Wing Girl

by Nic Tatano

  The man was wide-eyed, as he obviously never expected an assault like this. “Who do you think you are? I don’t have to do anything—”

  “And if you don’t, your wife is going to receive some very incriminating photos of you and your friend in the mail.”

  The bravado drained from his face as fear flashed into his eyes. “How … how do you—”

  My eyes narrowed into gunslinger mode with a touch of the death stare. “It doesn’t matter. So what’s it gonna be, court order, or special delivery? FedEx can have the photos in your wife’s hands by four-thirty. Tick-tock.”

  His face broke out in a sweat. “Okay, okay. I’ll get the court order.”

  “Courthouse. Right now. And we’re gonna follow you.”

  He nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” I released the chair as he stood up. “I don’t know what the hell you call journalism these days—”

  I jabbed one finger into his chest. “This isn’t journalism, it’s justice. Look, I’m in a pissy mood and if you so much as mention this to anyone at my station or anyone else, the photos will be in the mail. In fact, I might just deliver them personally to Miriam.”

  The mention of his wife’s name (it pays to do your homework) sent him into full-fledged-flop sweat mode as he put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, you’ve made your point. As long as I don’t ever see you again.”

  “Just do your job and you won’t. But remember, I’ll always have those pictures.”

  ***

  As we emerged from the courthouse my soul felt healed from righting a wrong. The Brass Cupcake threw back her cape and strutted to the news car, head held high.

  “Holy shit, Cupcake, where the hell did all that come from?” asked Frank.

  I shrugged. “Hey, you said I had the look today.”

  “You had the look, but I didn’t know you had the look of a mob enforcer. Geez, shoving him into a chair and blackmailing the guy? I was half expecting you to break his kneecaps.”

  “Eh, I thought about it, but I forgot to bring my baseball bat.”

  “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

  “Hey, we got the story, the people get their utilities and their building fixed.”

  “You do know you crossed a line back there.”

  “Why Frank, whatever are you talking about? I’m just being an aggressive reporter. I tripped and accidentally knocked him back.”

  “Yeah, right. Tripped, my ass. Don’t worry, I’ll erase that part of the tape.”

  “I knew you would.”

  “I’m worried you’ll break my kneecaps if I don’t.” We reached the car and Frank popped the trunk and began loading the gear into it. “So how in the world did you get incriminating photos of the guy?”

  “I didn’t.”

  He stood up straight. “Excuse me?”

  “Reporter’s trick. Look, just about every politician has some honey on the side, and I had it on very good authority that he’s a sleazeball and is having an affair, so I took a shot.”

  “You gotta be kidding me! You don’t have anything on the guy?”

  I shook my head and smiled ear to ear. “Nada. Bupkes.”

  “Damn, Cupcake,” he said, as he moved to the front of the car. “Remind me never to play poker with you.” We both got in the car and he cranked it up. “May I ask what has gotten you into this, as you said, pissy mood?”

  My hands tightened into fists as my heart rate kicked up a notch. “Just stuff.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  “Like I said, just stuff that’s going on in my life.”

  “You know you can talk to me—”

  “The guy I’m dating won’t have sex with me, all right? I want sex, dammit! And I want it now! I’m just … frustrated!”

  Frank leaned back into his bucket seat and closed his eyes. “I need to wake up. Damn, this is one weird dream.”

  ***

  Feature reporter Stan Harvey was on the phone when I got off the set. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll tell her. You hang in there. Bye.” He looked up at me as I reached my desk. “Phone call from a woman in that building, thanking you for saving them.”

  “Yeah, nice when the good guys win,” I said.

  “It’s why we do what we do. Speaking of which … ” he pointed to the monitor that was broadcasting our newscast. “Happy endings all around. I had a warm fuzzy today.” (A “warm fuzzy” is a nice heartwarming story that in theory makes you feel, according to news consultants, warm and fuzzy. Warm I get; fuzzy, I have no clue.) “Here it comes.”

  I liked Stan’s stories so I sat down as the commercial ended and Jenna’s flawless face filled the screen.

  “Finally tonight, a heartwarming story about transportation, of all things. Stan Harvey shows us how getting from one place to another means an awful lot to some people.”

  The story began with a standard shot of Manhattan streets and lots of traffic zipping by as Stan voiced-over the video.

  “Getting around town is simple as taking the bus, the subway … or hailing a cab. But for some, simply flagging down a taxi is impossible.”

  The video cut to a shot of a young woman in a wheelchair, heading out of her front door and down a ramp as Stan’s voiceover continued.

  “Gretchen Haver is paralyzed from the waist down, and needs to visit a special clinic in Queens once a month for treatment. Until now, getting there has been a major ordeal.”

  The shot cut to one of those handicapped vans, which was painted in the familiar canary yellow used by New York taxicabs.

  And then Vincent’s face filled the screen as he greeted the woman.

  “Vincent Martino drives a cab, but this isn’t just any taxi. It’s a specially equipped one designed for the handicapped. Patients call it the “angel cab”, and it transports people like Gretchen free of charge across the city when they need medical attention.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I was riveted as I watched Vincent help the woman navigate her wheelchair onto a lift which placed her in the van. The shot dissolved into one showing him wheeling her into a doctor’s office. She smiled as he told her he’d be back in two hours to pick her up.

  “I don’t know what’d I’d do without the angel cab,” said the woman. “It used to take me hours to get here. It’s such a wonderful thing that company is doing.”

  “What’s easy for me is very difficult for people like her,” said Vincent. “I’m happy to help in a small way. It’s just a few minutes out of my day. It’s really no big deal.”

  Stan’s voiceover continued. “It may be no big deal for Vincent Martino, but for Gretchen Haver, the angel cab is a life-saver. And the tips he receives are priceless.”

  I watched in amazement as the story continued, as it showed Vincent giving Stan a tour of the specially equipped van, then picking up the woman from the doctor’s office and taking her home. She gave him a strong hug after he wheeled her back into her house.

  The story ended, dissolved to Jenna’s face. Her soft smile told me she was obviously touched by the story.

  She wasn’t the only one.

  ***

  The “people” I needed to meet were supposed to already be in Serena’s apartment after dinner. Apparently they lived in her building, just down the hall, and could offer some “unique insight” into my situation, whatever the hell that means. I was guessing that they’re shrinks, but knowing Serena and how she and Roxanne love to plot weird stuff, they could be gypsies conjuring up a love potion. (If so, I’d gladly use it.)

  I already heard conversation in the apartment when I knocked on the door. Actually, it’s not an apartment, but what I call a “lair” as Serena’s bedroom was equipped with enough seduction material to stock an adult toy store.

  She opened the door wide enough for me to see the couple seated on her red leather couch. “Hey, right on time.”

  “I work in TV, I’m always on time.”

  She closed the door behind me and ushered me into the living room, which was
not decorated for seduction but rather looked like a lawyer’s office. Bold green wallpaper with red stripes, gleaming cherry hardwood floors, a large window framed by exposed brick. The furniture was classic, with everything from an old-fashioned secretary to an armoire that served as a home to a television set. “Belinda, these are my neighbors, Daniel and Virginia.”

  The man stood up to shake my hand. “Hi, Belinda, nice to meet you.” He was about thirty and six feet tall: a real beach-boy type with sandy hair, pale-blue eyes. Solidly built with an angular face and a warm smile.

  I shook his hand and that of his wife, a tall knockout with big green eyes and a mound of soft brunette curls that hit her shoulders. She had classic high cheekbones and a wide smile, while dressed in a very conservative outfit: a knee-length skirt that showed off long, killer legs and a long-sleeved blouse that was no doubt hiding a supermodel’s rack. “Nice to meet you both,” I said.

  Serena poured me a glass of wine and gestured toward the matching love seat opposite the couch. She picked up her own wine glass and took a seat next to me. “I asked Daniel and Virginia over tonight because they went through a situation very similar to what you’re going through now.”

  I felt my face flush a bit, embarrassed as you can imagine that Serena had explained my “situation” to complete strangers. “Okay,” I said, not thinking of anything else.

  Daniel picked up the ball. “Virginia and I have been married three years. We met when we were both twenty-five and dated two years before we got married.”

  “You look very happy together,” I said, as I noticed he was holding her hand.

  “We have an amazing relationship,” said Virginia. “But it almost didn’t happen.”

  “You mean you almost didn’t meet?”

  “No,” said Virginia. “I was a virgin when we started dating.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Twenty-five’s a long time to hold out.” Thirty-three was even longer.

  “Well, I’m Catholic,” she said, “and when your mother names you Virginia Mary, you get the idea how strict my parents were.”

  I laughed a bit. “I’m Catholic as well, so I know about guilt. Anyway, go on.”

  “Well,” said Daniel, “we start going out and I just know she’s the one. I mean, everything clicks. We have everything in common, love spending time together—”

  “I know the feeling,” I said.

  “But,” said Daniel, “I was having a problem with her wanting to wait for marriage.”

  “Having a problem?” said Virginia, as she patted his knee. “Poor man was ready to explode.”

  “I understood her religious beliefs,” said Daniel, “but I was a little worried. You know, that we’d get married and the sex would be awful. I mean, I loved her and all that, but … ”

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “I could tell he was losing interest,” said Virginia.

  “I was not,” said Daniel.

  “That’s how it looked to me.”

  “It was just, well, beyond frustrating to be around her sometimes, knowing the date would end with the equivalent of a cold shower. And in the back of my mind I was wondering if maybe I might be making a mistake taking such a big chance. I mean, you’re talking about spending the rest of your life with someone.”

  “So he started avoiding me,” said Virginia.

  “Not so much avoiding,” said Daniel. “But I guess I was subconsciously putting a little distance between us.”

  “Obviously they worked it out,” said Serena.

  Virginia nodded. “I could tell I was losing him, and I knew I’d never find a better man. So … ” she smiled and looked at the ceiling.

  “So … ?” I said.

  “I caved,” she said. “I told Daniel I was ready and it was terrific.”

  “What about your strong religious beliefs?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I went to confession.” We all laughed as Daniel put his arm around her shoulder. “Anyway, the point is that I thought I was going to lose Daniel. And that outweighed the other stuff.”

  “So,” said Serena, “while Daniel wasn’t really playing hard to get, it had the same effect.”

  “But the roles are reversed for me,” I said.

  “Boggles the mind,” said Virginia. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “Thanks, so are you.”

  “And how old is this guy?” asked Daniel.

  “Thirty-three,” said Serena.

  “Good God,” said Daniel. “I’m surprised he can function. I mean, it’s different for men.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “He needs a little more scheduled maintenance than I do,” said Virginia.

  “Hey, it’s tough living with a babe,” said Daniel. His wife smiled and gave him a little hug. “But, anyway, I would suggest that if you two feel the same way as we did, you need to put a little distance between you and him.”

  “Worked for me,” said Virginia.

  “To be quite honest and with all due respect to my wife,” said Daniel, “if a guy doesn’t want to have sex with a woman who looks like you, he’s either an idiot or he’s gay.”

  ***

  I was beginning to think that between Harry and Mrs. Baymont, I should have been born back in the day.

  Mrs. Baymont told me that back in the day women patiently waited by their phones, hoping for a man to call. No caller ID, no answering machines, no cell phones. You either waited by the phone or took the chance of missing the call … and maybe the man of your dreams. (It sounded more dramatic when she said it.)

  I was doing the same thing tonight, but for the opposite reason.

  Scott was scheduled to fly back into town. And as he had during the time we’d been dating, would no doubt call as soon as he stepped off the plane.

  And when he did, I would be ready.

  I had my legal pad next to my phone, filled with notes and strategies that I would no doubt use to make my absence make his heart grow fonder. Or at least more frustrated.

  I was to follow these guidelines:

  -Do not sound excited when he calls. Sound indifferent.

  -Use “dead air” whenever possible, letting the conversation die at various points.

  -Do not, under any circumstances, agree to meet him tonight. Tell him you need “alone time.”

  -When he wants to discuss activities for the weekend, say “I have plans.” Do not be specific.

  -Tell him you’ll touch base with him next week, then don’t. When he does call, tell him, “I forgot.”

  This might sound like a recipe to kill a relationship, but at this point my desperation outweighed the possibility that Scott would take a hike. Personally, I thought he was as in lo— Oh, my God, I almost said it. That he liked me as much as I liked him. How about that? A woman being unable to commit for a change?

  Now at this point you might think I’d be nervous, but after kicking some serious ass with that housing authority gnome this week, I was feeling pretty cocky. I was also in the process of eating some hellacious kung pao chicken, which was not only clearing out my sinuses but kicking up my adrenaline like a six pack of Red Bull.

  C’mon, Scott. Call. Let’s rock.

  From now on if you want this girl, you’re playing by my rules.

  I was halfway through the chicken and into my second beer when “unknown” showed up on my cell. I assumed it was him.

  I answered, trying to sound as bored as possible. “This is Belinda.”

  “Hey, it’s me.” He sounded upbeat.

  Long pause. “I’m sorry, who’s calling?” (That was Roxanne’s suggestion.)

  “It’s Scott.”

  “Oh, guess it’s a bad connection.” I said nothing else. No “How was your trip?” No “Would you like to come over and make out?” No “May I stop by your place and dress in two hundred dollars-worth of lingerie that will knock you out like an Ambien?” Nothing. Dead air for five seconds.

  “Yeah. Uh, anyway, I just landed and wanted
to see if you’re up for a late dinner, or maybe dessert or a drink?”

  “Eh, not tonight. I kinda need some alone time right now.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s great. Just need a quiet evening.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I could tell from his tone he was a bit disappointed. “Anyway, for this weekend I was thinking—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry but I already have plans both nights.”

  “Going out of town?”

  “Nope, just have plans.” Thank God this wasn’t a Skype call, or he would have seen me with a huge grin.

  “Okay. Well, I uh, guess I’ll see you at the shelter Sunday.”

  “Won’t be there this week. I’m sure you can handle it. Tell you what, I’ll call you next week.”

  “All right. Well … have a good night.”

  “You too.” I hung up, then let out a shriek, got up and did a happy dance. Then, since I’d taped the whole thing, I replayed it and marveled at how well the whole thing worked out.

  Finally, I got a third beer.

  Because after all that, I still missed the guy. But, as Mrs. Baymont said, you have to look long term when it comes to relationships.

  I just hoped long term wasn’t more than another month.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  By three o’clock on Thursday afternoon, Harry had endured enough of my sneezing and coughs that sounded like I was a two-pack-a-day smoker and sent me home. I felt like shit, I sounded like shit, I no doubt looked like shit and I probably would have infected the whole newsroom with whatever crap I was carrying. And the last thing Harry needed was a skeleton crew. “Go to the doctor and don’t come back until you’re well,” he said. I wanted to tough it out and Harry appreciated my devotion, but he was right.

  Fortunately my doctor understands my career and lifestyle, and managed to sneak me in for an appointment. Oh, joy, I had the flu along with some other sinus stuff going on. He wrote me a couple of prescriptions and told me to stay in bed for a few days, at least until Monday.

  The last thing on my mind was a date with Scott. Who, in case you’re wondering, still hadn’t called me.