Crush

by Crystal Hubbard

  “Oh, Lucas has a weakness all right, you lovely idiot. It’s you. You’re the bird he wants. The rest can go hang.”

  “Stop calling me ‘bird,’” Miranda protested.

  “Certainly, duck,” Feast said amiably.

  “A duck is a bird.”

  “Perhaps, then, I should call you foolish. Or stubborn. Or misguided. Will stupid do?”

  “Perhaps I should put you in another sleeper hold.”

  “I can see the headline in your favorite gossip column now,” Feast said, squinting up at an imaginary banner headline. “‘Mum-To-Be Delivers Smackdown to Kind-Hearted Musician.’” He stood and adjusted his coat. “Obviously, it was a mistake for me to come here. I can’t begin to imagine what Lucas even sees in you.”

  “Then leave!” Miranda bit her lip to stave off a sudden rush of tears.

  Feast started down the stairs. Miranda swiveled in her seat, bringing her uninjured foot to the windowsill. She hugged her knee to her chest and hid her face in the circle of her arms. She fought back tears, but one or two managed to escape. When she looked up, Feast was sitting at her feet. Without a word, he handed Miranda his handkerchief.

  “You’re still here?” Miranda said ungratefully as she took the neatly folded black square.

  “A woman’s tears are magnetic,” Feast said. “Especially when they’re real. You need to work on your presentation, of course.”

  Miranda wiped her nose on her sleeve with a loud, braying snort. She swabbed her eyes with the handkerchief before offering it back to Feast. He took it, then used it to gently dab at her moist cheeks. “I’ve been in Lucas’s shadow for twenty years. I’ve always envied his talent, his ambition, his genuine goodness…for once I have something he wants. I have a wife, and a child on the way.” Feast shoved his handkerchief into his coat pocket. “I can’t even gloat about it because I know how much Lucas truly wants you and your child. I think I’m correct in assuming that you’ve had some bad experiences. But Lucas didn’t inflict those wounds. Don’t make him suffer for another man’s cruelty. He doesn’t deserve it. And if you can’t see that, you don’t deserve him, and he’s well rid of you.”

  Feast took her hands. He held Miranda’s troubled gaze, showing her that his concern was for her and her child, as well as for Lucas. “He’s a good man, Miranda. You’re the only woman he’s ever proposed to, and the only woman he’s ever professed to love. He won’t ever betray you. He’s like…like…” Feast struggled to find an apt comparison.

  “What?” Miranda said. “Starts with? Sounds like? Is it bigger than a breadbox?”

  “A seahorse.”

  “Is that a joke?” Miranda reached into Feast’s pocket and took out his handkerchief. She noisily blew her nose into it.

  “Most certainly not,” Feast declared. “Seahorses are noble creatures. They mate for life, and they’re particularly choosy about their partners. When a boy seahorse finds the girl seahorse of his dreams, he’s ruined. No other female will turn his head. Even if a red snapper devours the girl he’s chosen, he will never mate with another female. It’s rather sad, actually, to see a male floating alone in the great big ocean, unafraid of red snappers because without the female he wants, his life has lost much of its meaning.”

  Miranda took comfort in knowing that fidelity existed somewhere on the planet. She wished it were more a part of the nature of her own species. “Did you learn that seahorse crap at Oxford?”

  “That, in passing, amid other crap.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Fletch is my friend. I want him to be happy.”

  “Thank you,” she said, fully meaning it. “But it really won’t change anything.”

  “There’s something else about seahorses,” Feast said. “The males carry the babies. The girl seahorse comes home from work, she and the male do a wonderful, passionate dance just after dawn, and then she gets him pregnant. Weeks later, he labors for hours to give birth to hundreds of perfect, miniature seahorse babies. And he can’t wait to start dancing and get knocked up again.”

  “Are you telling me that Lucas would make a good mother?”

  “Given the chance, he’ll make a good husband, too.”

  * * *

  Miranda used one of her crutches to batter open the door to Rex’s office the day after Feast’s surprise visit. His secretary stood to stop her, but an ugly sneer from Miranda glued her in place. Rex was on the phone, but he hastily bid his party goodbye as Miranda thundered up to his desk. She pitched the most recent issue of the Herald-Star in front of him. The paper slowly unfurled from the tight baton Miranda had curled it into and came to rest flat on the page featuring Psst! Miranda seethed as her gaze was again drawn to the lead item:

  Maybe Baby?

  Herald-Star scribe Miranda Penney is an ace at keeping secrets but the same can’t be said about the company she keeps. Psst! has learned that our Miss Penney may be just be in the family way. With Lucas Fletcher seemingly no longer in the picture, we at Psst! can only wonder…will the new Penney be a singer or a slugger? Your guess is as good as ours!

  “This is it, Rex,” Miranda growled. “I am totally Psst! off! I want you to make those two conniving witches stop printing these rumors about me. I’m not seeing Lucas anymore, and—”

  “Did Lucas break it off or did you?” Rex asked greedily.

  “You’re one of their moles, too?” Miranda almost shouted.

  “Proceed with caution, Miranda,” Rex warned. “You work for me, not the other way around.”

  “I want my life back,” Miranda demanded. “I’m tired of my business being displayed in your gossip column.”

  “You can’t un-ring a bell, dear. You’ll just have to wait until the story dies on its own. As for Meg and Dee, you’re a public figure now. You’re fair game.”

  “When Deuce Bagley was dating Laura Vanderpool, you got Meg off his case when he asked you to.”

  Rex emitted an impatient groan. “A football writer and a local weathergirl don’t compare to a female sportswriter who fools around with one of the world’s most popular men.”

  “You could stop them from writing about me!”

  “Of course I can.” Rex tented his hands on his desktop. “I don’t want to. The truth is, Miranda, our circulation has been tops in town every week since you began seeing Lucas Fletcher. I don’t think that’s coincidence. Boston is a two-paper town, and I’m on top now. I plan to stay there. Whether you like it or not, you’re a part of that plan.”

  Miranda shook with anger. She calmed the instant she said, “I don’t like it. I quit.”

  She turned to leave. Rex sprinted around his desk to bar her way. “Don’t be dramatic. I know you’re upset and angry, but surely we can talk about this. We can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  She stepped around Rex. “You and your gossip hags have put me through hell, but there’s an upside to it now. I’ve been getting offers, Rex. From national sports shows and magazines and other newspapers, including the local rival breathing down your selfish neck. The Boston Sentinel offered me my own column, and I’ve even gotten offers from a couple of news venues in the United Kingdom and Australia.” She gave his shoulder a hard pat. “It’s time I moved on, Rex. It’s time I left the Herald-Star, La and Dee, you, and all the rest of my fractured fairy tale behind.”

  Rex grabbed her by the arm when she turned to leave. “Miranda, don’t.”

  She gave his hand a menacing stare and he released her, patting the sleeve of her sweatshirt in place. “Let’s set up a time to talk this over,” Rex said.

  “I’ve already given Jed Hodgekins my resignation,” Miranda said. “I’ve kept one in my desk since my second week here. Today, I had a feeling that our meeting would go this way. And if you try to spin this and say that I was fired, I’ll sue your gossip trolls, your joke of a paper, and you personally.”

  His flashed her an icy stare. “Clearly you’re distraught over being discarded by Lucas
Fletcher.”

  “Vai te foder, Rex,” Miranda said with a curt smile before walking away.

  * * *

  “I came as soon as I heard.” Bernie entered Miranda’s apartment in a flurry of selfish anxiety. “How could you do this to me, leaving me alone at that wretched paper? The whole place is buzzing with how you walked into Rex’s office and beat him unconscious with one of your crutches. Of course, they’re also talking about Meg’s latest bombshell, that you’re pregnant with Lucas’s love child…” Bernie’s words faded as he caught sight of neat stacks of letters on Miranda’s dining table. He removed his caramel leather gloves before he picked up a sheaf of the letters and glanced through them. “National Sports Network…Universal Sports Channel…U.S. Daily Sports…The Sports Roundup…Women of Sports America…Miranda? Are all of these job offers?”

  “No.” She was sitting on her sofa, her broken foot propped upon a fat pillow on her cocktail table. She popped a Cheetos puff into her mouth. “The ones from SoHot!, NUDZ and American Swimsuit wanted pictorials. They’re all frauds. None of those places want me for my writing ability or my body. They want me because they think Lucas comes with me.” She leaned forward, trying to reach the drink she had set on the cocktail table. Seeing her struggle, Bernie helped her out.

  “Dear God, what is this?” Bernie sniffed at the frightening pink concoction in her glass.

  “Strawberry punch and milk. I had a craving.”

  He covered his mouth with his hand as she drank down half the glass, and then licked the corners of her mouth. “Breaking up with Lucas was the best thing I could have done,” she said. She began popping Cheetos, one right after the other. “I don’t like having my worth measured by who I’m dating.”

  “I can understand why you left the paper,” he said, “but I’m still not clear on why you shut out poor Lucas. The man loves you.”

  “To quote one of our favorites, Bernie, what’s love got to do with it? And while we’re on the subject, why didn’t you ever take me to one of Tina’s concerts?”

  “He’s called me, Miranda,” Bernie said seriously.

  “Who?”

  He swatted her thigh with a sheaf of job offers. “The lovelorn Lucas Fletcher.”

  Miranda finished the last of her snack. She licked her fingertip and used it to retrieve the glowing orange crumbs at the bottom of the bag. “Well, what did he want?”

  Bernie shook his head as though he didn’t have the strength to respond. “He wants you.”

  “It’s over, Bernie. It was just a matter of time before Number 26 overlapped onto me.”

  “Is that your way of saying that you knew Lucas would eventually go Jordan on you?”

  She balled the Cheetos bag up and pitched it toward the trashcan at the end of the sofa. The ball bounced off the rim and onto the floor. “Let’s just say that I didn’t want to wait around for it.”

  “So you threw an amazing man away to circumvent something that may never have happened?” He retrieved the Cheetos ball and gave it to her for a re-shoot.

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s done.”

  “For you, perhaps. But your Lucas can’t let go that easily.”

  “Bernie, stop it.”

  “He wants to see you. He asked me to intercede on his behalf.”

  Miranda shot the Cheetos ball and made the basket.

  “What did he do wrong?” Bernie asked.

  “Nothing!” Miranda insisted. “He did everything right. That’s the problem.”

  “Darling, you’re impossible. That makes no sense.”

  “I can take disappointment from anyone but Lucas.”

  “You sell yourself miserably short. Lucas was the real thing. He can have any woman on this planet, and he wants you. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

  “Yes,” Miranda said. “It tells me that he won’t have any trouble finding Number 26.”

  “I know that you’re only trying to protect your heart, but believe me, Miranda, you’re only causing it further damage. Now that you’re unemployed, do you plan to sit in this apartment eating junk food and sucking down gruesome pink potions? For three months now, you’ve been a virtual shut-in when you weren’t out on a story.”

  “What would you have me do, Bernie? I’m not like you. I can’t go to every karaoke bar in town and perform ‘I Will Survive’ to get over this. I’m hoping that the day will come when I don’t wake up and wonder if I did the right thing. That I’ll be able to get through one damn day without wishing that he would ignore everything I’ve said over the past few months and just show up.”

  Miranda’s brow creased, and with no sniffling preamble or quiver of her chin, she covered her face with her hands and bawled. Bernie grabbed the tissue box from the end table and placed it on her lap as he sat down beside her. He put an arm around her and let her cry into his shoulder.

  “Does it hurt much?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whimpered. “All the time. I try so hard not to think about him, that all I do is think about him.”

  “I meant your foot, sweetie,” Bernie said. Miranda looked at him. He winked, and she laughed as tears rolled down her cheeks. “You have a woman’s heart after all, Miranda. Perhaps you should listen to it. Tell me, what do you love about Lucas?”

  “He eats the fuzzy part of the ice cream, so that I can have the good part underneath.” Her voice filled with tears. “He moves over to give me the warm spot when I come to bed. He dances to Tito Puente while he makes coffee for me in the morning. He tans really well. He doesn’t get all pink and raw-looking. He reads Kitty Kincaid to me. And he sings my name.” She mopped up a fresh fall of tears. “I miss his kisses. He’s so good at it. His lips are soft but not mushy, and firm without being stiff. I could live on his kisses alone.”

  “Those are things you like,” Bernie said. “What do you love about him?”

  “I love how much he needs me and our baby.”

  “Baby?” Bernie squeaked. “Meg got it right? You’re…how far along?”

  “About five months.” She sat up off of Bernie and hiked up her big T-shirt. Bernie’s eyes widened at the petite mound of her lower belly. “I haven’t told anyone, other than Lucas,” she said quickly, to diffuse the indignant rampage she saw brewing in Bernie’s eyes. “I haven’t even told my parents or Calista.”

  “No wonder Sir Lucas called me in such desperate straits,” Bernie said. “His biological clock is ticking. This changes everything, Miranda. You can’t deprive him of his child.”

  “I don’t plan to. But I don’t plan to marry him, either.”

  “Do you really think that’s fair to the child?”

  “I’m trying to be fair to all of us. This baby will have two parents who love her, Lucas has the freedom to do whatever he wants, and I won’t ever find myself in the shoes my mother wore for over thirty years.”

  “So you’d rather be a baby mama instead of a wife. Well, it sounds like you have it all figured out, then.”

  “I do,” she said. I hope…

  * * *

  Miranda, now adept with the crutches, hobbled up to the front desk of the Park Plaza Hotel. She watched the clerk’s eyes widen as the woman studied the two gargantuan men in black suits who carried Miranda’s overnight and garment bags.

  “They’re my bodyguards,” Miranda explained in an embarrassed whisper as she slumped upon her crutches.

  “Oh,” the clerk muttered. She stood on tiptoe to peek past the guards, to look at the mob of reporters and photographers crowding the front door of the hotel. Then she looked back at Miranda. Her mouth stretched into a wide smile as recognition dawned on her. “Miss Penney,” the clerk said. “You’re here for the Penney-Henderson wedding.”

  “Yes,” Miranda said. “I have two rooms reserved.”

  “You’re right here,” the clerk said, calling the reservation up on the computer. “We have you down for two suites, one for you and one for…” She glanced at the bodyguards. “Your en
tourage.”

  “Thank you,” Miranda snapped. The busy and loud noise of the paparazzi reached her as the hotel’s front doors opened. Her bodyguards, Rudolph and Blaze, both former professional wrestlers, grunted as they closed in tighter around her, dwarfing her between their massively wide bodies. Another hotel guest was making his way toward the front desk, with a few photographers following him.

  “Could we hurry this up?” Miranda asked.

  The clerk understood. She called for the hotel manager as she finished Miranda’s check-in and retrieved the keys for her suites.

  “Whose wedding are you here for, Mr. Duquette?” Miranda heard an eager voice ask. She turned to look over her shoulder, but all she could see was the black fabric of Rudolph’s suit.

  “It’s your wedding, isn’t it, Jordan?” another voice suggested.

  Jordan answered both questions with a sly laugh. Miranda was tempted to hand Blaze one of her crutches so he could give Jordan a ring-worthy beating.

  “Let’s just say that Miranda Penney and I will be walking down the aisle together tomorrow,” Jordan said, his slick words making Miranda’s ears steam.

  “Excuse me,” came another male voice. “I’m the manager of this establishment, and if you aren’t a registered guest or in the company of a registered guest, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”

  While the hotel manager escorted the photographers and reporters from the lobby, Jordan stepped up to the front desk. He flashed a smile at the clerk who was helping him. The woman batted her eyes and bit the outer corner of her lower lip in a coquettish way that made Miranda’s stomach turn. When the clerk stepped away to run Jordan’s credit card, Miranda stepped around her bodyguards and made her presence known to him.

  “Why did you say that?” she demanded under her breath.

  “Good afternoon to you, too, Andy. And why did I say what?” Jordan asked innocently. He leaned one elbow on the butterscotch marble counter.