"Ham and pineapple," Rick explained. "And the other one's pepperoni. I forgot to ask what you liked."
"Perfect." The scenario couldn't have been more natural. No candlelight seductions here; just two boys and a movie. So what if one of them was full-grown and gorgeous? Christie relaxed slightly, and held her plastic grocery bag aloft. "Microwave popcorn, as promised. Now, do you know the secret ingredient?"
"If you say diet butter spray I'm going to kill you."
"Just the opposite. M&Ms." He looked at her quizzically. Christie explained, "You throw them on as soon as the popcorn comes out of the microwave. They get all warm and melty on the inside." He still looked dubious. Just about everyone did, until they tried it. "Think about it. If you want to give it a try, I'll make a believer out of you."
Rick relieved her of the grocery bag and led her toward the kitchen, where two pizzas waited on the counter. While she helped herself to a slice of each, Christie glanced around Rick's apartment. No sign yet of any Christmas decorations, but then, it was only the first week of December. It was one of those apartments with no dividing wall or doorway between the living room and the kitchen; the carpet simply gave way to tile. A piano in the corner of the living room drew her eye. Incongruously, an exercise treadmill stood at the opposite end of the room.
She couldn't help herself. As he led her into the living room, she said, "Who decorated your place, Mozart or Gold's Gym?"
Rick laughed. "You know what they say. Out of sight, out of mind. I spend most of my time out here, and when the treadmill was in the bedroom, it was too easy to ignore. The piano-" He paused beside it, resting a hand on the keys to play a chord absently. It seemed as much an extension of him as the controls in the studio. He shrugged. "The piano belongs in the middle of the house."
Christie glanced at the sheet music resting on the music stand in front of the keys. It was an Andrew Lloyd Webber score. She would have loved to hear it, but she was sure Jason wouldn't appreciate it. "I'm jealous. I've always wanted to learn an instrument. I just never had the knack."
"Persistence." Another light chord. "Plus, when I was little, I could never stay away from it. By the way, mind if we eat in the living room?"
Christie laughed. She was already parking on the couch. "This is where everybody is, right?"
A plate of half-demolished pizza sat on the coffee table in front of Jason. Another plate sat, untouched, to Jason's right, apparently waiting for Rick. That left a space for Christie on Jason's left. She wondered if it was by foresight or by chance that he'd put Jason in the middle. Either way, she decided, definitely a good move.
As she sat down and started to set her plate on the coffee table, Rick scooped a large, squatty glass bowl off the table. "Sorry. You probably don't want turtles on the dinner table."
"Turtles?" Christie straightened and peered into the bowl before Rick could spirit it away. Sure enough, two small green turtles ambled over the rocks resting half-in, half-out of shallow water. "I didn't think you could get those any more."
"Shh. The state of California says no, but some swap meet vendors aren't so fussy." Rick set the bowl on an end table, then took another glance inside it. "Jason," he said impatiently. "There are only two in here again."
Christie had been about to sit back down. Her knees snapped straight. She looked on the couch cushions behind her, then on the floor near her feet, before both Rick and Jason burst out laughing at her. She looked from one to the other, realizing she'd been had.
"There only are two!" Jason giggled at her.
His giggle was too infectious; Christie couldn't glare at him. Instead, she aimed her glare at Rick, but the teasing light in his eyes was just as hard to resist. They'd caught her in that quintessentially female fear of crawly things.
"I was just afraid I'd crush one," she said lamely.
After they'd eaten, Rick let Christie take over the popcorn preparation in the kitchen. He started to load their plates into the dishwasher, then thought better of it. He wasn't sure how many dirty dishes were already inside, or how long they'd been there. They might have gotten pretty disgusting by now.
Christie started the microwave while Jason watched her expectantly. "How often do you guys do this?" she asked.
"Once or twice a year." Rick tried for a simplified version of the family situation. "His mom comes out from Las Vegas to see her sister, and I borrow Jason for a night while they go shopping, or see a movie." He saw the curiosity in Christie's face, and appreciated the way she restrained it. Some details were best not discussed in front of six-year-old boys.
"I'm off school 'til after Christmas," Jason said.
"That's a nice long break," Christie said.
"It's a year-round school," Jason said, making another one of his faces. The faces had been coming fast and furious tonight, all in an effort to impress Christie. Rick knew a crush when he saw one.
He couldn't blame Jason. As Christie poured the popcorn into the oversized bowl on the counter, he watched the way the fluorescent light hit the crown of her head, adding a soft halo of warm red highlights to her hair. Rick took a deep breath. The situation was about as G-rated as it could get. But she'd fit so readily into the homey routine, it felt dangerously cozy.
She raised her head, and Rick gave himself a mental shake. If she had STATION PROPERTY emblazoned across the front of her yellow sweater, it would help. "Now," she said, holding the bag of M&Ms over the bowl. "With or without M&Ms?"
Jason jumped up and down. "M&Ms! M&Ms!"
Rick heaved an elaborate sigh. "I know when I'm licked."
Christie poured a generous layer of M&Ms over the popcorn, and Rick leaned over to look at the colorful candies resting on top of the hot, buttery popcorn. The outer shells made a crackling sound from the heat. "That, Miss Becker," he said, "is sin in a bowl."
She smiled tantalizingly. "Wait'll you taste it," she said, grabbing the bowl and heading back into the living room. And what two healthy, red-blooded males wouldn't follow a beautiful redhead with an armload of candy-covered popcorn?
An hour and a half later, Rick eased himself out from under a limp Jason, whose head had dropped onto his shoulder. Christie stood up to make room as Rick slid the boy's head onto one of the throw pillows on the couch, then stretched his legs out into a semi comfortable position. Jason never stirred. Even The Blob hadn't been enough to keep him awake.
"Kids sleep so hard," she said. "Does he usually make it all the way through the movie?"
"About two-thirds of the time. It's harder Friday nights, when I'm on the air. We get a later start. When he comes over on a Saturday, sometimes we even get two movies in." Rick picked up the throw blanket that hung over the back of the couch and draped it over Jason.
In the moment of quiet that followed, Christie became acutely aware that they'd just lost their chaperone. Time to get out of there fast.
But it would be rude to leave without helping Rick gather the empty glasses from the coffee table. Christie picked up her glass along with the big popcorn bowl, now empty except for a few kernels rattling at the bottom. "All the M&Ms are gone," she pointed out.
"Jason made sure of that. But I got my share, too." Rick led the way into the kitchen. The jeans, Christie noticed again, were a nice change from his usual semicasual dress slacks. They made his long, slim legs that much longer and slimmer.
Forget it. "How long is Jason here with you?"
"Just overnight. Sylvia and his mother pick him up tomorrow after lunch."
Finally, a chance to solve her mental game of who's who. "So Sylvia is-"
"Jason's mom's sister. My ex." Rick finished depositing the dishes into the sink, then leaned back against the dishwasher. Why the dishes hadn't just gone in there, Christie wasn't sure, but she wasn't go ing to argue. Besides, she was more interested in the direction the conversation was taking.
"You two must be on pretty decent terms," she said. "I guess when I think of divorce, I picture people yelling and throwing plates
at each other."
He smiled ruefully. "No, I didn't throw any plates," he said. "Can I get you another coke? Or I've got some instant hot chocolate."
Now was her cue to make a graceful exit. Instead, she said, "Hot chocolate sounds great." She wasn't sure if Rick was going to get back to the subject, but her curiosity was piqued. And it was only ten-thirty, after all.
Rick walked up, reached for her, and before Christie could choose between panic and pleasure, he nudged her gently aside to open the cabinet behind her head. "Excuse me," he said belatedly, smiling down at her. Had he noticed her reaction? The touch had been completely innocent, yet Christie had to wait for the universe to right itself again.
"It all happened about five years ago." Rick reached up for a box of cocoa mix. She'd forgotten what they were talking about. "I was working seven to midnight-you know, at the L.A. station." He glanced at her, and she nodded. "When you've been married less than two years, that's not a great schedule." He moved to another cabinet to retrieve two mugs. "She had an affair, and she left."
Christie frowned. "I would have been throwing plates."
He surprised her with a grin. "I didn't say it didn't cross my mind." He mixed the cocoa and water. "It was ugly for a while. But nothing's all black and white. She worked days, I worked nights, and there were the weekend remotes-" He shrugged. "It wasn't what she expected." He put the two mugs into the microwave. "Plus, the guy she was seeing dumped her in a few weeks. I admit I got a little petty satisfaction out of that." He turned to face her, and Christie had the feeling he wouldn't have told the story if he hadn't had something to do with his hands. "Sorry," he said. "Not a very nice story. But you keep bumping into it by accident, so I thought I might as well get it out of the way."
He was giving her credit for being a lot less nosy than she really was. Tentatively, she ventured, "I'm surprised you're friends now."
"Oh, I wouldn't call it that."
Christie tried to imagine what it had been like. He'd been divorced; she'd never even been to her high school prom. But if her love life had been dull, she realized, she'd also come through it relatively unscathed. A few dates that hadn't really gotten off the ground, and couple of relationships that had simply ended when the time was right. When she was ready.
She'd never really been hurt. For all her agonizing about being overlooked, she'd never had her heart handed to her in a sling. She decided she didn't envy Rick.
The microwave pinged. Rick took out the mugs and motioned her to the small, round kitchen table.
Christie tried to take a sip from her cup. Too hot. "Where does Jason figure in?"
"Oh, right. That's how we got started on this, isn't it?" Rick managed a sip of the steaming drink with no discernible effort. "He's part of what got us back on civil terms. Sylvia's sister started her divorce right about the time we were finishing ours. The same story, only the shoe was on the other foot-Cindy's husband cheated on her. Seeing the other side of things made Sylvia a little more ... reasonable. Jason was just a toddler, but he and I were close, even back then. So I helped out by baby-sitting, and got him out of the fray a little bit."
"It's nice of you to keep that relationship going."
"He's a good kid. I think I enjoy it as much as he does." Christie remembered her earlier judgment of Rick, in the station lobby, and felt guilty all over again. "But his mom moved to Las Vegas a couple of years ago, so I don't see him as much any more. It's a good thing Sylvia and I never had children."
The tag ending surprised her. Just when she thought she was getting Rick figured out. She raised her eyebrows. "You didn't want children?"
"Not what I said. But the way things ended up, it would have been a nightmare. Coordinating visits all the time, with someone you used to be married toeven setting things up with Sylvia once or twice a year, there's friction once in a while. And I've seen what Jason got stuck in the middle of." His eyes drifted toward the living room, where the little boy was piled on the couch. "At one point, I would have loved to have kids. But it's not too likely now."
He was surprising her again. Was there something stronger in this cocoa, or what? Christie tried another cautious sip and managed not to burn her tongue. "You don't think you'll ever remarry?" Hot chocolate nearly sloshed over the top of her mug as she set it down. Rick didn't seem to notice.
"I'm not a good candidate. A workaholic with a raging ego."
"You have a raging ego?"
"Absolutely."
All Christie could think of was how quickly Rick had made room for her on his show. All the punch lines he'd yielded to her, with most of the jokes at his expense. "Do you really believe that, or is that what someone told you?"
Rick's eyes clouded, and for once, Christie was afraid she'd gotten too personal. "Take a guess," he said. He took another drink, and the stormy look passed. "Still, that doesn't mean it isn't true. I work in radio, remember? Raging ego is part of the job description."
"So I have a raging ego, too?"
"Of course." A playful light flickered into Rick's eyes. "Why else in the world would you spend six hours a night alone in a studio? And chuck a decent paying job to do it?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "I don't call that ego." What did she call it? Overcompensating for a mousy adolescence?
He leaned back in his chair, eyeing her triumphantly. "Rampant, raging ego. You're just sneakier about it than most of us. But I know. Under that demure facade, there's a screaming, stomping diva."
Was he flirting with her? She tried her hot chocolate again. At last, it had reached a comfortable temperature.
Rick switched gears. "So, what would you be doing tonight if you weren't watching an ancient monster movie?"
She chuckled. "Probably watching something every bit as old. Cary Grant, or Jimmy Stewart."
"What is it with you and the past? Everything you like was before you were born."
"Before my parents were born," she amended. "Want to hear a dumb story?"
"Sure."
"It all started with a song on the radio."
Rick laughed. "It figures."
She looked down at her cup. "I wasn't the most sociable kid," she confessed. "I spent a lot of time in my bedroom, until I was about sixteen. My big hobby was taping songs off the radio. When I got tired of one station, I'd find another one, until I burned out on all their songs, too. So one day I ran across that old song, `Key Largo.' You know, the one with all the lyrics about Bogie and Bacall."
"Sure." He was watching her with a bemused smile. "We put it on the play list at the station every once in a while."
"I guess I just got curious. Remember, this is a sixteen-year-old girl with no life." She laughed selfconsciously. "So I tracked down the movie, and I loved it. Then someone told me the lyrics had more to do with Casablanca, so I watched that, and that was even better. Best movie ever made."
"No," Rick said, "the best movie ever made is The Godfather."
She raised her chin. "You just say that because you're a man. Anyway, after that, I was chasing down Humphrey Bogart movies. Then I started watching the classic movie channels. You were dead on when you teased me about the happy sailor movies. When I heard the old forties music, I was floored. See, one thing kept leading to another. I guess I found out that the more different things you like, the more there is to-" she shrugged, "-like."
He was still smiling. He probably thought she was ridiculous. "That still doesn't explain the country music."
"That, I got from my dad."
There was a brief silence. Rick's smile disappeared. "When did he die?"
She hadn't expected the question. She looked down at her cup again, examining the progressive rings of froth leading down the sides. "How did you know?"
"I picked it up."
She swirled the cup in front of her. "My freshman year in college. Right before Christmas. I figure I was right in the middle of a final when he had a heart attack. No warning." She glanced up at Rick, but the gray eyes were too direc
t. She had to look back down. "The thing is, I didn't really know him. I was busy being a teenager with the bedroom door closed. And then I went to college. I always think if I'd had a couple more years..."
"So that's why the car." She peeked up again. This time he was smiling, gently. "Don't get me wrong, it's the perfect DJ-mobile. But I couldn't figure out why a loan processor didn't have something newer." He put his hand on the table, letting it rest an inch from hers. "Look, whatever you and your dad didn't say, the car says volumes."
"I know. That's why I keep it running. But even Toyotas don't last forever." She bit her lip.
"So, yours could be the first." His hand inched closer, to squeeze hers. Then he let go, as if any further contact could make them both burst into flames.
No flames at the moment. But his hand did leave behind a feeling of warmth. Christie lifted her own hand from the table.
"Where's your mother now?" he asked.
"She moved to Colorado. We've got lots of family there." She was starting to sound like an abandoned orphan, and that wasn't what she wanted. She shifted the subject back to Rick. "How about your family? Still intact?"
"All alive and well in northern California. I kind of worked my way south. Although they've never understood about the radio thing. My brother still says I was seduced by the dark side."
"What does he do?"
"Investment banker."
Christie acted out a shudder. "I've seen enough three-piece suits to last me the rest of my life."
"He's not so bad. Plus, it's hard to take anyone too seriously when they used to pour sand in your hair."
From that point on, things were back to normal. They talked for another half hour before Christie stood to go.
Reflexively, Rick stood, too. "I'll walk you out."
He probably should have let her go out alone, he thought, but his ingrained manners wouldn't let him. At least that was what he told himself. All he knew was that it was harder than ever to keep his hands to himself; it seemed only natural to reach for her as they walked through the cool California night. Getting out of his apartment should have helped. Instead, it brought back memories of the whole high school dating thing, and all those hesitant front-porch kisses.
Love on the Air Page 7