expectantly at him, and he gave his papers a final, twentieth shuffle.

  "Okay, people, I called this meeting to make an announcement." He paused for dramatic effect. Unfortunately, he waited way too long to resume, and it backfired. A couple people started talking among themselves. Bette picked lint off her silk lapel, B.J. pulled at a hangnail, and Matt took out his PalmPilot. "Ahem!" Twit cleared his throat, and people looked at him again.

  "I know everybody has probably been wondering what is going to happen now that Lunther is not with us anymore," he began. He must have realized that his mouth had curled into a merry smile, because suddenly he forced his lips into a tightly pressed line. Then he looked down at his lap and brought one hand up to his forehead. "Oh, my old school chum, Lunther!" he exclaimed in a sober voice, wincing and shaking his head. He hit his hand on the table a few times in succession. "Oh, why, why, WHY?" he bellowed. Everyone glanced at each other questioningly, and then looked to Lonnie, as if she would understand the psychological state of her completely weird boss. She just shrugged.

  Then Twit composed himself. He straightened his shoulders and addressed the group again. "Now, it won't be easy, but we have to try to pick up and go on after the terrible loss we've suffered." Dramatic pause. "The announcement I want to make isn't an easy one." Another dramatic pause. "But it's one that I think will be for the best." A dramatic eon passed by. "What I'm about to announce is for the good of the company, and for the good of each and every individual at this table." The earth rotated around the sun about a million times. "And here it is. I've decided not to take another partner."

  The room was silent. Lonnie tried to be discreet, sneaking glances at each attorney's face to compare expressions. Matt and B.J. appeared neutral to the idea, but then, they were relatively new to the firm, and the youngest associates, so neither could qualify for partner yet anyway. Clara and Mel were impassive. Macey wasn't even present.

  Twit went on. "Now, this is not final, but for the time being, it's the way I think it has to be. I will pick up where Lunther left off, and sometime—in the very indefinite future—I'll start considering the idea of taking a partner again." He leaned back and gripped the arms of his throne. "Are there any questions about what this means?"

  Is this guy a jerk or what? Here he makes them wait ten minutes to hear a condescending, power trip of a decree, and then asks if everyone comprehended what just happened. Not that Lonnie cared who advanced to partner, but still, she found Twit's superior behavior ludicrous. Bette spoke first.

  "Fine by me," her nasal voice declared. "Saves me paperwork." She gave a let-them-eat-cake, close-mouthed smile.

  "Yes..." Twit began officiously. "Uh, thank you, Bette, for sharing those thoughts. Are there any other questions about my plans for the firm? Or my intended philosophy of leadership?" What the hell is he talking about? Whatever his "philosophy" of leadership was, the staff would certainly know it by now. He'd been their boss, and exercised his leadership, for years.

  Unless...

  Was it possible that Twit had less say in the running of Twit & Bell than Lonnie had thought? She knew he and Lunther had started the firm together, so she'd always assumed they were equal partners in every way. But if that were true, why was her boss suddenly acting like he'd been elected
king for a day? She scrutinized his face, and saw traces of that almost insuppressible merry smile. Then she glimpsed a few of her coworkers. From what she could tell, they were somewhere between surprised and puzzled.

  She would've like to have seen Macey's reaction, but she was, yet again, absent from the Tuesday-morning staff meeting.

  "I'm just glad you're the one in charge now," B.J. said to Twit. Lonnie turned her head and looked at him strangely, because it seemed like an odd thing to say. Quickly, B.J. qualified, "Hey, you gotta respect a boss who's a die-hard Celtics fan." He pointed at the boss amiably.

  "Yes. Well, thank you, B.J.," Twit said, nodding heavily.

  "Of course, that's no offense to Lunther or anything," B.J. added, defensively holding his hands up to the room. "He was from New Jersey, so I can understand why he liked the Jets."

  "Nets," Matt corrected loudly enough for everyone to hear. B.J. blushed.

  "Well, I just want to say," Delia broke in, making her abrasive voice as soft and sweet as she could, "that I realize you have a temp helping you out, Beauregard"—the name's Lonnie, you witch—"but I'd be happy to give you any extra assistance you need, as you make the transition to... you know... not working with Lunther." Then she flipped her deader-than-normal hair over the shoulder pad of her eighties-looking sweater.

  Now Twit blushed. "Well, thank you, Delia. That is certainly considerate of you. I'll have Luna confer with you after the meeting." Like hell. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, and Lonnie tried desperately to think of anything other than Twit having a hormonal reaction to Delia. Or Twit having hormones at all, if possible.

  "So if there's nothing else," Twit announced, and leaned his head back on his chair. "I'll cease my offidating here, and proceed this meeting to its conclusion." Then he shut his eyes, as if in deep reflection. Everyone just sat there, confused.

  After a few seconds, Twit crept one eye open and glanced around the room. Then he opened both eyes, and clarified, "Oh... that is to say, meeting adjourned." With that, the room cleared out. While Twit sank back into his affected Zen Buddhist posture, Lonnie hustled back to her desk in disbelief.