Over the next week, Mayor Reeves laid low and operated under the public radar. His avoidance only fueled public discontent.
His press secretary issued a media advisory for an impromptu media event.
She retrieved it from her email and carried it to Ben’s desk. “Guess we have an assignment.”
He scanned the advisory, and then stood. “I’ll drive.”
“Thanks.” Apprehension distracted her. Last time she’d been in his truck, she’d wound up in his arms.
No chance this time. He drove in steely silence, obviously not thrilled.
At city hall, the media room buzzed with speculation. Paul smiled at her from across the room, but stayed in his seat. She hadn’t heard from him since the night he showed up at Mark’s Bar. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t exactly fall all over him.
Ellen stepped to the podium. “The mayor will make a brief statement. I will respond to limited questions afterward.”
Buttoning his suit jacket, Mayor Reeves said something to her as she stepped away. She touched his arm, his sole supporter.
He inhaled sharply as if to brace himself. “After careful consideration, I have decided to step down. I will do my utmost to ensure the transition to a new administration is a smooth one. I had…” He cleared his throat. “…several promising initiatives in the works. It is my fondest wish these programs will come to fruition to the betterment of this fine city. Thank you.” He stepped away from the podium a diminished version of himself.
Sydney was filled with sadness. A little over four years ago, Mayor Reeves had been a bright star rising, a youthful mayor full of promise and promises. How had his brilliant ideals faded, and in such a hurry? Her articles had helped sway public opinion during the election. And helped topple his administration.
Unlike the other reporters, she refrained from questioning Ellen, who was declining to answer most questions anyway. The press secretary’s tight mouth and narrowed eyes signaled a prepared defense, even if she had little to bolster it with. When Sydney stood to leave, the press secretary’s glare could have withered a lesser person.
Paul made his way through the crowd. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to call you. Want to go for coffee?”
“That would be really nice. But I have a ton of work waiting for me. I want to give this story its due.” So much for her promise not to let work interfere with her life. Somehow, she couldn’t muster enthusiasm for Paul’s attention. He deserved more than she could offer him.
Paul glanced at Ben as he approached. “Maybe dinner sometime then? I’ll call you.”
She nodded and flashed a smile.
Ben’s hand was light on her back as they walked out the door. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Fine,” she lied. She’d never felt so confused in all her life.
When they returned to the newsroom, Sydney asked Claudia if she could work from home the rest of the day. She honestly did want to write a good, balanced piece, and couldn’t when she felt so unbalanced in Ben’s presence.
She piled stacks of old notes and articles in her briefcase. It would be a long night assembling this mess into something readable.
At her apartment, a tumult of emotion wrestled with logic and argument. This piece had to reflect the mayor’s faults, yes, but she wanted it to be more than that. He’d fallen victim to the machine of politics, perhaps, or been seduced by his own power. Whatever the reason, she wanted to shed light on the idealistic young man whose ideas multiplied with the intensity of fire. The flame had sputtered to embers by the end, but his speech had indicated a tiny spark existed. Maybe it wasn’t too late for him; maybe losing the power of his office would allow him to refuel his goals.
She’d hoped that by leaving the newsroom, she could give this piece her full attention. Every time she poised her fingers over the keyboard and looked into the monitor, all she saw was Ben’s face.
Chapter Six
Sydney’s article drew praise from colleagues and competitors alike. Claudia assured her it would garner top journalism awards.
Ben congratulated her, too. Unable to take either joy or pride in the piece, Sydney tamped back the threatening tears. If she received an award for the article, she would think of him every time she looked at it. She couldn’t go to work without feeling his palpable presence, whether he was across the room or out of the building. His lips felt tattooed to hers, their invisible touch a stinging reminder of everything she wanted but couldn’t have. He’d invaded every facet of her life and had no clue about it.
When Paul called and invited her to dinner on Friday, she agreed. Months of her life had slipped away. She couldn’t wait any longer. Paul had won not only awards, but the respect of other journalists. He worked out at the gym, and it showed. Divorced, he’d at least have realistic expectations next time around. He tried to make her happy.
Why couldn’t he make her happy?
****
At exactly seven-thirty, Sydney’s doorbell rang. When she opened the door, Paul stood there. His ever-present, low-wattage smile inspired only disappointment. As did his corduroy jacket with the patch elbows, polo shirt and khakis. His uniform, in and out of work.
He thrust a bouquet at her.
“Thank you. How nice.” She took the flowers.
He kissed her cheek. “You look lovely.” His hand lingered on her arm.
She quelled an uproar of panic that arose from nowhere. “Let me put these in water.” She slid from his grasp. As soon as she set the flowers in water, she reached for her jacket. “Shall we go?”
His smile never wavered as he opened the door. Maybe his expectations were as low as hers.
Dinner was nice. Pleasant. They talked about work, mostly, the challenges and pitfalls of journalism. The gratification of writing pieces that resonated with readers, that made a difference in their world. It might as well have been a mutual interview. She didn’t ask about his ex-wife. He didn’t venture any comment more personal than his initial compliment.
When he kissed her good night, she wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Alone.
****
Brilliant spotlights illuminated the stadium. Smaller than in Philly, but the Harrisburg Senators played a great game. Ben yelled his enthusiasm, along with Ray and Louann, till the final inning ended.
As they filed out among the crowd, Louann smiled broadly at him. “So, did I tell you?”
Ben nodded. “You told me. They’re the best.” No sense arguing.
“Nice to go to a game and not have to cover it for once,” Ray said.
Louann looked wistful. “Yeah, but I’ll miss the after-game locker room interviews.”
Ray waved her off. “You’ll miss their bare asses.”
She shrugged. “That too.”
When Louann’s loud laugh rang out, Ben was glad for the open space. She’d scare a gaggle of honking geese into flight. A few men in front of them flinched, and glanced back at the stocky woman.
She took no notice. “We going to Mark’s?”
Ben ambled along. “Yeah, maybe we’ll see some other people from work.”
“If you mean other people like Sydney, then no.” Louann tossed her empty popcorn container into the waste can.
“No?” Ben couldn’t resist asking, but didn’t want to know how she’d guessed.
“Uh uh. She’s on a date tonight. The swanky Associated Press guy. I don’t know what she sees in him, but I’m in the minority on that one.”
A date? With the AP guy? Shit.
“He’s a putz,” Ray put in.
“Should be a good crowd at Mark’s though,” Louann said.
Ben nodded. “Yep.” Just not the right people.
During the walk, Louann and Ray verbally replayed highlights of the game. Ben threw in an agreement here and there, but in his head, all he saw was Sydney. In Paul’s arms.
As they approached Mark’s, Ray whistled. “Oh yeah, hopping tonight.”
The two-story glass wall revealed people ev
erywhere. Three girls stood against the second story glass. A blonde flipped her long hair over her shoulder and caught Ben’s stare. One brow lifted suggestively and her smile lingered until he went inside.
Louann pointed to an empty space at the bar, and Ben followed her and Ray. All seats occupied, they stood in the corridor between the tables and the bar.
Ben glanced around. “Hopping is right. I’m surprised Harrisburg’s such a happening place.” All along Second Street, throngs swarmed from restaurant to pub to club.
Ray and Louann filled him in on the history, how a local businessman almost single-handedly revived the city’s night life. A glint of neon on blonde caught his attention, and the girl he’d seen earlier flashed a whiter than white smile as she sidled to the bar.
At a pause in the conversation, Ben said, “Excuse me.” He downed the last of his ginger ale and set the glass on the counter where she leaned. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Seeing her in profile earlier, he hadn’t noticed the diamond stud in her nose. Or the butterfly tattoo on her shoulder.
Against her fake tan, the whites of her eyes appeared unnaturally bright, like her teeth as she smiled. “Sex on the beach?”
He gulped a laugh. “Pardon?”
Her smile widened a tad. “My drink.”
Duh. He waved a twenty at the twenty-something girl behind the counter, who asked, “Another ginger ale?”
The blonde giggled.
“Beer. And,” – he forced himself to say it – “Sex on the Beach.”
She shifted her hips, drawing his focus to where her long hair met the end of her short blouse, which tied in front. A Celtic knot tattoo nested in the small of her back, above the top of her low riser jeans.
Her breathy “thanks” she delivered with a sultry look. “Where are you from?”
Somehow he didn’t feel up to the small talk, but indulged her. When a particularly annoying song blasted through the speakers above the bar, she threw back her head, closed her eyes and rocked her hips. “I love this song. Don’t you?” She pulsed to its beat, pink lips drawn in a bow.
Not one note. “It’s…” Fine. Good. Okay. “Actually it sucks.”
“What?” Her eyes snapped wide in a glare, as if he’d insulted her personally.
“Yeah, I’m more into…” He shrugged. “Anything else.”
Her vacant stare scraped along his length. “It’s a hot song.”
“And I love how it makes you move, really I do.” Man, he’d lost all sense of right and wrong in talking to women, but the swish of her rear made him almost not hate the grating tune.
Her sly smile returned. “You do?” She eased closer. “Are you with anyone?”
“Tonight? No.” He’d given up hope, tonight or any night. The strong smell of alcohol on her breath provided a glimmer on the horizon.
She grabbed his hand. “Come with me.”
Against his will, an erection responded too readily. “Sure.” Did he have a choice? Glancing back at Louann and Ray, he waved and chuckled at their bewildered expressions. Not what he’d expected either, but hey, he’d go with it.
She led him to a dark hall, and pressed him against the wall. “You’re so hot.”
Like the song? he wanted to ask, but her lips silenced him.
Strawberries. She reeked of them. Tasted like them.
He hated strawberries. But when her tongue ran along his neck, he thought he could learn to like them.
She fumbled his belt buckle, and drew down his zipper in a slow tease. “Bet you’d love to feel my mouth on your dick, wouldn’t you? I’ll suck you dry.”
Oh yeah. He groaned, prickling with the sensation of a tongue lashing him into sweet oblivion. In his head, he saw long dark hair tumbling down the back of a kneeling woman.
She nipped his ear. “Thirty bucks.”
His hand was halfway inside his pocket when his brain snapped to reality. “What?”
Straddling him, she rubbed against his crotch. “For you, twenty five.” She leaned in to kiss him.
He snapped his head out of reach and pushed her away. “Seriously?” He zipped up and strode away.
“Twenty,” she called.
He couldn’t bear to look back. Disgust turned to embarrassment when he found Louann and Ray.
“Hot date, huh?” Louann’s bemusement as she looked him over made him cringe.
Shit. He frowned at his shirt buttoned in the wrong holes. “No.” From their faces, he had no need to explain. “I better head home. I’ve already had a beer, and a DUI would kill me.”
“You sure?” Louann asked. “I’ll buy a round of soft drinks if you stay.”
“Thanks. Next time.” And next time, he’d think twice before hooking up with a bimbo.
Balmy night air provided no relief as he walked the few blocks to his truck, the image of the kneeling dark-haired woman still tantalizing him.
****
The next morning, Claudia stopped by Sydney’s desk, her eyes bright with expectation. “Sooo. How was it?”
Sydney swiveled in her chair. “Nice. We went to Caballero’s. Excellent food. Love to go back there sometime.” With someone else. Or even alone.
Claudia pursed her lips. “I’m not talking about the food. I’m talking about the dish. Paul.”
“You think he’s a dish?” Sydney studied her editor expectantly. A few months ago, Sydney might have thought so, too, but now, seemed to have lost perspective.
“Don’t you?” Claudia crossed her arms.
She shrugged. “I guess so.” Many other women seemed to think so, so he must be. For Sydney, he lacked that necessary spark.
“You’re kidding.” Claudia rolled her eyes and hooted. “Every single woman in a twenty-mile radius has been after him for a year, and you say you guess so?”
From out of nowhere, Ben stood at her desk. “I filed the shots from yesterday. Anything else you need?”
Claudia turned. “As a matter of fact, I was about to come find you. City council called a last-minute meeting. I’d like you both to cover it.”
Sydney sat straight. “When?”
Claudia checked her watch. “You should leave in about fifteen minutes.”
Ben’s response was quick. “Sure.” To Sydney, he said, “I can drive.” He strode to his desk and packed his camera bag.
Claudia looked from Ben to Sydney. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Nope.” She wished she could confide in her friend. Her insides ached for a hug as Claudia returned to her office.
She cursed herself for agreeing to ride with Ben. His truck brought back too-vivid memories.
When they reached city hall, the meeting room stood empty. The receptionist told her the meeting had ended before it began.
Ben grabbed his camera gear. “It’s a bust. Let’s go.” In the truck, he turned to her. “Let me take you out to eat. We both need to unwind a bit.” His hair was mussed; his eyes had a glassy look.
She twisted a pen in her hand. It would be good to clear the air. “All right.”
In the window of a tiny cafe, over burgers and iced tea, she told him of her adventures as a fledgling reporter. “I was on assignment in exotic, dangerous downtown locales, tailing the police on crimes involving burglaries, drug deals, graffiti, you name it. I wanted to be Gloria Steinem or Betty Friedan. Hell, I wanted to be the journalistic equivalent of Janis Joplin, more serious but every bit as passionate, with less frizz.”
He laughed. “I was going to be a mix of Andy Warhol, and Edward Steichen – classic and funky, a new genre of photojournalism.” The sun fell across his face, deepening the crease of his smile.
She’d had the same conversation with Paul, minus the pizzazz. Again, the thought struck her: there was simply no spark between them.
When she asked, “What happened?” she was honestly interested.
He looked out the window. “During my interview with an alternative paper in Philly, I looked around the dinky little offices a
nd realized no matter how good my photos were, they wouldn’t be respected unless they fell under the well-known banner of a familiar, family-friendly newspaper. So I went to the Daily News.”
She rimmed the edge of her glass with her finger. “I always wanted to be here, in this city. Close to home. I was so idealistic. It was silly for me to think I could have an impact. Change things somehow.”
His dark eyes seared into hers. “How can you say that after what just happened? You do change things. You keep politicians in line.”
She shrugged. “What does it matter in the scope of things? I feel so ineffective sometimes. Incomplete is maybe a better word.”
He settled his elbows on the table. “What would make you feel complete?”
“I don’t know.” She sipped her iced tea and looked out the window, hoping he’d drop it.
He swallowed, his eyes wide. “No, come on. What’s missing – a different career? Marriage?”
He’d gone where she didn’t want to go. The ‘m word.’ “My parents always said marriage had to be something really magical, something rare and wonderful. I bought into that whole package.” She gave a wry laugh, as if it were a thing of the past and she knew better now. Hunger must have dimmed her defenses.
“The magical-rare-wonderful package?” He lifted his glass to his lips. “It’s a fairy tale, you know.”
She set her gaze on him. “I think some people manage to find it.”
“Paul Jackson? Is he your fairy tale prince?” He may have been teasing, but there was a snide edge to it.
She stabbed the ice in her glass with her straw. “Who knows? I’ve only gone out with him once. Maybe it’s Randon Byers.”
“What?” He sputtered. “What, you’re dating him, too?”
She flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “He emailed me. We’re coordinating our schedules.”
He winced. “He emailed you? At least he hasn’t lost the personal touch. But maybe he’s a prince for the new millennium. What a twit.”
She furrowed her brow. “He’s not a twit. He’s nice to me.”
“What, he includes smiley emoticons in his emails?” His tone sharpened, no humor remaining.
The hamburger turned to lead in her stomach. “It’s getting late. We should get back.”
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