What in the world was she doing, at twenty-six years old, mooning over her boss? It was time to get over Rick Fox and get back to what was important. She didn't have time or energy for any relationship right now, let alone an impossible relationship with someone who could shake her off like someone's homely kid sister. She was heading for a new year. Time to make a new start.
With that decided, she fed Bing, got dressed, put on her makeup and went to Christmas dinner at Alicia's.
"So, are you seeing anyone?"
The question came at a bad time. Rick nearly choked on his apple cider.
He glared across the table at his brother, David. "Not really." He kept his tone casual for the rest of the family's benefit.
It didn't work. David's wife, Carol, leaned forward beside him. "Oh? What does `really' mean?"
"It means what it says. Really." This time the irritation showed in his voice. More heads turned his way. Drat. It was nice of them to hold off Christmas dinner until he got there, but he hadn't figured on being the main course. He glanced down at his plate. The dumplings were as good as ever, but he wasn't eating much.
His mother chimed in. "You know, just because things didn't work out with Sylvia doesn't mean-"
"You're right. It doesn't." Rick restored his pleasant tone. It worked with listeners. It had worked with Christie, sort of. It could work with his family, too. He reached for his sparkling cider again. "What's going on here, anyway? After five years I'm fair game?" He nodded at his very pregnant sister-in-law. "Worried about the family line dying out, just because David couldn't produce a boy?" He winked at Carol to let her know the shot wasn't aimed at her.
It didn't work. Carol sat up straighter. "I wanted a girl!"
Oh, well. At least he'd changed the subject.
When Rick got back to work two days later, a plate of brownies was waiting on his desk, with a card from Christie. Just her signature. Nothing else. The unwritten note said, Here's something I owe you.
Later that afternoon, there was a familiar sound he hadn't heard in a while: the sound of girlish laughter, coming from Yvonne's office across the hall. Christie Becker was back.
And she was ignoring him for all she was worth.
There was a rattle of glass and metal as the outside door by the studio was propped open, with a little more noise than necessary. Judging by the clatter, Rob was back from his live remote broadcast. Soon Rob was loudly schlepping the first load of equipment down the hall and back to its storage place in the transmitter room.
Inside Yvonne's office, Christie and Yvonne grinned at each other. "Think Rob's hinting he could use a little help?" Yvonne said.
Christie had helped to load up for a few remotes herself, and most of the equipment wasn't that heavy. "My heart bleeds for him."
"That'll be you in a couple of weeks," Yvonne said.
"What?"
"Your first live broadcast. It's in about two weeks. Didn't Rick tell you?"
Rick hadn't told her much of anything lately, al though he'd been a study in casual friendliness for the past few weeks. He never failed to greet her in the hallway, and he always seemed to have some little piece of small talk handy-always pleasant, always brief, and never about anything that mattered. She knew he was going out of his way to show her they could still be friends. Some days she almost expected him to give her a buddy-buddy punch in the arm: No hard feelings, right? Hey, how about those Dodgers?
It was so easy for him to pick up as if nothing had ever happened. It didn't say much for her. On bad days, it still hurt. On good days, Christie could work up a healthy case of resentment, and that helped. He'd been the one to take them in a direction they never should have gone. And then, when it was over and he came to his senses, he simply stepped back, shrugged, and moved on. She'd long since concluded that Bing had simply been a pat on the head, a little dose of holiday guilt. It didn't stop her from taking good care of him; she bought him a larger bowl and some bigger, shinier rocks. After all, why blame an innocent turtle?
And whenever Rick greeted her in the hallway, Christie was always careful to respond in kind. She kept her replies bright, cheerful, and short. Remembering her New Year's resolution, she refused to let it drive her crazy. But in its own way, the bland friendliness was worse than the old days when he'd barely spoken to her at all.
Somehow, in the midst of all those little chats about the weather, he'd neglected to mention a major milestone like her first live remote broadcast.
"Are you serious?" she asked Yvonne. She felt a now-familiar knot of excitement, laced with panic.
"I've seen that look before," Yvonne said. "Relax. You know you can do it."
Christie grinned. "It's okay. I finally figured out it's part of the process with me. I have to panic before I try something new. You know, I still have this little moment of terror before I go on the air. I kind of like it. It's like slaying a dragon every night."
Rick chimed in from the doorway. "Have you had "The Dream" yet?"
His appearance in here was a little unusual, but Christie tried not to act surprised. Just another round in the game of playing normal. "The Dream?"
"That's what we call it," Yvonne said. "I think every jock has it sometimes."
Rick had taken his old favorite stance, leaning against the door frame, arms folded. A sheet of paper dangled from one hand. "It's this recurring dream, where you're on the air and the music runs out. Over and over. Sometimes it feels like it goes on for hours."
"Everybody has that?" Christie said. "I started having that back when I was in broadcasting school."
"I had a new version a couple of months ago," Yvonne said. "The Christmas music kept coming on, no matter what I put in the CD player."
"And it never goes away, " Rick said ominously. "I've got a friend from the old college station who's been teaching math for nearly ten years, and he still has it." He strolled to the photocopier and loaded the sheet of paper into the machine.
Well, that hadn't been so bad. Probably their longest conversation since Christmas Eve, and Christie felt almost normal. Maybe she was getting the hang of this just-friends thing.
Then she noticed he was wearing jeans, and frowned. Rick never wore jeans to work. These weren't the same ones she'd seen that night at his apartment, but they made his legs look just as long and lean. Stop it. She wasn't supposed to notice things like that. Christie went back to opening a new CD from the afternoon mail, pulling the tab on the brown padded envelope with a long, slow rip.
"Hey, legs," Yvonne said easily. "Been back on the treadmill lately?"
"Not really," Rick said. "Just lost a couple of pounds."
Just like that, any delusions of normalcy went out the window. Sure. Yvonne could flirt with Rick all she wanted. Christie's mind erupted with useless jealousy. She tried to ignore it, but it was like having a blender turned on inside her. Idiotic thoughts whirred through her head and wouldn't shut up. Yvonne knew about the treadmill. Which meant she'd probably been in Rick's apartment, too. He probably made passes at every female who worked for him.
It was crazy, and she knew it. She had to get out of here, at least for a minute. "I'll be back," she said to Yvonne. Christie launched out of her chair and headed down the hall.
The door leading outside still stood propped open, so she went in that direction. The van was parked at the curb, with most of the equipment still inside from Rob's live broadcast. Christie busied herself getting some of the gear out.
"Christie? What are you doing?"
It was Rick again. Couldn't she ever walk out of a room without him noticing?
"I'm unloading the van," she said, fighting for that bland cheerfulness. She hefted a crate full of extension cords down to the ground behind the van, avoiding Rick's attempt to take it from her hands. She leaned back in to reach for a speaker.
"Christie, you don't have to do this."
"Why not?" She put on a wide smile. "I hear I have a remote coming up in a few weeks. I might as well get
the practice, right?"
The speaker was heavy for her, and clumsy. But once again, she avoided his attempt to help her, and set it down.
On his foot.
Rick bellowed, and Christie scrambled to get the speaker off his toes. Rick lifted it first, then crouched to examine his foot. Christie bent down, too, reflexively putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Rick! Are you okay?"
He looked up at her, and she winced at his stonegray glare. It had been an accident. Didn't he know that? "Rick, I'm sorry."
Their eyes locked, and the glare faded. It was replaced by an expression Christie couldn't identify. Whatever it was, it made her just as uncomfortable. Clouds, she thought. His eyes were like twin gray clouds, and she'd never be able to see what was really behind them. While all her reactions, she was sure, were written all over her face. It wasn't fair. Christie became aware of her hand on his shoulder, and took it away. She straightened up and stepped back.
"It's okay," he said. He made a grimace that looked half-real, half-joking. "Of course, I'll never walk again ..."
He straightened, reaching out to take her arm for a little leverage. His eyes didn't leave hers. Christie needed to find an excuse to walk away, fast, but her brain felt as paralyzed as the rest of her. For lack of anything else to say, she started to apologize again. "I didn't mean to-"
"Hey, what's all the ruckus?" Rob said, finally returning from his lengthy break.
"Oh, nothing." Rick let go of her arm, but he still didn't look away. He smiled wryly. "Becker was just taking out her frustrations on me."
"Oh." Rob picked up the offending speaker effortlessly. "I thought she only did that with me." He winked at Christie and went back inside.
For absolutely no reason, she felt her face go red.
Rick stared after Rob as he went inside, then turned back to Christie and snapped: "What's that supposed to mean?"
The force of his glare startled her. "It doesn't mean anything." Immediately she was sorry she'd denied it. "And what if it did?"
"Oh, nothing." Rick's eyes took on a cool, appraising look. "I just thought you were concerned about your professional reputation."
Weeks of hurt, embarrassment and resentment boiled over inside her. Christie shot Rick a look that she hoped was as fiery as his was cold.
"Watch out for your other foot," she said, and went back inside.
Great. They'd both just managed to descend from high school down to the sixth grade level.
Christie could still feel the heat in her face as she went back to Yvonne's office. Then she remembered the conversation that had sent her out of the room. She wasn't sure she wanted to be here, either. Across the hall behind her, she heard Rick's door quietly and emphatically shut.
Yvonne turned her head away from her computer screen. She peered across the hall, eyebrows raised. "I've never seen that before. What's going on?"
"I dropped a speaker on his foot," Christie said irritably. "He's probably in there licking his wounds, if you want to go in and hold his hand."
"Hey!" Yvonne's eyes flashed. "What was that for?"
There had never been a harsh word between the two of them before. This day had turned into a total nightmare, all in less than fifteen minutes. Christie pressed a hand to her forehead and clenched the bangs of her hair. "Yvonne, I'm sorry. Whatever you do with Rick is your business. I just-"
"What?" Yvonne spun her chair completely around to face her. "Christie, what the heck are you talking about?"
The surprise on Yvonne's face looked utterly genuine. Christie felt more foolish than ever. She dropped her hand to her side, and they stared at each other for several long, slow beats.
Yvonne whispered, "You've got a crush on Rick!" Her look of dawning comprehension turned into something like glee. "Honey, that's-"
The glee faded into horror. "Oh, honey, that's awful."
In a flash, Yvonne reached into her desk drawer and grabbed her purse. "Let's go. You and I have got to talk."
Rick stared at the closed door of his office. It made the room feel smaller, and somehow dimmer. He could even imagine there was less air to breathe.
Leaning back in his chair, he put his feet up on the desk and eyed the fresh scuff mark on his right loafer. The damage went a lot further than a scuffed shoe and a sore toe. Just friends. Who was he kidding?
He had no idea what had sent Christie barreling out of the office to haul speakers. But he knew perfectly well why he'd acted like a jerk, and it was ridiculous. Jealous of a comment from Rob? Rob would flirt with anything that walked. It had nearly cost him his job, a couple of times over. Christie was too smart to fall for anything like that.
On the other hand, she might be emotionally vulnerable lately. Rick had himself to thank for that. And she saw Rob alone in the studio. Every night.
Maybe, just to be safe, he should have a little talk with Rob about not hitting on impressionable newcomers.
Or maybe not.
Rick knew his judgment was getting cloudy, and he didn't like it. There was no point in any of this, not with both of their jobs on the line. The job fit her like skin, and he had no business asking her to risk it, or to give it up. It was one of the things he loved about her.
Love. He hadn't meant to think that. It was just there, as natural as breathing.
And it was impossible. He'd just have to stop breathing.
Love. Based on what? A couple of lovely evenings, one great week in the studio, and one kiss.
Well, all right. One really amazing series of kisses.
It had felt more than good. It had felt right. The same way it felt right to have her there in his apartment, making popcorn as though she'd done it countless times before.
But it wasn't right. It couldn't be. Not when Christie worked for him. Not when the owner of the businessnot the most flexible man, from what Rick had seenhad a hard-and-fast policy against managers getting involved with employees. There was no way around it.
And there was no way he could maintain a professional relationship with her, in the same office, and still maintain his sanity. Today was proof of that. Not when all he wanted to do, every time he saw her, was kiss her again. And again. Until both their knees buckled.
Rick shook himself. Man did not live on sensory flashbacks alone.
With new resolve, he dug through the pile on his desk for a trade magazine, and started searching the ads for available positions.
"Okay," Yvonne said. "Spill it."
Yvonne had dragged her to a cafe around the corner from the station. Although there wasn't much warmth in the January sun, Christie had asked Yvonne if she minded a table out on the patio, where anything she said could be scattered to the breeze. Christie didn't know if this was a good idea or not, but the need to unload was too great.
Yvonne listened to Christie's story with no attempt to disguise her widening eyes. Her cappuccino cooled in front of her, barely touched.
When she finished, Christie said, for the second time, "You know, if you repeat any of this, I have to kill you."
"Relax. I can keep a secret." Yvonne sipped from her cooling styrofoam cup. "But it's a lulu."
Christie took a big swig of her own cappuccino, like a sailor knocking back whiskey. After nearly three months on the overnight shift, coffee didn't make her bounce off the walls any more. It was becoming a permanent part of her system.
Yvonne shook her head. "You and Rick. Between the two of you, you drink enough caffeine to power a city. You must be meant for each other."
"Not when we both work for KYOR."
"You know, women have fallen for the boss before. Sometimes they live happily ever after."
"Not when the job is so important."
"This is radio, hon, it's not brain surgery."
"I know. But there's not another station within a hundred miles of here, except in L.A., and I'm not ready for that. I know it's just a starting point, but I love my job. And where else would I go?"
"Didn't anyone
ever tell you that in this business, you have to be ready to move?"
"I know. But then I found this, and it seemed so perfect."
Yvonne sat back, folding her arms for warmth. "Well, maybe you could get away with it."
"With what?"
"Dating Rick."
"No. It's against company policy." And he's not asking.
"Does the company have to know?"
"How long does something like this ever stay a secret?"
"Good point." Yvonne smirked. "Rob and one of the part-timers were sneaking off to the station van for a while a year or so back, and they were the only ones who thought it was a secret. It was a big joke for a while."
"That's what I mean. Who'd ever take me seriously again?"
"Seriously." Yvonne repeated the word thoughtfully. "Maybe that's your problem. Are you always so dead serious about everything?"
"Pretty much. Remember, I was a loan processor for three years." She shuddered at the thought of going back.
"Maybe you need to rethink your priorities. You know what happens if the transmitter of that radio station blows up?"
"Big FCC violation?"
"See, that's your problem. What happens is, life goes on. People are born, they get married, they die, they have kids." She frowned. "Okay, not in that order. But that's the stuff life is made of. Not the station. And you and Rick don't seem to know that."
"Okay. Would you walk away from that station today for a chance to get married and have babies?"
Her eyes gleamed. "Depends on who the babies come from."
"No, seriously." There was that word again. Christie winced. "Would you be happy with someone if the first thing you had to do was give up something you loved?"
Yvonne bit her lip, and they sat in silence. Finally, Christie said, "I'm sorry, but can I ask you one thing?"
"Sure. What?"
"How did you know there's a treadmill in Rick's apartment?"
Yvonne burst out laughing. "Is that what got you going?" She shook her head. "Honey, you're the queen of jumping to conclusions. I've never been there. Never seen it. Rick got the thing when he turned thirty. He started complaining about picking up a few extra pounds, or something like that. He talked about that treadmill on the air for weeks. Milked it for all it was worth."
Love on the Air Page 10