Wing Girl

by Nic Tatano

  “So you like this guy Scott but someone else is on your mind.”

  “Not really on my mind. Just under my skin.”

  “Like the Sinatra song?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “So who is he?”

  “You know my friend Roxanne?”

  “The hairstylist? Yeah. What about her?”

  “She’s been trying to fix me up with her cousin.”

  “And … ?”

  “We met and it was like oil and water. But I kept running into him and he pushes my buttons every time I see him. And then I went to Roxanne’s family Fourth of July picnic and I saw him in a different light. He’s actually incredibly decent. I guess in the back of my mind I’ve been wondering if I’m a really bad judge of character.”

  “So you’re thinking you might be wrong about both of them.”

  “No. Maybe. I dunno. This is all uncharted territory for me. I’ve rarely even had one boyfriend, let alone a bunch of guys interested in me.”

  “So you’re thinking about this other guy … what’s his name?”

  “Vincent.”

  “You’re dating Scott and you’re thinking about Vincent.”

  “Yeah. No. You’re confusing me.”

  The light turned green and we moved forward. “Love is confusing sometimes.”

  “No shit. I think I was better off before I became a news babe.”

  “No you weren’t. Some guy out there deserves a terrific girl like you. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to end up in a convent.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “So what are you gonna do?”

  “About what?”

  “The Scott and Vincent situation.”

  “There is no Scott and Vincent situation.”

  “Yeah, there is. The sooner you realize it, the better.”

  ***

  I had just gotten off the set after another terrific story when the tip line started ringing. I’d grown to hate the thing, as ninety percent of the calls had something to do with my appearance. The voice mails had been piling up, as I hadn’t answered it for two days, so I figured I’d better pick up the phone.

  “Tip line, this is Belinda.”

  “Belinda, it’s Councilman Jagger.”

  “How are you, Sir?”

  “I’m wondering if you’ve been able to turn up anything on that issue we discussed.”

  “Not really. I’ve had a couple of financial types look at it and nothing out of the ordinary turned up.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Sorry, Sir, I know that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

  “Belinda, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but I know something’s not right.”

  “Anything in particular making you think that way?”

  “When I got in this morning, someone had slid a note under my door. Belinda, it was a threat.”

  Now my radar went up. “And that note said?”

  “Stop looking into the pension fund if you want your family to be safe. And if you give this to the police, you face the consequences.”

  “Geez.” This was getting serious. “Have you called the police, FBI?”

  “No, quite frankly I’m afraid to. Obviously I’m being watched and my phone is probably tapped. I’m calling you from a disposable cell phone.”

  “How would anyone know you were looking at the fund?”

  “Obviously they saw you when you came into my office and if the phone’s tapped or my office is bugged they know why. And let’s face it, when anyone sees you visiting a politician they know it’s not a social call.”

  “Tell you what, sir, I’ll keep digging because obviously there’s something going on. Meanwhile, give me the number you’re calling from and I’ll give you my personal cell.”

  We exchanged numbers and I told him I’d get back to him.

  And now the story I thought was a dead end had jumped to the front burner.

  I had to talk to Harry.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I had lunch with Ariel today, who said I looked “excited as a schoolgirl.”

  Which was probably accurate, since Scott was flying back today. And, barring the usual Friday night rush hour gridlock at LaGuardia, I would be seeing him for dinner.

  So when my cell rang and I saw “unknown” on the screen, my face dropped. Scott was the only person who called me with a blocked number. I was thinking the worst: flight delay, cancellation, hijacked to Cuba, ran off with a stewardess, you name it. “Hello?”

  “Hey, my flight’s about to board and I wanted to touch base.”

  My smile returned. “Glad you’re on time. So we’re still on for tonight?”

  “Yeah. Listen, I had an idea. I’ve got a car picking me up at the airport and I was thinking, how about I have the driver pick you up first, then get me at the airport. Then we can go right to dinner after I get off the plane?”

  I liked the way this man thinks, and in my business any man who can manage time and logistics was impressive. “That sounds terrific. I should be done at the station by five-thirty.”

  “Great. The car will be waiting for you. So how’s your week going?”

  “Pretty good. Broke a couple of big stories. Hey, I got another tip on that one I had you check out. Would you mind looking at it again?”

  “I didn’t see anything wrong the first time, but sure.”

  “Great. See you in a few hours.”

  “Looking forward to it.” I heard the boarding call in the background. “Hey, gotta go.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  I hung up and headed to the makeup room since I had to record a few teases on set.

  One look in the mirror told me I did indeed look as excited as a schoolgirl.

  ***

  I was bouncing on my feet as the parade of passengers from Scott’s flight moved past the security checkpoint. I was trying my best not to look too excited, honestly I was, but I’m afraid my poker face wasn’t very convincing.

  I couldn’t help it. I missed the guy.

  Finally I spotted him, wearing a dark suit, tie loosened, pulling a red carry-on bag.

  And when he spotted me, his smile told me he was just as excited.

  He picked up the pace and moved toward me, let go of the bag and gave me a hug, then pulled back and said, “Much nicer to look at than a limo driver with a sign.”

  “Thank you. You look good too.”

  “Yeah, right. I’m wiped out. But glad to finally be home.”

  “Did you check a bag?”

  “Nope, they only lose ‘em anyway. And I don’t want to waste forty-five minutes staring at a carousel.”

  “Great. Let’s get out of here.”

  Sensible girl was apparently dating sensible guy. Which, I must admit, was a tad disappointing to that other slutty girl sitting on my shoulder who kept reminding me I should spend the night with the guy after three dates. Though he’d mentioned twice he liked the slow pace that our relationship was taking.

  What the hell. I’d been a camel this long, I could go without water a little longer.

  Dinner went well, but Scott kept yawning during dessert and I could tell the guy was fried. Then he fell asleep halfway through a killer science fiction movie. And let’s face it, if it was gonna be the first time with him it would be nice if he wasn’t comatose.

  So we decided to meet up tomorrow night for a Broadway show. Hopefully he would be well rested.

  For what, I had no idea.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Two weeks later, I was back where we started, camped out at Ariel’s place with that dreaded whiteboard looming like a grim reaper. My friends told me that while I’ve made significant progress, it was time for a “review” and we needed to go over some “to-do” list, whatever that meant. At that point the only thing I wanted to do was Scott.

  It was rainy and miserable outside so we settled on pizza and decided to stay in for the rest of the evening. I was loving th
e double supremes Roxanne ordered, which naturally cost nothing since she had another “deal” with the pizzeria owner. The steaming pies were loaded down with Italian sausage, pepperoni, onions, black olives and dripping with cheese. Of course if we did this at my place it would have been paper plates and bottles of beer all the way, but at Ariel’s we were eating our slices off bone china and sipping white wine in goblets that cost more than most people’s utility bills.

  Ariel, as you probably expected, ate her pizza with a knife and fork. Sterling, naturally. Luckily Roxanne and Serena ate it the normal way, with their hands, so I couldn’t be accused of a culinary faux pas that would send Mrs. Baymont into the etiquette version of vapor lock.

  After two slices Ariel daintily dabbed her lips with a red linen napkin (the color chosen so it wouldn’t show any red sauce stains) while the rest of us continued to tear into the pizza. “Okay, let’s get started.” She stood up, grabbed a dry erase marker from the ledge of the whiteboard, uncapped it, then wrote “Progress Report” on top of the board. She turned to face me and smiled. “Wing Girl, you’ve made tremendous strides since we started this project.”

  “Oh, now I’m a project,” I said, sipping the sweet wine.

  “You’re the dating equivalent of Boston’s Big Dig,” said Roxanne, who flashed a sinister smile.

  “Funny,” I said.

  “But not too far off,” said Serena, as she grabbed another slice from the box. “Though that took more than twenty years.”

  “Let’s begin with the positive,” said Ariel, “by listing the improvements.”

  “Her new wardrobe is spectacular,” said Serena.

  “No argument here,” I said, as Ariel wrote “wardrobe” on the board. “And I can’t tell you how many compliments I’ve gotten on my hair.”

  Roxanne smiled and said, “I meant to tell you, I’ve had a few clients come in and ask for the Belinda Carson.”

  My eyes grew wide. “So now I’m a style? Wow.”

  “Just like Jennifer Aniston had The Rachel, you have The Belinda.”

  Ariel wrote “hair” on the board, then added “makeup”. “I’d like to add you’ve gotten much better with your makeup lately.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been practicing a lot.”

  Ariel then wrote “table manners” on the board. “And I’m so proud of you, Wing Girl. You’re able to dine in public and can identify all of your forks.”

  I took a huge bite of pizza and said, “Thanks,” with my mouth full.

  “Cute,” said Serena. “Brings back such warm memories of your days eating like a cave girl.”

  Ariel then wrote “men” on the board and sat down. “Now, sweetie, where do we stand with Scott?”

  “We?”

  “It’s the editorial we,” said Serena. “But remember, we all have supreme veto power if he steps out of line. Or we can go with the nuclear option if we have to.”

  My face tightened. “I’m almost afraid to ask. Nuclear option?”

  “Roxanne kicks his ass if you fail to obey our veto,” said Ariel.

  “I’d like to know what you think of him first,” I said, launching a pre-emptive strike in keeping with the nuclear theme.

  “He made a good first impression,” said Ariel, “but I haven’t really gotten to know him. I did like the Town Car for the Mets game. That was a nice touch. Didn’t put you in harm’s way on the subway.”

  “I agree,” said Serena. “He seemed like a good guy, but we’ve got a long way to go.”

  “Again with the we thing,” I said, as I turned to Roxanne. “I can’t wait for your assessment of the guy. Not that I’m going to be surprised.”

  She shrugged. “Jury’s still out,” she said, then took another bite of pizza.

  “Why is the jury out with you?” I asked. “He treats me well, he’s a gentleman, he volunteers at the shelter. He has a good job—”

  “You ever seen his office?” asked Roxanne.

  “He works out of his home,” I said.

  “Uh-huh,” said Roxanne. “Probably lives in his mother’s basement.”

  “Lots of people work out of their homes,” I said. “What is it about him that you don’t like? You’ve been wanting me to cut him loose from day one.”

  “Don’t know yet, but my bullshit detector went off the night I met him. I’m just telling you to be careful.”

  “I really haven’t had to,” I said.

  “Speaking of which,” said Serena, “how many dates have you guys been on?”

  “Six.”

  “Six and still no sex,” said Serena. “Odd.”

  “He’s just old fashioned,” I said.

  “Opening a door for a woman is old fashioned,” said Ariel. “Not even asking for sex after six dates is a priest.”

  Roxanne nodded. “Like I said, there’s somethin’ about this guy. A man who doesn’t even try to nail a girl after half a dozen dates, well … ”

  “It is rather curious,” said Serena. “But after reviewing all the feedback and in light of the tonsillectomy after the first date, I surmise we should allow Wing Girl to move forward. For the time being.”

  Ariel nodded. “Agreed.”

  Roxanne rolled his eyes. “You know where I stand. Dude’s still on a short leash with me.”

  “Meanwhile,” said Ariel, turning toward me, “are you sure you won’t reconsider the catch and release program?”

  I shook my head. “No way. That aerial first kiss attempt from Todd was enough.”

  “Damn, he was hot though. I would have at least taken him for a ride before throwing him back,” said Roxanne.

  “You would,” I said.

  “So I guess that takes care of the men category,” said Ariel.

  “Not really,” said Roxanne.

  “Oh shit,” I said. “Here it comes.”

  “Someone else reaallllllly likes her,” said Roxanne.

  I dropped my slice of pizza on my plate. “I’m not going out with Vincent.”

  “Interesting,” said Serena. “Rox, please continue presenting your evidence.”

  “He talks about her a lot,” said Roxanne. “But he might be giving up. The other day he told me he thought she was out of his league.”

  I was about to take another bite of pizza but that comment stopped the slice in mid-air. Hmmm. I must admit I was sorta flattered. “He really said that?”

  She nodded. “He said you were probably too pretty and could get any guy you wanted. But his mother went on and on about you after I brought you to the picnic.”

  “She met his mother?” asked Ariel.

  “Yep,” said Roxanne, “and Wing Girl over here made quite the impression. Ever since it’s Belinda this, and Belinda that, and oh that beautiful red hair, and she’s so gorgeous, and she’s just perfect for my Vincent.” Then she raised her hands like she was being held up. “But hey, you’re out of his league, so why I even brought it up, I don’t know.”

  More Catholic guilt. “I’m not out of his league, I’m just interested in someone else.”

  Roxanne turned to Serena and whispered, loud enough for all to hear, “She likes him, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

  ***

  Doing nothing but investigative reporting all year can sometimes leave you feeling like your brain is hooked up to jumper cables. So every once in a while Harry takes me off the beat for a day and lets me knock out a fun feature.

  And since everyone in the station knows I’m a sci-fi geek, I’ve been assigned to cover the massive convention in Manhattan that always attracts, to use a sixties term, a few “far out” characters. Harry sends me to do this every year, since he says I am “the only one in the newsroom who knows the difference between a Cylon and a Klingon.” (Though from him saying that, I’ve always wondered if he’s got a set of Spock ears at home.)

  Frank loves shooting these conventions because, in his words, “It brings out the serious whack jobs who actually want to be abducted by aliens.” And sure enough, as w
e made our way through the convention hall, there were plenty of fans in costume who made you wonder if Bellevue had endured a mass escape of its mental ward. Though for many, these costumes were their everyday outfits. In my opinion, there are two types of sci-fi fan. The first, and most common (that would be me), are those who simply enjoy the escapism and the wondrous possibilities without going so far as to wear antennae on days other than Halloween. The second, a smaller but very noticeable fringe group, are those who truly believe that the fiction part of sci-fi is actually real, and that if they talk into their communicators long enough, someone, somewhere, will actually beam them up. To where, God only knows.

  So far we’d managed to interview a woman with green hair, electric-blue hot pants and matching halter top who claimed she was a cheerleader for a football team on Venus; a teenage boy wrapped entirely in tin foil with a face painted silver who said this was the only way to prevent aliens from invading his body with nanoprobes; and a four hundred pound guy dressed as Batman who didn’t notice a sticker someone had slapped on his back reading “you have exceeded the weight limit of your costume”.

  With enough loons on tape, Frank set about gathering video for the story. I was at his side, spotting interesting things to shoot, when I heard a familiar voice from behind call my name.

  Vincent. Again.

  I turned around and saw him smiling at me. Thankfully he wasn’t dressed as an alien, but in sharply creased khakis and a pale-green oxford shirt. I didn’t want Roxanne to call me stunad again so I made an effort to be polite. “Hi, Vincent. What are you doing here?”

  “Just took the morning off for the convention.”

  “You like science fiction?”

  His eyes lit up. “I love science fiction. Have since I was a kid.”

  Somehow I didn’t believe him. I figured Roxanne tipped him off that I’d be here and this was another of her fixes. “Roxanne tell you I was gonna be here?”

  He shook his head. “Haven’t talked to her in a few days.”

  “Hmmm. You really a sci-fi fan?”

  “Why else would I be here?”

  Okay. One way to find out if this was a Roxanne set-up. “So, did you see that model of Captain Kirk’s ship over there? The Millennium Falcon?”