Bridge to Fruition

by Laurie Larsen

  “I’ll do that as soon as I get home, and I’ll call you back.”

  “Okay. And I also need to find models. Preferably a man and a woman, tall, slim, able to carry off clothes.”

  “Hmmm, at minimum budget, I assume.”

  “Budget? Who said anything about a budget? Free, of course.”

  Mom laughed. “Then you better start thinking about who from your high school crowd fits the bill and are still in Pittsburgh.”

  “Yeah.” Jasmine shook her head. She was starting to feel that breathless/heart-racing thing at the thought of so much work to do. But the fashions weren’t exactly the premiere topic on her mind to talk to Mom about. “But actually, Mom, I have another question for you.”

  “Yep.”

  “What do you know about the Phone Booth Baby?”

  A moment of silence emerged from her phone, like a cloud of smoke emitting. Then, “The what?”

  “The Phone Booth Baby. A certain baby girl was abandoned in a Pittsburgh phone booth back in 1968, discovered and taken to the hospital. The whole town fell in love with her story, donated a bunch of money and supplies, before she was finally adopted. By Ken and Adele Somers.”

  An uncomfortable laugh came over the line.

  “Your parents, Mom. You were the Phone Booth Baby. And you never told me?”

  “Sweetheart, I was an infant. Nothing to tell you about. I mean, do you have any memories of when you were a month old or less?”

  “Of course not, but …”

  “It’s ancient family history. I hardly ever think of it myself. My entire life, I’ve been Ken and Adele’s daughter. A Somers through and through, and then a Malone. And now a Harrison.”

  “It’s so interesting, though.”

  “Honey, I’m sorry I never told you. It’s no big deal.”

  “You seriously were never curious about your real parents?”

  “Ken and Adele are my real parents.”

  “I know, I know, but your biological parents? Your mother, in particular? She gave birth to you, then two days later left you in a phone booth, hoping someone would find you. Can’t you imagine what she must’ve been going through? What an internal battle she was fighting?”

  Leslie paused. “No, seriously, honey. It’s not even in my thought pattern.”

  “Did you ever think about it?”

  “No. My parents were upfront with me about it. I think I was about six when they told me I was adopted. They told me about the phone booth and the abandonment, but they were so loving and gentle, they didn’t let the news stir me. Make me feel unloved or in jeopardy. They just let me know that a lot of parents wanted to adopt me, but they were the lucky ones who got to take me home and keep me.”

  “Well, that’s a great way to break the news to a child. But what about when you grew older? Weren’t you curious? Didn’t you want to dig into the mystery?”

  She could hear her mom take a deep breath and let it out. “I think for my tenth birthday my mom gave me those clippings and documents that you must’ve found. She encouraged me to read them and ask her any questions I had. But I didn’t care. I had a great family. I had a great childhood, a good life. I didn’t want to be identified as ‘The Phone Booth Baby.’ It was evidently a novelty in the Pittsburgh news for a month or so, and then it passed. Why would I want to dig it all up again? Then or now?”

  “Well, because maybe we could solve the mystery. We have the internet now, tons of resources that didn’t exist back then. We could hire a private investigator. He could help us.”

  “Help us what?”

  “Find your parents!”

  Leslie exhaled. “I know exactly where my parents are. One’s in Tucson and one’s in heaven.”

  Jasmine frowned. Why did this have absolutely no importance to her mother? If Jasmine were the Phone Booth Baby, she’d be all over it, trying to solve this mystery. One last try to increase her mom’s curiosity: “If this means nothing to you, why did you save this file after all these years?”

  “I didn’t. Not intentionally, anyway. When I cleared out the house after the divorce, I probably ran into the file and debated whether to pitch it or keep it. I tossed it in a box, which evidently ended up in your dad’s condo.”

  A sigh of frustration crossed Jasmine’s lips. This story had gripped her attention, her curiosity. She didn’t have time to dig into it now. She had to get this job search going and give that her full focus. But she’d been hoping to get her mother on the job, now that her summer break was approaching. This felt important.

  But Mom didn’t think so.

  “All right,” she said, letting it go for now. “Say hi to Hank and Marianne and Jeremy for me. I’ll plan a trip to the beach around the time you’re off school.”

  “Love you, sweetheart.”

  * * *

  “When can you start?”

  Dax smiled. Turns out, it wasn’t all that difficult to find work as a licensed massage therapist in a big town like Ithaca, New York. His training and experience made him practically sought after.

  “Tomorrow?”

  His new boss, a man about ten years his senior named Roscoe, shook his hand. Dax had told Roscoe about his passion for volunteer work and asked for a smidge of flexibility when required. Roscoe not only agreed, but complimented on his commitment to helping others. Dax left the new salon, smiling and thinking a Thank You to God. Maybe he’d found his new place. Time would tell.

  To celebrate, Dax got in his car and headed over to Jefferson School. It was only fifteen minutes before quitting time, and he knew of one particular seventh grader who would be glad for an unscheduled visit. Pedro had been his mentee for two years now, through a program set up by the school district. Dax had volunteered to work one-on-one with kids in the foster care system. He knew only too well what a difference a big-hearted adult could make in the development of young boys in need of a role model. Dax himself was lucky enough to have hooked up with a few men who had filled that father-role for him, at least temporarily. Navigating the treacherous waters through adolescence to manhood was difficult if you had no one to watch and learn from.

  The program Dax was involved in allowed him to meet with Pedro regularly — once or twice a week after school, more time on weekends, if all parties were agreeable. Fortunately, Dax had hit it off well with not only Pedro, but his current foster mom, Darlene, whom Pedro had lived with for close to a year now. She was a kind-hearted woman, but tired more often than not, and appreciated when Dax could pick up the slack with Pedro.

  Dax pulled out his phone and found Darlene in his Contacts, and gave her a quick call. “Darlene, it’s Dax.”

  “Oh, hi.”

  “It’s not my afternoon for Pedro, but I wondered if you had plans for him. I’m at his school now and have something to celebrate. I thought I could pick him up, take him for ice cream, work on homework, and have him back in time for dinner.”

  She laughed. “Sure, you know it. What are you celebrating?”

  “New job.”

  “Oh. What was wrong with the old one?”

  He smiled. “They just wouldn’t let me be me.”

  She laughed. “You young folks. You don’t know how good you have it.” Darlene worked a full-time, and a part-time job, in addition to fostering to make her own ends meet.

  He ended the call and before long, Pedro came out, absorbed in a crowd of pre-teen kids all jockeying for position. They splashed onto the sidewalk in front of the school like a tidal wave, then began to break apart and disband as some headed for the line of school buses, others for parents’ cars, and still others walking down the sidewalk. Dax jumped out of his car and jogged over, wanting to catch Pedro’s attention before he climbed onto his bus.

  “Yo, Pedro!”

  The boy’s head whipped up and he saw him, a smile growing. “Yo, man!” he said and Dax pulled him into a quick hug — enough to show his affection, but not enough to embarrass the kid in front of his friends. “What are you doing he
re?”

  “I had some good news to share and thought you’d be up for some ice cream to celebrate.”

  “Cool!” The kid was always up for ice cream. Or cake. Or burgers. Or anything edible. His stomach didn’t seem to have a cut-off valve. “What’s the good news? You getting married?”

  Dax laughed as he put his arm on Pedro’s shoulders and walked him over to the car. “No, that’s not it.”

  “You got a girlfriend?” Pedro intoned it like he was teasing, drawing out the syllables and practically singing the word. Dax was well aware that at Pedro’s age, the correct response was always denial, “No! I ain’t got a girlfriend!” like that was the worst thing in the world. However, with age came maturity and clarity, and Dax knew that a relationship with a woman was something he wanted. Very much. And Pedro didn’t know how close he was, since Dax was now convinced he’d met the woman of his dreams, and the few short hours he’d spent with her had been among the finest in recent memory.

  Jasmine.

  “What if I do?” Dax teased, and Pedro went crazy like a twelve-year-old would, pretend-gagging and carrying on like it was a punishment worse than death. “No, I’m just kidding, no girlfriend,” Dax went on, knowing it was the truth. Sharing a few kisses and a few dinners with a girl who had just moved three hundred miles away, did not make a relationship qualify for girlfriend status. But on the other hand, he wouldn’t qualify them as just friends either. He had a few friends, and he not once felt his heart race while holding hands, like it did with Jasmine.

  Regardless, he wasn’t about to jinx whatever fledgling relationship he had with the beautiful Jasmine by sharing a peep about it with Pedro. “I got a new job, buddy. This one pays me a little more, and hopefully will appreciate me a little more. By the way, I know it’ll be a while till you work, but try to remember this.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Make sure you work at a place that respects you and supports you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Your life will be miserable if you don’t.”

  They got in the car and drove to a nearby ice cream place. It just happened to be Pedro’s favorite place, one that he rarely got to visit unless Dax took him. And Dax didn’t mind having that distinction at all.

  They picked out their favorites: Dax an ice cream sundae topped with peanut butter and Pedro some awful-sounding concoction called The Kitchen Sink containing just about every ice cream topping he’d ever heard of, all combined onto four scoops of ice cream. There had to be at least a thousand calories in it, and God knew how many sugar grams.

  “Just promise me you’ll still eat your dinner later,” he said to Pedro as they carried their treasures to the table. “Darlene knows you’re here, but it would be rude not to eat the dinner she makes for you, because you’re stuffed from ice cream.”

  Pedro gave him a dubious look, his forehead creasing and his eyes wide, looking up at him through his dark bangs.

  Yeah, Dax knew. Stuffed from ice cream? Get real. Dax laughed and rumpled his hair, and they sat.

  First came inhaling the ice cream. Then came talking about Pedro’s day, then it was time for homework. Pedro pulled a few books out of his backpack and was just pointing out some Algebra problems that made absolutely no sense to him, when Dax’s phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Dax.” Her voice made his heart stop, then rush to catch up.

  “Jasmine.” He glanced at Pedro. He planned to motion for him to work on his math while he took his phone call a few steps away, but the darn kid had heard the name he’d breathed, in what Dax was sure a tone Pedro had never heard him use before.

  Pedro’s attention was glued to Dax, and he immediately began making smooching sounds, and repeating, “Jasmine, oh hi, Jasmine, I love you, Jasmine!”

  Dax tried a stern frown and shake of his head, but with his mood so happy that Jasmine had called, he couldn’t quite pull it off.

  “Who’s that?” Jasmine’s voice came over the phone.

  Dax stood and pointed at Pedro, then his book, then turned his back to him. “That … is Pedro.”

  “Why’s he saying my name so much?”

  Darn it. How could he be cool when a twelve-year-old Romeo was complicating things?

  “Let me talk to her!” Pedro had followed him, was standing right beside him, and had ripped the phone out of his hand before Dax had a chance to object. “Hi, Jasmine?”

  Dax couldn’t hear Jasmine’s side of the conversation but he tried to send Pedro a telepathic message not to say anything rude or inappropriate. Remember at least some of the lessons Dax had taught the kid over the last few years.

  “Oh, well, congratulations on your graduation.” Pedro was talking into the phone, his eyes locked with Dax’s, and then he lifted his thumb and nodded his head with a smile. “He brought me here for some celebration ice cream. He got a new job. Um, let me see …” he pulled the phone away. “Still a massage therapist, Dax?”

  Dax nodded.

  “Yes, still massage therapist. Um, they let him be him. At least more than the other place.”

  Dax sighed. Enough was enough. He held his hand up to Pedro, waggled his fingers at him.

  “Okay, well, it was nice talking to you, but Dax wants the phone back now.” The kid handed it back to him and murmured, “She sounds nice.”

  Dax put his hand over the phone. “Great, now go sit over there and do your homework and don’t interrupt me again, you got it?”

  Pedro nodded with a smile, his face looking like he wanted to say something, but he refrained and did as he was told.

  Dax took a breath, let it out, and spoke into the phone. “Sorry about that. He’s a good kid, but he gets a little curious sometimes.”

  Her laughter was warm. “How do you know him?”

  “He’s my mentee. I meet him after school a few days a week, talk to him, help him with homework, you know.”

  “That’s sweet of you.”

  Dax shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “I get as much out of it as he does. He’s a lot of fun.”

  “I bet you’re making a big difference with him.”

  “Hope so. Hey,” he said, ready to change the subject, “so you’re home. How was the trip? How’s everything going?”

  “Good, good.” She started telling him about her job search, and how the employers she’d contacted now wanted her to submit this and that, and she was somewhat stressed out about the requests. But as much as he wanted to listen to the words she was saying, he found himself instead bathing in the timbre of her voice. It did intense things to his body. It made his heart race, his hands shake a little, his breathing unsteady.

  Then she threw one on him. “Hey, I just had a great idea. Remember how I told you, you would be a great model because you have the right look for it?”

  “Yeah.” He did remember. He couldn’t help but feel flattered when she’d said it.

  “How would you like to help me with some of these employment projects? The video and the still photos? You could be my male model.”

  He chuckled, loving how enthused she seemed about the prospect. “You realize I have absolutely no experience at this, right?”

  “That’s all right! First of all, I can’t pay a model with experience.”

  “I’m cheap, in other words.”

  “Exactly. And, I know a natural when I see it. I bet you look great on film.”

  A smile covered his face. Any excuse to see Jasmine again was good. Her seeking him out to help her because she thought he’d look great on film – that just had to be good.

  “How about it?” she asked now. “Would you be able to make some time to come to Pittsburgh and help me by modeling some clothes while I photograph and videotape you?”

  “I’d love to. As long as you realize that you’ll need to show me what you want me to do.”

  “No problem.” They made plans and set a date, far enough out that Jasmine would have time to design and sew his clothes, and that he
would work at his new job a while before taking time off. They chatted about other things, and finally, with a smile on his face and anticipation in his heart, he said good-bye.

  Chapter Eight

  No rest for the weary. The cliché was etched in Jasmine’s mind, and had been ever since her graduation. She’d dived into her job search, addressing her abundance of rejections, then into the designs and sewing required by her application projects. Good thing she enjoyed designing and sewing clothes, or she’d embody another cliché too: All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.

  But, she didn’t feel like a dull girl today. In fact, today, she was a very excited girl. Because today she was expecting a visitor. A very handsome, sweet, generous visitor: Dax.

  She’d decided that in order to prove her versatility to potential employers, she needed to demonstrate fashions for both men and women. Heck, she’d even try children’s styles if she had to. She wanted a job in the fashion industry, and if it meant pushing herself out of her comfort zone and designing clothes that she’d never designed before, she’d do it.

  For the last week, she focused on three diverse outfits for her male model to bring to life on film. A casual shorts, cotton shirt and hat combo. A dressier slacks and long-sleeve dress shirt, and then a formal dark suit. Yes, she’d actually made a suit on her sewing machine in her dad’s spare bedroom. Keeping in mind that it only needed to look good on film. It didn’t have to be as durable as a real suit. Just enough to transport her design ideas from pencil on paper, to fabric on a body.

  Dax’s body. With his long, lean legs, slim waist and perfect torso, she knew he’d look good in these clothes. The multitude of successful male models she’d worked with last year during her Paris internship had nothing on Dax. She just needed to make him comfortable enough to loosen up in front of the camera. Let him connect his eyes with the lens and make everyone fall in love with him.

  She shook off her nerves and went upstairs to the spare bedroom. It would become Dax’s room during the few days he was here. She double-checked the three new creations hanging in the closet. She’d washed them by hand, sprayed them with starch and pressed them with her steam iron. They were ready for their photo shoot. As soon as Dax arrived, they could begin.