by Zuri Day
She finished with a description of the beauty of the forty-ninth state, the glaciers, fjords, mountains and untouched landscapes. Given how she first felt upon being given this assignment, she believed what she’d turned in was a job well done. Obviously Gloria thought so, too. She didn’t send Teresa any comments or edits, and upon listening to Teresa’s proposal to continue the travel section focus on the Pacific Northwest and travel to Washington State on her own dime, had approved her request to be out of the office for one more week. There’d been a pause, and Teresa imagined Gloria might think her in the Pacific Northwest already. But kept her mouth shut. Bottom line, she still had her man close, and still had her job.
* * *
The following Tuesday, Atka left for the office an hour earlier than usual. After sleeping in for a bit, Teresa took a shower, dressed and had a light breakfast. She sat down at her laptop and began doing searches of Seattle, the city she planned to feature next in the travel section. But she felt restless. And even more than that, she felt free. For the past two days, she had been indoors and was a little stir-crazy. What better way to take a break from work than go shopping for a new pair of stilettos? So, grabbing the keys to the rental car Atka had secured for her, she headed to one of the first places she’d visited on her own— Anchorage’s Fifth Avenue Mall.
About an hour into a walk through Michael Kors that had her feeling right at home, she exited with a few shopping bags and headed to the escalator. As she got ready to step onto it, a sign caught her eye—Cook Like a Chef In an Hour or Less!
“Real women cook,” was what Atka had told her the other night, as she sat at the island drinking a glass of wine and watching him prepare a seafood dinner worthy of a Michelin star. She’d brushed him off, but what he said had gotten her thinking. Perhaps it was time for her to learn a thing or two about the kitchen besides how to set the microwave. Heck, even her ultrasuave brother Niko had tied on an apron. Intrigued, she walked over and read the information. Two minutes later she was headed down the block to where the cooking class would be held.
Five hours later, she stepped back and with satisfaction viewed the first meat entrée she’d cooked unassisted in her entire life. The chateaubriand steak sat resting atop a wooden cutting board, looking seared as the chef had instructed, roasted rosemary sprigs and bulbs of garlic adorning its side. She smiled, triumphant, only slightly concerned that once rested and cut, the inside meat would be the perfect medium rare she intended.
She called her twin. “Guess what I just did?”
“Wrestled a bear,” Terrell drily replied.
“Close. I cooked a steak.”
“You? Quit playing.”
“I’m serious, Tee!”
“Why’d you do that? Are there no restaurants in Anchorage...or chefs?”
“Yes and yes. But Atka cooks all the time. He said real women did, too. So I thought I’d show him how real a woman I am!”
“Wow! That Atka dude really has you changing, sis. Getting all domesticated and things.”
“I’ll take a picture and send it to you.” She did. “Did you get it?”
A pause and then, “You didn’t cook this.”
“Yes, I did!”
“Tee, this looks really good.”
“Thank you.”
“What else is going on up there in the wilderness?”
“Believe it or not, parts of Alaska are pretty tame territory. I just bought an MK bag.”
“Let me guess. The bag itself is made from wolf fur and the handle is deer antlers.”
The twins cracked up. Teresa shared a little of her near week in Anchorage. “Oh, Tee, I have to go! It’s almost time for my baked potatoes to come out of the oven.”
“I can’t believe you’re cooking, Teresa. You sound happy.”
“I am, Tee. Thank you. Love you.”
“Love you back.”
When she poked the scrubbed and seasoned Yukon Gold potato with a knife, the root felt perfectly cooked. Looking at her expression, one would have thought she’d won the year’s bobsledding competition. And even though she’d had a little help—the salad and dessert from a nearby restaurant—Teresa felt she’d accomplished a major feat. She placed the oven on Warm, covered the main dish and skipped up the stairs to shower and put on something sexy.
* * *
Atka got up from his desk and strolled to the window. The beauty of the day—clear blue sky, fluffy white clouds, vibrant trees and blooming plants—was misleading. His day had been a dark one. This morning, one of his oldest employees, a man he’d known since childhood and one of the best commercial fishermen he’d ever met, had journeyed off to the Great Spirit in the sky. As if in mourning, the boat he managed had experienced a mechanical failure that would set the company back six figures. One after another, fires had erupted. He and his team had put each one out. When Curtis called, he’d hoped it was with good news. But the phone call he’d just ended had brought him the worst news of all.
“Atka?”
He turned toward the light knock on the door. “Come in.” The door opened. “Yes, Becky?”
“Do you need anything else before I leave?”
“No, you can go.”
“Are you sure? I know how much you loved Wasillie. We’ll all miss him very much.”
“He was a good man, lived a grand life. Yes, I loved him. And I’ll miss him. His is a journey that sooner or later, all of us must take.”
“Sadly, yes. Good night, boss.”
He nodded. “Close the door behind you. Never mind. On second thought, leave it open. I’m leaving, too.”
He gathered his things, left the building and headed home. Yesterday, it was a trip that he looked forward to with relish, anxious to see Teresa. Today, it was a trip he dreaded and his “guest” the last person on earth that he wanted to see.
During the drive home, a myriad of emotions vied for dominance: confusion, sadness, anger, disbelief. By the time he reached home, anger was winning. He pulled into the garage, shut off the engine and got out of the Jeep. His jaw clenched as he took long, sure strides toward the elevator leading to his penthouse condominium. He reached it, unlocked the door, burst inside and stopped short.
He blinked, tempted to walk outside and make sure he’d entered the right apartment. Except that logic would be improbable. His was the only residence on the entire floor.
The open-concept living space was spotless. The automatic blinds had been adjusted to minimize outside light. Instead, strategically placed scented candles created an intimacy in the large space, softening the ivory-colored walls even further, casting shadows across the room. A large vase of flowers sat on a side table. Music played softly, a slow, jazzy melody tinged with a world beat. Most confusing of all? A tantalizing smell of something delicious wafted from the kitchen. Only when he turned his head in that direction did he notice the dining room table had been set for two, tapered candles lined up in the middle and burning brightly.
And then he saw Teresa.
She walked—no, better—floated down the winding staircase, looking like a heroine lifted straight out of the pages of a fairy tale. His heart joined his jaw and clenched at the vision. She wore a silky, fitted jumpsuit that fit so perfectly as to have been poured over her skin. The plunges front and back left little to the imagination. Her hair, normally straight, was loose, curly, cascading over her shoulders and down her back. Crystal-covered sandals with five-inch heels covered her feet, with red, freshly painted toenails peeking from the front cutouts. Her face was devoid of makeup, the way he most loved to see her. A single diamond on a thin silver chain resting perfectly in her cleavage was her only jewelry.
Did she think an evening of seduction would make things better? Surely she couldn’t be that naive.
She walked over to him, her smile warm and inv
iting, eyes filled with expectancy. “Hello, sweetheart.”
When she went to put her arms around him, he stepped back.
“Atka, why’d you do that? What’s wrong?”
“After getting a call and reading your article, you stand there and ask me what’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Ms. Paradise Cove Chronicle journalist. Everything.”
Chapter 23
Teresa was speechless. In the excitement of taking the cooking class, shopping for ingredients and then fixing her first-ever three-course meal, she’d forgotten all about reading the Paradise Cove Chronicle online. But her article was excellent, nice and neutral, giving Paul Campbell positive mention, yes, but praising Alaska’s native people, too. And he had a problem with that?
“You’re mad because I mentioned Paul Campbell?”
Atka’s chuckle held no humor. “Is that what you call it?”
She crossed her arms, getting angrier by the second. “That’s what it was, a mention, one name among several quoted in that piece. You know what I was up against. He had to be included in the article. I spoke about his advocacy for employment. Yes, it’s in an industry you feel will hurt your bottom line and desecrate the environment but that mining will bring jobs to areas that need them is a fact. His success in corporate America before running for office is a fact. That he’s garnered thousands of supporters in his run for mayor of Anchorage is a fact. That he’s an A-class jerk who shouldn’t govern a colony of ants let alone a city? In my personal opinion that’s a fact, too, Atka, but one I couldn’t print. Given that his father is my boss, you should be able to understand that.”
Atka crossed his arms as well, rose up to his full height of six-one, his spread-legged stance resembling that of a warrior. “If what you just said was the only thing you’d written, I’d understand it fine. But you and I both know you wrote more than that. A lot more. Which is why after you pack your things, I’ll be more than happy to drive you to our fanciest hotel. I am much too angry and disappointed in the woman I thought I knew to allow her to spend another night in my house.”
Teresa turned, her expression one of shock as she watched Atka take the stairs two at a time. What the heck just happened? Still reeling, brows creased in confusion, she walked into the guest room she’d arranged into an office and jolted the still-open laptop out of sleep mode. Sitting down, she quickly signed in to her newspaper account, located her article titled “Destination Alaska: Places, Faces and the Future of the Last Frontier,” and began to read.
The more she read, the faster her heart beat. Her name was on the byline. But this was not her piece. Her stomach dropped as she reached this part of the article:
During a recent trip to Juneau, Alaska, where he met with likeminded businessmen, Campbell commented on the naysayers to his ambitious plans for the state’s economy. “Some have struggled against it, but change is inevitable. And the negative statements about our proposal are simply not true. Not only will our mining operation be environmentally friendly and ecologically sound, but they will also bring an economic boost to the very native peoples these naysayers pretend to represent. Sadly, they are the ones speaking falsehoods. They’re concerned about company profits. I’m concerned about all of the citizens of Alaska, and the continued prosperity of this state. While these businessmen are busy worrying about whether they’ll be able to continue shipping high-priced gourmet salmon steaks to wealthy friends in the lower 48, I want to ensure that not only the rich, but the average Alaskan citizen, will be able to buy them.
Teresa slumped against the back of the chair, as though the wind had been knocked out of her. That’s how she felt. And she had a very good idea who’d thrown the journalistic punch.
The newspaper’s backbencher. Good old Bill.
She sat up and read the rest of the article. Her mind raced from thought to thought, landing on those last cryptic words to her Benny Campbell had spoken. I’ve instructed Gloria to pass that by my desk so that I can review it before it goes to press. Personally. Word by word. Clearly, he’d done that, not been satisfied, and had the article edited to a tone that he liked.
“No wonder you’re so angry,” she mumbled, placing her fingers on the keyboard and performing a task. Then she pulled herself from the chair and headed upstairs. It had been only a few minutes, but hopefully Atka had calmed down enough to listen to what she had to say. Because she couldn’t let another second go by without his hearing what she had to say.
“I didn’t write that, Atka.”
She’d entered the master suite to find him lying across the bed, staring at the ceiling.
A long pause. A deep sigh. “It’s got your name on it.”
“I know. But the article that’s in the paper, the one that you read and that I read just now, is not the one I sent.” Silence. “If it were, you’d have every right to be angry and kick me out. But I swear to you, Atka. I didn’t write all of what was printed on that page and attributed to me. What I wrote, the article I sent to Gloria, I forwarded to you in an email. Will you read it?”
She watched him war with his emotions, noted the slight clench of his jaw as he controlled his still-simmering anger. Then, finally, “I’ll read it.”
She waited to see if he would say more. When he didn’t, she turned and walked out of the room.
* * *
He waited, listened to the sound of her sandals clicking against the hardwood floor, growing fainter as she walked down the stairs. He took a deep breath, and then another, before sitting up and running an exasperated hand through his hair. He told Teresa he’d read what she’d sent him and he would. It was the least he could do.
He got up and walked over to where he’d placed his phone and picked it up. It rang in his hand.
It was his mother. He greeted her in English. “Hello, Mom.”
She responded in angry, stilted Yupik, barely taking a breath between words. “Did you see what she wrote, that uppity woman you have as a guest in your home? No, she didn’t mention you by name but she may as well have! Everyone knows the beef that exists between you and Paul Campbell. Everyone knows that he hates you. I found out something else. That company she works for is owned by his father. Did you know that?”
“Yes, Mom. I knew that.”
“Yet you invite her here and bring her around your family? What has gotten into you, Atka? We’ve raised you with better values than to be taken by a shiny bauble, good looks and a smile. Mary would have never betrayed you in this way. She would have—”
“Mom! Please. I’m sorry to interrupt you and I know you mean well. But please wait before you pass further judgment on Teresa. Everything is not always as it seems.”
“You cannot deny what is in black and white.”
“But you can misconstrue that which is written. I promise to call you later, okay? Right now, there’s something I have to do. Goodbye.”
The heart that had started to lighten as Teresa’s words of denial pierced it began to darken again with what his mother had said. Like her, he, too, found it hard to believe that Teresa was not somewhat responsible for what had been written in the article that bore her name—or at least partly to blame for what could only be described as a smear campaign against the salmon industry, one that cast one of his most preeminent rivals, Paul Campbell, in a positive light. She’d told him herself that his father, Benny, had practically threatened her job if she didn’t do it. What he walked into tonight didn’t look like a scene created by someone who’d just gotten fired. In fact, it looked the exact opposite. What could she have planned to share with him that was worthy of celebration?
A short time later, when he went to look for her, he found her in the guest room/office, talking on her cell phone. She’d changed from the sexy jumpsuit worn earlier and now sported a sweatshirt, jeans and ponytail.
She looked up. “Mom, Atka just walke
d in. Let’s talk later.” She listened, nodded. “I know. I love you, too.”
She ended the call, set the phone on the desk and looked up at him.
“I read what you sent me.”
“And?”
“What’s written there is very different from what was published in the paper.”
“Exactly.”
“How can they do that, change your words around or, in some cases, change the tone of the article altogether?”
“They reserve the right to accept, reject, alter or completely revise any article that lands on the editor’s desk. It’s in my contract.”
“To sign something like that, you must have trusted them.”
“Yes, I did. Of course, when I signed on, it was to do travel pieces and society stories, nothing that I thought would get noticed by the owners, much less scrutinized and then revised. As angry as you became upon reading the revised story, trust me, I was angrier. In the six months I’ve worked with Gloria, she has always come to me with questions or comments, or when she had an idea to improve a story. I worked harder on that last article than I had on the three previous ones combined. I wrote and rewrote, researched and cross-referenced, and didn’t press Send until I felt absolutely confident that I’d achieved the almost impossible task of giving an honest, positive perspective on Paul Campbell, supporting the point of view of those who think differently and maintaining my integrity in the process.”
His voice softened as he took a step toward her. “You did that.”
Her eyes were suspiciously bright as she continued to look at him. She turned her head abruptly. “Thank you.”
He went to her, pulled her from the chair and into his arms. “I’m sorry, papoota. I should have considered that you didn’t write it. But the words made me so angry...”