Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words

by Tara Sivec

  “Sleeping with my Secretary or Falling for my Secretary?”

  “I…. You…. Oh my. You’ve heard of those books?”

  “I should hope so. Penelope Sharp’s my wife.”

  Forget the loud, annoying buzzing still coming from my desk drawer. That sound you hear right now is my head exploding from embarrassment.

  “You can stop apologizing.” Jameson laughs as I guide him down the hallway to the empty recording booth he’ll be spending the rest of the day in.

  “I really am sorry. I had no idea, and I never would have said something like that otherwise.” I push open the door to the booth to allow him to enter ahead of me.

  “I told you, it’s fine. She doesn’t really publicize that Penelope Sharp is Aubrey Kenter’s pen name, because she doesn’t want people to think she’s using my fame to sell books. There’s no way you could have known,” he explains as I hover in the doorway and watch him get comfortable on the stool in front of the microphone.

  Everyone who’s ever heard of Jameson Kenter knows about his marriage to Aubrey. It was the fairytale of the century as the world watched the two of them fall in love all over social media. She was just a small-town, regular, everyday woman from Ohio who decided to do something crazy a few years ago and got a job as an extra in one of his movies when they were filming in Cleveland. Jameson and Aubrey met over Danishes at the craft services table, and now they live happily ever after in Hollywood.

  “Heidi, I’m gonna need your help testing out the microphone levels,” Dave states in a rush as he walks into the room behind me and sits down at the DAW, giving Jameson a wave from the other side of the glass like it’s perfectly normal there’s a famous Hollywood actor sitting a few feet away.

  Obviously, this kind of thing happens all the time and he’s not even fazed by it. I’m so busy wondering what other famous person might make an appearance at some point that I completely miss what he just said.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  Dave fiddles with a few of the buttons on the board without looking up at me.

  “Bethany is late, as usual. That woman is a pain in my ass, but don’t tell her I said that, since she’s one of the most popular female narrators out there right now. She’s supposed to be narrating the chapters from the woman’s point of view in this book, and before I can get Jameson started, I need to set the sound levels. Just go on in there and read a few lines of whatever you want from the iPad,” Dave says with a wave of his hand.

  Not wanting to cause any more problems than I already have this morning by putting my foot in my mouth with Jameson, I move the rest of the way into the recording booth and try not to throw up when Jameson hands me an extra pair of headphones with a smile.

  A flash of a memory from last night hits me, and I start to recall something about reading one of my books out loud for some reason, but I quickly push it out of my mind as I take the headphones from Jameson.

  Sliding them on my head and over my ears as I get closer to him, I glance at the iPad lying on the stand in front of us. It’s already pulled up to the first chapter and I calm down a little, closing my eyes and taking a few deep breaths. There’s no way the very first chapter will start with anything even remotely crazy or dirty. I would assume there should be some sort of build-up to an… intimate moment, right? Like a nice dinner or a dancing scene. This shouldn’t be too bad.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Heidi.”

  Dave’s voice echoes through my headphones, and I take another calming breath before opening my eyes, and giving Jameson a nervous smile.

  “You’ll do fine. Just pretend you’re by yourself and no one else is listening. That’s what I usually do. It makes things a little easier,” Jameson advises.

  I give him a nod, turn my head to look at the iPad, and just go for it.

  “‘He looks down at me with fire in his eyes, and before I can even take my next breath, his body slams against mine, filling… filling…’ Uh, filling my glass with some nice, cold, refreshing water. Oh, this water is so cold and delicious. I’ll just drink it and go home,” I adlib, refusing to read the rest of that sentence when, contrary to what Jameson said, I absolutely cannot pretend like no one else is listening.

  Where’s the dinner? Where’s the dancing? Where’s the freaking romance? They’re just gonna get right down to it in chapter one?

  I hear Dave laugh through my headphones, but I continue staring down at the iPad, refusing to glance over at Jameson, knowing he’s looking over my shoulder at the words I couldn’t bring myself to say.

  Who knew there were so many words to describe female body parts? And why do they have to be so… wet? That sounds like a medical condition the poor character should get checked out.

  “Well, that was… interesting. I got what I needed though,” Dave says.

  I quickly remove the headphones and set them down on the stand next to the iPad.

  “That was awful. I can’t believe I did that,” I mutter.

  “It wasn’t that bad. It was very… enthusiastic,” Jameson states, biting down on his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing.

  “I don’t know how you do this. Reading books like this out loud. Or how your wife writes them, for that matter. I’m sorry. That was me being rude. Again. I should ask your wife for some tips.” I laugh. “At least you’re famous and people would pay good money to listen to whatever book you’d read. I don’t even think people would pay twenty-five cents to listen to me. Heidi’s Discount Erotica, you get whatcha pay for!”

  Before Jameson can reply, Dave sticks his head into the recording booth.

  “Seriously, that wasn’t a complete disaster, aside from you not actually reading what was written,” Dave teases. “It was much better than that podcast of yours I stumbled upon this morning when I googled you just for the hell of it and found your blog. You need more practice with that, although the whole butter thing was hilarious. Don’t read anymore of those Amish books. You’ll never get your shirtless neighbor to fall in love with you reading those things. Take home some of the extra books that are lying around the break room and practice reading those. Next time I need you to test mic levels, maybe you won’t turn that alarming shade of red.”

  With that, Dave pulls his head out of the room and goes back to sit behind his desk as memories of what I may or may not have done with all that podcast equipment last night come crashing back into my hungover brain.

  No, no, no. Please tell me I did not drunk record a podcast and actually put it on the internet!

  “So, tell me about this podcast Dave speaks of. Particularly the part about the shirtless neighbor,” Jameson says with a wag of his eyebrows.

  Forget about my ears still being on fire after listening to Steve record that book yesterday, or Brent knowing I had a dirty book in my possession, or embarrassing myself by poking fun at Jameson’s wife’s books. My face is so hot right now you could cook an egg on it.

  “Dave doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m pretty sure he drinks at work. Heavily. He might need a twelve-step program.”

  Oh jeez. I’m gonna get fired. I don’t even want this job, but I definitely don’t want to get fired. Again.

  “If you tell me, then when my wife comes to visit tomorrow, I’ll have her explain to you how she got over her fears of writing sex scenes. You kind of remind me of Aubrey when I first met her. She’s crazy adorable and was so shy when we first met she practically whispered everything she said to me. Now, she throws out words like pulsing cock in the middle of dinner.” He laughs. “She’s also dubbed herself the queen of matchmaking. I’m sure she’d jump at the chance to help you out with your neighbor.”

  Well, here we go. I wanted something new and exciting in my life. I don’t think it gets much more thrilling than listening to Jameson Kenter casually talking about a pulsing… thing and offering his wife up to me for help.

  Hmm, Heidi’s Discount Erotica. That actually has a nice ring to it.

  C
hapter 7

  I stare down at my phone and sigh heavily as I walk out of my garage and head toward the back of my house. All of the homes on this street, as well as all the others in the neighborhood, have their garages separate from the houses. There is an alley directly behind our houses that is just lined with everyone’s garages. Even though this is a small town and the crime rate is pretty low, it can still be a little creepy, which is why I only park back here when it’s still light outside.

  Not even the excitement of meeting Jameson today and chitchatting with him like we’ve been friends for years or the nervousness of wondering if a serial killer is lying in wait for me in the alley can put extra pep in my step. I drag my feet along the sidewalk, my shoulders hunched in shame. I should have just pretended like that stupid drunk podcast I recorded the other night never happened, but as soon as the memory of what I did came back when Dave so kindly pointed it out in front of Jameson, I got curious. And I checked my blog to see if there were any comments, hoping against hope that Dave was the only human being on the planet who heard that thing.

  I don’t even know why I still have a blog. It was just the thing you did in college, so I followed the herd and randomly posted silly stories about stuff that happened at school or recipes I found online that I thought sounded good.

  I pause in the middle of the walkway between my house and Brent’s, rereading the two comments that were left on my blog post with the podcast on it.

  That was hilarious! You need more smut in your life. Go get ’em, tiger!

  You suck. Never record a podcast ever again. Go eat farts, Heidi.

  You can probably guess which one was Dave’s comment. The second one was left by “Anonymous.” I took a chance and put myself out there for anyone and their brother to hear, and this person gets to escape behind the anonymity of a computer to insult me. Sure, I didn’t exactly plan on recording a podcast and uploading it to my blog, and I had no clue what I was doing, but still. They could at least have the decency to use their real name if they’re going to tell me to eat farts. Luckily, when I checked my blog stats before leaving EdenMedia, it said only three people listened to the podcast. I can handle that, I guess. Three people isn’t bad. Two people commented, and the third person was probably so horrified they couldn’t even bring themselves to say anything, good or bad. I mean, if you don’t have anything nice to say, you shouldn’t say it at all, so I like that third person the best right now.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  A squeak of surprise flies out of my mouth and I quickly look up from my phone to find Brent standing right next to me on my walkway.

  I quickly press my phone against my chest to hide the screen. At least none of those three people who listened to my podcast were Brent.

  At least, I hope none of those people were Brent. Oh, God. Oh no! What if he was the third person? I mean, the odds are against it. But what if for some strange reason he decided to Google me, just like Dave did? I still haven’t listened to that stupid thing again, but going by the comments Dave made at work, I definitely said way too much about Brent. Okay, worst-case scenario—the third person was Brent. But maybe I never said his name and he has no idea I was talking about him. Maybe I just referred to him as my “shirtless neighbor.” Really, I could have been referring to anyone on this street. Mr. Charmichael two houses down likes to take his shirt off in the summer and relax on his front porch after a long day of working at the local manufacturing plant. Yes, Mr. Charmichael is also a sixty-three-year-old man who’s covered in so much dark body hair that I often wonder if Mrs. Charmichael has to brush it every night so it doesn’t tangle.

  But still. I could be attracted to Mr. Charmichael. Brent has no idea what my taste in men is.

  Ugh. Maybe I should just find a new place to live.

  “I saw you pulling into your garage the same time as me and thought I’d come over and see how work was today,” Brent says. “Better than your first day?”

  I’m more than a little surprised he actually took the time to walk all the way over here to my walkway just to talk to me. Not unpleasantly so.

  Since Brent works for a local construction company, we typically keep the same hours, so it’s not unusual for us to get home at the same time during the week, but he normally doesn’t stop to chitchat.

  I realize I’m still standing here staring at him in shock and quickly look down at my phone. My inability to stop gawking at his dimples or sighing whenever I hear his voice would be a dead giveaway of what kind of man I’m attracted to.

  Why couldn’t Brent be a mean, average-looking man? It would be much easier to talk to him if he wasn’t so good-looking and nice and didn’t make me feel all tingly whenever he looked at me.

  At least he’s wearing a shirt this time.

  “Yeah, well, contrary to what X-rated movies say, it’s kind of frowned upon for a construction worker to use dangerous power tools without wearing a shirt.”

  My head whips up from my phone to find Brent smiling at me with humor sparkling in his eyes, and I realize I said that last thought in my head out loud.

  “Oh, I was just concerned about your skin! You know, all that sun shining down on you all day… skin cancer is no joke. If you ever need to borrow some sunscreen, I have plenty!”

  Excellent, Heidi. There’s nothing more attractive than talking about cancer.

  Brent takes a step closer to me, and all of a sudden, I’m surrounded by the smell of him. There’s a faint hint of woodsy cologne, but it’s mainly just soap and man. I really want to avoid any and all eye contact with him, since it seems to constantly turn me into a bumbling idiot, but it’s impossible to look away when he’s standing right in my personal space and I can feel the heat from his body. I’ve never noticed his blue eyes have specks of gold surrounding the pupil, and they’re so gorgeous I don’t think I’d be able to stop staring at them even if someone physically pulled me away from him.

  “You never answered my question. How was work today?”

  His voice is like a warm, gentle breeze floating all around me, and I feel like I’ve been put under a spell. I can’t move, I can’t breathe, and I can’t think. All I can do is stand perfectly still, wondering what Brent would do if I could be bold and fearless and tell him I don’t give a crap about work; I just want to continue watching his lips move and wonder if they taste like the peppermint I can smell on his breath, since he’s standing so close.

  “W-w-work was great,” I stutter softly. “I actually met someone famous today. Jameson Kenter. Have you seen his movies? He’s much taller in person. And even better looking. And so nice. He’s going to be there every day for a while recording a book.”

  “Wow. Jameson Kenter, huh? Sounds like a great way to spend your day at work, with someone so good-looking and nice.” Brent smiles.

  He’s smiling at me, but there’s something off about his smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I’ve spent a lot of time studying Brent’s eyes, and whenever he’s amused or happy about something, little crinkles form around the corners. I don’t see crinkles. There are no crinkles. Where are the crinkles?

  “But you’re more better and good-lookinger!” I quickly reassure him.

  Oh my God, I was a teacher! That sentence is a travesty to the entire English language!

  “I mean, you are a super nice guy. And you’re better looking. I’ll just stop talking now.”

  My stomach does a weird little flip-flop when I see the crinkles I’ve been waiting for form around Brent’s eyes as he smiles at me.

  “You think I’m nice and good-looking?” he asks, and I swear I see a twinkle in his eyes.

  “You should just forget I said that. It’s not like you need the reassurance. I’m sure you’ve looked in a mirror. Unless you’re a vampire.” I snort, forming my fingers into a cross and holding it up in front of his face. “Nope. You didn’t instantly burst into flames.”

  I snort again then immediately wish I could snap my fingers and transpo
rt myself elsewhere. Like Siberia. I’m being so Heidi right now I’m getting on my own nerves.

  I’m embarrassed and mortified and I’m covering it up with lame humor. I can’t believe I thought Brent might have been jealous there for a second when I mentioned Jameson. It just proves what a mess I am. Why would Brent care who I spend my work days with? He wouldn’t. At all. Brent is hot. Heidi is not. Heidi is always told she’s cute and adorable. Heidi does not attract a man the likes of Brent. Heidi attracts men who were forced to go out with her when two meddling mothers got together over coffee.

  Heidi really needs to stop thinking about herself in third person.

  “Well, I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you have much more important things to do than stand here listening to me embarrass myself,” I tell Brent with a nervous laugh as I start backing away from him.

  I too have a lot of important things to do. Like research flights to Siberia.

  The adorable, lopsided grin I love so much is in full force on Brent’s face as he stands there on the walkway, watching me hustle backward away from him as fast as I can without falling and making an even bigger fool of myself.

  “Well, when you have some free time after hanging with famous people, don’t forget you promised to teach me all about living in Minnesota.”

  Holy cow, I can’t believe he remembered that. It was something nice and neighborly I threw out the day we met, when he caught me watching him unload boxes from the moving van.

  Which is just another thing to add to my list of why I’m so ridiculous. If I had any guts at all, I would have made a list of all the things I love about Minnesota, including all the places we could visit and I could introduce him to, and then let him pick where he wanted to go first. But I have no guts. Instead, I have the ability to call someone more better and accuse them of being a vampire.