by Ward, Susan
I tense. Damn, a wisecrack. Sandy’s laughter floods the line again. I shake my head, warning myself not to be too lame, too anxious or, worse of all, too desperate.
“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Harris.” I’m pleased. My voice sounded calm, in control that time.
A long pause. Then, “I wanted to discuss a potential employment opportunity.”
Potential? What the hell does that mean? That he hasn’t decided?
“It’s not really the job you applied for,” he continues.
I applied for an entry level administrative position. Shit, am I not even qualified for that after four years at USC. Crap!
“No?” I say, trying not to sound disappointed.
“No.” More silence as if he’s deciding how to present his opportunity. “You have a unique background and I have a bit of a problem. I think you might be the perfect fix.”
Oh no. Unique background? What the devil does Sandy Harris know about my background that he would call it unique. We’d never crossed paths before the interview, and exactly what kind of problem does he need help from me for?
An ugly suspicion of where this call is going makes the strongest impulse inside me to slam down the phone. Kicking my temper into submission, I ask coolly, “I can’t imagine what kind of problem I’d be the perfect fix for.”
Sandy laughs good humouredly. “That’s probably because you haven’t met Alan Manzone before.”
“Alan Manzone?” The name means nothing to me, but I still don’t like the direction this is going. “Listen, I think maybe this employment opportunity isn’t for me…”
“No wait. Don’t hang up. Let me explain first. I guess you have heard of Manny.”
I stare at the phone. Manny? Who the fuck is Alan Manzone. Not that I care.
“The situation and the job isn’t as awful as you might think.”
“No?” I ask, though I really don’t have a clue what the hell we’re talking about or why I’m still on the phone.
“Craig Entertainment Management is putting a lot of money into this kid. The most brilliant guitarist and song writer of this generation. That’s what they think. He’s not going to be just a megastar. He’s going to be the fucking supernova of stars if we can keep him from exploding.”
“You might want to rethink the supernova thing. It’s a star that outshines all the other stars before it destroys itself,” I say, without thinking.
“Really?” Sandy laughs. “Then we definitely don’t want him to be a supernova. I’ll get to work on fixing that one tomorrow. Right now I need to fix the problem I have today. That’s where you come in.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
I’m more than a little frustrated with Sandy. I ask, “What exactly is the job?”
“I’ve put together an eight week tour in the UK for Blackpool. Sort of a trial tour the Management Company and the Label want to see before they go any farther with trying to make a go with this kid. He’s fresh out of rehab. Clean, I’ve been told, but regrettably still him. A pain in the ass in every way.”
I growl silently inside my head and then press, “What is the job.”
“Technically, Assistant Road Manager on the Blackpool Tour in the UK.”
My eyes round and excitement shoots through my flesh drop kicking my prior irritation across room. Then, I go cold. Technically?
“I don’t understand. What does technically mean?”
Silence. Then, “That’s the touchy part of this offer.”
Oh, I bet it’s touchy. “Yes.”
“Assistant Road Manager in title,” Sandy explains, “in reality you are the buffer between the band and my road staff, and if you want the blunt truth, I’m hiring you to keep Alan Manzone on a leash. Keep him from frying his brain with drugs and using up his body on women. He’s got a vile temper. He’s a fucking genius, women go crazy over him, and he has a vulgar kind of weakness for them. He also has enormous potential to make us all a lot of money.”
“You’re hiring a handler,” I say, not sure if I’m offended or flattered. My eyes round. “Why me?”
“Well, you weren’t exactly the interviewee I expected to have walk into my office boasting a resume with a 4.0 GPA from the University of Southern California with a degree in English Literature. For one thing, you have an extraordinary knowledge of the music industry on all levels. For another, you are street smart, trendy, and a fighter. The quick wit and brains I did expect.”
He laughs. I laugh, but only because he did.
“It got the wheels in my head turning,” he adds. “Alan Manzone responds better to women than men. And something tells me you’re going to be able to handle him brilliantly. The rest of the band is not a problem. Your average rockers. Rowdy, but tame when you kick them. It’s only Manny that needs special handling. The tour runs July 1 through the end of August. I need to get you on a plane to the UK by the end of the week so you can get briefed in London on the tour and meet the team.”
“It’s an eight-week tour?”
“Yes, and if you can survive the eight weeks on tour with Blackpool, when you get back to LA I’ll find you a job here in the administrative offices if you like. Or maybe you’ll like England. Want to work out of our office in London doing promotion work. If you can make the Blackpool tour not a disaster, I’m willing to try to accommodate anything you want employment wise.”
Excitement sends the pulse leaping through my veins. “You have an office in London? I could have a position there?”
Sandy laughs. “If you don’t quit before the tour is over, Linda, it’s a sure thing if you want it.”
I debate with myself whether to push too hard in my suddenly, unexpectedly wonderful change of events. “I have one question.”
“Yes?”
“Could the job in London be part-time to accommodate school? I’m enrolled in a one year graduate program. It starts in September.”
“Say no more. If this works out, we can work anything out. So, Linda, are you saying you want the job?”
I pause. I take a deep breath. I don’t know why I do either. There is just so much running in currents inside of me now. A job. I have a job if I want it, a way to get to England, and a way to pay for living expenses at school. A smile takes over my face, so large it hurts.
“I most definitely am willing to accept the job if you are willing to give it to me,” I say.
Sandy laughs. “That’s what I like about you, Linda. You never say anything the way I expect you to. You’re going to be terrific. I know we haven’t talked salary and all that. We can do that when we go over the employment contract. Next time, Linda, when you’re offered a job make sure you talk money before saying yes.”
Oh shit. I laugh. “I will, Mr. Harris.”
“But don’t worry. I’m sure the terms we reach will meet your expectations. And you can knock off the Mr. Harris stuff. Everyone who works for me calls me Sandy.”
“OK, Sandy.”
“Well, I’m excited about us working together. And definitely pleased to be giving a job to a fellow alumni. We Trojans have to stick together.”
My eyes widen. “I didn’t know you went to USC.”
Sandy laughs. “No? I thought for sure that was why you applied. Playing on that alumni thing. Your resume was definitely thin.” He chuckles again. “But that’s not why I hired you.”
“No?”
“No. After the interview I finally noticed your last name. Cray. Couldn’t help but wondering if you’re Brian’s kid. It would make sense with how much you know about everything in the recording industry.”
I tense. I struggle for something carefully neutral to say. “You know my father?”
“Oh, Brian and I go way back. So I gave him a ring. Told me I’d be a fool not to hire you. That I’d never find anyone else to fill the position more perfectly. Likes to brag about his girl, in case you don’t know it.”
I fight my unsettling reaction to that comment and say instead, “You k
now dads.”
“Yep. Got one of those myself. So, welcome to the team. We need to meet this week. Go over the employment agreement. Introduce you to everyone. Get you fully plugged in and on a plane by Friday to the UK.” This time rustling paper sound. “I’ve got an opening at 2 p.m. on Wednesday.”
“Two would be great!”
“Welcome aboard, Linda. I’ve got a lot riding on this decision. This is a messy situation, but something tells me you’re going to manage it beautifully. You’re not going to let me down, are you?”
“No. Not if I can help it.”
Sandy laughs. “I know you’re not. I can just tell. See you Wednesday.”
Click. I drop the phone into the receiver and slouch down on the couch. I feel strange. Am I in shock? Am I so happy I’m numb? I’ve got a fucking job! Is this how it feels to finally have a fucking job?
My eyes round as a fragment of the conversation jabs at me. My dad called twice this week. Is this why Brian was calling me? He’d gotten a call from Sandy Harris? He gave me a good reference, even after I stormed out on him last fall in San Francisco and have ignored his phone messages. Jeez, it wasn’t what I expected from dad, for Brian to do me a solid, and I should probably make some gesture in return. I’m not sure what. I’ll figure that out later. I want to be just thoroughly and completely happy now.
I start to laugh and the smile on my face grows larger. I stare at the room. I came in here for some reason before I called Sandy. What was it? Aha, breakfast, I realize suddenly able to take note of the hunger gnawing my stomach. I didn’t get to eat much of my picnic last night. I flush, and the delicious memories send soaring sensations through my elated flesh. I spring up from the couch.
Things are starting to look up for you, Linda, I tell myself, padding across the room to grab the room service menu.
I sink onto the chair before the desk. Now what should I order? I reach for the phone and hit the guests services button.
“Room service,” a voice says on the other end.
“Yes, I’d like to order breakfast.”
“Of course, Mrs. Parker.”
I hold the phone away from me and make a face. Why does the staff at the hotel keep calling me that? I know it’s probably out professionalism and trying to be tactful, it must be tricky all around trying to figure out what to call a no-name woman in a man’s room, but its wrongness mocks my emotions on all levels.
I scan the menu again. What would Jack like for breakfast? Something Mexican, something spicy.
“I don’t see it on the menu, but do you have chorizo and black beans in the kitchen?” I ask.
“We can accommodate anything you want, Ma’am.”
I see. Can you accommodate not calling me Mrs. Parker? I shut down the voice in my head and say, “I would like one order of ovoce ranchero. An egg white omelet with broccoli and Swiss cheese. One order of sour dough toast. Two orange juices. Two pots of coffee. One regular. One decaf. No creamer. No sugar. Got that?”
“How soon do you want it?”
I check the clock. 10 a.m. I haven’t really eaten since yesterday morning. “I want it as soon as possible, please.”
I hang up the phone and go to gather the remains of my picnic last night. Taking a trashcan in hand, I start to dump the leftover food, setting aside the plates and my abalone shell and other things I want to take back home with me. I start to toss into the trash the candles I placed and lit around the room. I crinkle my nose. Jeez, they’ve melted down to wax into the wood of the furnishings. I forgot to blow them out last night before going to sleep. It’s a small miracle we didn’t burn down the hotel.
I giggle. “In some ways we did burn down the hotel,” I say to myself.
I fold the blanket and then push the coffee table back into place. I stare at the room. Nearly perfect again. I draw back the drapes of the window just enough to let a hint of sunlight into the room.
I quietly sneak into the bedroom for my proper full-length white robe. I gaze down at Jack. Still sound asleep. I should probably let him sleep. He was in San Antonio two days ago and did a concert last night. The robe slips from my fingers and I carefully climb back into bed.
I curl into him. I want to be as close to him as I can get. Everything about me has a deliciously content feeling to it. Very strange and different than how I usually feel. Everything is going to be OK. I’ve gotten a job. I’m not going to be broke, apartment-less, and living with Doris.
I tuck my head into his shoulder and smile. I’m starting to fix my own life, I’m starting to build a new life, and that’s an amazing thing.
I nuzzle him and my hand starts to move in a loving glide over the warm, firm surface of his chest and abdomen. I should probably stop. I shouldn’t wake him, but I’m suddenly as eager as a child on Christmas morning to have Jack wake. I want to tell him about my call with Sandy Harris. I want to pick his brain on how I should handle the mercurial Alan Manzone. I want to tell him I got into my graduate program. I want to love him.
My hand inches from his abdomen to his cock and as my fingers brush it in a light, teasing glide, he rolls over and his eyes open, smiling down at me.
“Don’t stop,” he murmurs, then kisses me lightly. “I hated waking to find you gone, but now that you’re back, don’t stop.”
“No?” I whisper, my hand stilling as I stare up into his lazy blue eyes.
“Again,” he orders softly.
I do a more thorough stroke on his erection. He groans and moves into me. He starts to kiss me and lightly touches me in return. Just being near him is very, very arousing. It doesn’t take much for me to be instantly hungry and desperate for him.
I want to ride him this morning. No tender kisses. No foreplay. Just hard fucking. I want to fuck him. I feel so powerful. So in control of my own life for the first time. It’s a glorious feeling to no longer feel like I’m holding on by my fingernails, to have someone want me for a job and think I can manage it well, and those feelings, blending with my arousal, has made my want of him a raging storm within me.
He’s mine. I’m his. We’re both OK for a change. I’m not Linda, totally messed-up girl, struggling to keep up with Jack. I’m Linda one-step more firmly in the life I want to have and loving Jack. And today I want to fuck him.
I push him back, flat against his pillow, and his eyes are wide open now, even though he’s laughing. I silence his laughter with a thorough open mouth, all tongue kiss. I don’t take time to even remove his t-shirt from my body. I position myself on top of him, stretching myself open and I put him inside of me as far as I can take him.
“Oh, someone woke with nasty thoughts this morning,” he whispers, closing his eyes as he flexes and moves his hips in the motion I command.
I plant my hands on his chest, holding him in place. I pull off him and slam back down. I still. His eyes open, burning with anticipation and want. I gently roll my hips, dragging his erection against my inside, deep and hitting all the spots that sends the feel of him through my body.
Moaning, I tilt back my head and very slowly I build the pace. Up and down, harder and harder, until I can feel the sexual want in him a coil trying to take over, and my own body burning and unwilling to let him.
Our eyes lock. I see so much in Jack’s wide open stare. It pushes me into a faster rhythm, over the edge. Raspy, incoherent sound punctuates my climax and moans, and I’m only vaguely aware he’s grabbed my hips, his eyes are closed, he jaw is tight, and he’s gushing into me as I shiver atop him. I collapse on his chest, hugging him to me.
I watch Jack slowly collect his breath. His eyes open. He smiles. “I don’t know what the hell you were doing out there, Linda, but you should do it more often.”
I lift my face. I’m flushed and smiling and I’m sure I look kind of goofy right now. “I missed you. You slept late this morning.”
He brushes my cheek with a thumb. “You should have woken me sooner.” He kisses my lips and then frowns. “Go see who that is knocking at the doo
r. I need a few moments before I can move.”
I laugh. I forgot I ordered our breakfast. Thank god, we didn’t need a whole lot of time to get both of us sexually there this morning. Life right now is moving in an effortless flow, almost perfectly choreographed, and I don’t know how that happened, but it’s wonderful.
I climb off of him, then drop a kiss on his lips.
“That would be your breakfast. I have seen to your every need and pleasure this morning.”
Jack’s smile is potent and sexy. “Every pleasure. Always, Linda. You are my every pleasure in life.”
I pull my robe into prim arrangement on my body, do a sassy swish with my hips and then dart from the bedroom, wishing room service would stop pounding from the hallway.
As I open the door, I think, all and all I’ve had one fine morning!
CHAPTER SEVEN
I sit beside Jack atop the bed while we finish our meal on the breakfast tray. My inner smile consumes me and my sudden optimism over the future is something uncontainable. It feels pretty fucking great to feel hopeful.
I can feel Jack watching me as we pick at our breakfast plates. “So what’s gotten you in such a glowing mood today?” he asks, setting his coffee cup down on the tray. “Is it us? Not us? Or a combination of both? Whatever it is, I like it.”
I look up at him. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”
He leans in and kisses me. “Good answer. Now give me the real answer. What did you sneak away from bed this morning to do? I heard you close the bedroom door. What were you doing that you didn’t want me to hear? Whatever it is, it’s definitely made you happy. You’re all smiles this morning.”
I start to answer and then stop. Now that I’ve gotten an easy opening to share the events of my morning, it is suddenly not an easy thing to do. We don’t talk very much about me. Not ever. Jack tries, he’s always curious, always interested in what is going on with me, but too often my life is such a downer I shut down those conversations as quickly as I can. It’s odd that even when my life isn’t a totally fucked up mess, it’s hard for me to talk about me.