Hot Summer

by Judy Powell

  But what impressed Summer most was an illuminated glass case in which several trophies, awards and gold records were displayed. One of them even looked like a Grammy award. She was curious but guessed that this was not the best time to ask.

  “So…” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk, “your message indicated that you were reconsidering my offer. Did I understand you correctly?”

  “Yes, you did.” Summer suffered a little under his scrutiny but, despite her embarrassment, she pressed on. “I…a lot’s happened in the past week and…I need a job.”

  He leaned back again and clasped his fingers across his chest as he looked at her. His brow was knitted in a frown. “What exactly has happened in such short space of time? A week ago you wouldn’t even consider my offer, and now this. What’s going on?”

  “I…I’d rather not say.”

  “I see.” He stared at her until she felt like squirming. Then he said, “In the same way you’d rather not say how you got my home number?”

  Summer could feel her face get hot. “Aah, you could say that,” she muttered.

  “I see.”

  “Will you stop saying that?”

  “Saying what?”

  “ ‘I see’. You keep saying that and yet you don’t see. You don’t understand a thing about me.” Summer’s voice came out sharper than she’d intended but she was stung by his reminder that she’d had to retract her initial rejection of his offer.

  He stared at her in silence, his lips twitching slightly. She didn’t know if it was out of anger or amusement. She guessed it was the latter and could have kicked herself.

  Then he said, “Alright. I can see you have a lot on your mind but you choose not to share your worries. No problem. I actually admire that in a woman.” He smiled. “The fairer sex isn’t famous for keeping their troubles to themselves.”

  Summer grimaced at his words but said nothing.

  “But that’s beside the point,” he continued. “I imagine your purpose for coming here is to understand what the job is about and to determine whether you’d be interested, right?”

  “That’s correct.” Her composure restored, Summer decided to be as formal with him as he was with her.

  “Fine. In brief, I need someone with strong communication and writing skills to assist me in creating a unique public relations campaign for the artistes I’m working with. I don’t want to work with a PR firm on this particular project. I need this to have a different feel - I want it to be intimate, close to home, close to the heart. I want to get to the real person behind the performer.”

  As he spoke his voice grew more animated. “And that’s why I need someone like you - young, open to diverse cultures and personalities, passionate. I want someone to whom my people, whether American or from anywhere in the world, can relate. From the first time I met you I thought you possessed the qualities I was looking for.”

  Lance’s eyes sparkled and his excitement was obvious. Summer was surprised by the compliment but she was also affected by the enthusiasm in his voice. She leaned forward in genuine interest.

  “It sounds great so far but I’m still not one hundred percent sure about what I’d be doing. Could you explain a bit more?”

  “Of course.” His lips softened in a warm smile which, coupled with his glistening eyes, made her heartbeat accelerate. She shook her head slightly, willing herself to concentrate on his words and not on his rugged face.

  “I have a goal and that’s for the public, and especially the fans, to get to know the real side of my artistes. Several of the people I work with have serious image problems. The rap and reggae artistes are typically viewed as gangsters and drug dealers, and the pop singers…well, let’s just say there are some attitude problems.” He grinned boyishly and she smiled back. She’d had first hand experience with this so she knew what he was talking about.

  “Now,” he continued, “what I want to do is reverse those negative impressions by getting people to see the other side of my people. Remember, some of these impressions may be true and some false. But whatever the case, what I want the public to recall is the positive side of these singers.”

  He looked thoughtful. “I’d be the first to admit that creative people tend not to be very good business people. What I mean is, they sometimes let their personalities dominate their decision making. If they’re spitfires like you,” at this he smiled, “they let everyone around them suffer, including the fans. Then they suffer and the business suffers. If they’re from the inner city then speech patterns will, of course, be typical of that area and if it’s too pronounced, for some members of the public this can be an issue.”

  “Now don’t get me wrong,” he put his hands up, “I’m not saying we should make these people into something they’re not. I simply want someone to work closely with my group, be with them on a daily basis, get to know them, get into their psyche, then communicate their human, positive side to the world.”

  As he spoke he stood up and turned to stare out of the big bay window behind his chair. She stared at his broad shoulders and couldn’t help admiring the way the suit fit his muscled frame perfectly.

  “What this means, Miss Jones, is that you will spend a lot of time with the singers, rappers and reggae stars and you will get to know them so well that you’ll be able to find the positive aspects of their lives, create stories and articles around that, and feed positive news to the agencies and to the media. You’ll be my own little in-house PR agency, but you’ll have the advantage of speaking as an insider.”

  He turned back to her and smiled. “You may even have to give tips to a few of them, take them under your wing, so to speak. But many of them are really nice people underneath it all.” He smiled at her raised eyebrows. “Yes, even the bitchy ones. Once you get to know them and they get to know you you’ll have fun, I can promise you that. And, at the end of the day, that’s the essence of what I want from you - for you to know them so intimately that the rest of the world can see the diamonds that would otherwise never come to light.”

  “Well.” Summer let her breath out in a whoosh. “That was some job description. But thank you, because now I know just what you’re looking for.”

  She looked up at Lance who stared down at her and she knew her face mirrored his excitement.

  “To tell the truth, I couldn’t have stumbled on a more perfect job. It combines my studies in journalism with my communication studies while allowing me to work closely with the persons I’m profiling. As I told you before, I love working with people and that’s why I didn’t want to end my studies at just journalism. I didn’t want to be a news anchor or a reporter in Iraq. I’ll leave that to the Christiane Amanpours of this world.”

  She sighed. “Me, I want to get into peoples lives and souls. I want to know what makes them tick. I’m nosy that way.” She grinned up at her prospective boss and he smiled back.

  “Sounds like I made the right choice.” He raised an eyebrow. “Now, Miss Jones, the question is, when can you start?”

  “As soon as possible if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all. I want you here first thing tomorrow - eight thirty, sharp - so I can debrief you about each of the artistes you’ll be working with.” He paused and looked at her questioningly. “I must admit I’m a bit surprised that you’re available to start so early. Don’t you have to give notice at The Southern Belle?”

  “Actually, no,” she said, her voice turning sheepish. “I got into some trouble - nothing illegal, mind you - and I was put on probation. Mr. Williams won’t miss me if I leave. He’s scared I might make him lose customers.”

  “Something to do with your temper, I assume?”

  “Yes,” she admitted ruefully then quickly added, “but it wasn’t my fault. But anyway, I’ll give him a call as soon as I get home. He’ll have a replacement before the day is over. Trust me.”

  “I don’t doubt that. But let me just say this” he said, looking at her with serious eye
s, “just like your previous employer I will expect you to keep a tight reign on that temper of yours. Situations are volatile enough with these musicians without you adding to it. I want you here to help solve problems, not create them.”

  “I’m very aware of that and I promise you, you’ll have absolutely no problem from me.” She spoke earnestly, not bothering to hide her eagerness. “In fact, you won’t even know I’m around.”

  “I doubt that,” he said with a grunt.

  “This job will be perfect,” she bubbled on without responding to his comment, “and it will definitely give me the experience I’m looking for. Oh!” She stopped suddenly and clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “What is it?” Lance frowned at her sudden change of expression.

  “I just thought of something,” she said, crestfallen. “I may not be able to take the job if it’s full time. I still have six months to go before graduation and I still haven’t done my thesis yet.”

  “Is that all you have left to do? Your thesis? No classes to attend?”

  “Yes, it’s only the thesis, no classes, but it’s a big part of my overall grade.” Her disappointment was almost tactile. “I can’t graduate unless I submit it and I need at least twenty hours a week to get it done.”

  “How far along are you?” He sounded genuinely interested.

  “Well,” she stalled, slightly embarrassed, “not very far. I’m just doing some general research now but I still haven’t tied down my topic. And what makes it worse,” she sighed, “my thesis proposal is due next week.”

  Lance walked around the desk and sat on the edge, arms folded. She was glad she was seated because a sudden weakness made her knees tremble.

  As he looked down at her he shook his head. “Miss Jones, in some ways you’re pretty quick but in others you are so naïve. Don’t you see that I’m providing you with the opportunity to not only earn a decent living but also to complete all the requirements of your thesis? What better study to do than the one I’ve thrown in your lap?”

  “Oh…my…God!” Summer’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, you’re so right! How could I have been so stupid?”

  Tears filled her eyes. It was too good to be true. Here she was, almost at the point of being thrown out of her apartment, at risk of not graduating if she didn’t pay her tuition, and up to her ears in frustration at not being able to come up with a solid subject of study for her final paper. And in the space of thirty minutes sitting in this man’s office it was all resolved.

  She turned her eyes up to him. The movement loosened a teardrop and it ran down her cheek and splashed onto her folded hands. “You’re a life saver.”

  Lance seemed nonplussed at her sudden show of emotion and he stood up quickly. He was obviously bewildered by the sudden change in her. He cleared his throat and said, “Miss Jones…there’s no need for tears. We’re simply creating a situation which is mutually beneficial - you earn more money and complete your thesis while I get the PR coverage I want for my team. Please…” He went over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t cry.”

  When he said that Summer felt like crying even more. This was so different from how she’d viewed him. She couldn’t believe this was the overbearing man she had cursed silently not so long before. Suddenly she felt ashamed. She ducked her head and dabbed at her face with a tissue as more tears ran down her cheek.

  “Summer, please,” His voice was gentle, almost pleading. Suddenly he pulled her upright to stand before him. Her handbag fell to the ground. He wrapped strong arms around her quivering body and pulled her to his broad chest. Heaving sobs shook her body but he held her close, stroking her wild curls and whispering softly in her ears. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Everything’s alright now.”

  It took a full minute before she rested quietly with her cheek against his silk shirt, all her tears spent. She felt drained but, at the same time refreshed, washed clean like the leaves after a shower of rain.

  As he gently stroked her cheek she sighed and relaxed into his body, breathing in the fragrance of his cologne and his warm body. She didn’t know if it was the strength of his arms, the seductive aroma of his cologne or her feeling of euphoria at having her problems resolved. The only thing she knew was that she raised her head to look up into his dark brooding face and her hands, of their own accord, rose to rest at the back of his head. Those hands now purposefully pulled his head down until his face was mere inches away from her upturned one.

  Summer closed her eyes, wiped all thoughts from her mind and gave herself up to the waves of desire that washed over her. She applied more pressure to the back of his head and her greatest wish for that moment came true. Lips so firm but oh, so mobile, pressed against her eager ones. She moved her mouth gently against his then moaned softly as he placed a large hand on the small of her back and drew her against his hard body. Before she knew what was happening he had taken control. As her hands fell away from his head and came to rest on his lean hips, he cupped her head and tilted it ever so gently until his lips had full access to her willing mouth. His tongue flicked against her bottom lip until she opened to him with a moan.

  He took the opportunity she gave him and probed deeper until their tongues met and became as one in a sensual exotic dance. He pulled back and nibbled teasingly on her lower lip then went back to plundering her depths.

  The kiss lasted only a few seconds but to Summer it seemed like an eternity - a wonderful, delicious eternity in Lance’s arms.

  When he finally released her she was shaken to the core. She sank slowly into her chair as he turned and walked back to his own.

  “Thanks for coming, Miss Jones.” His voice was husky as he leafed through the papers on his desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow at eight thirty.”

  Summer nodded then rose and headed for the door. There she paused and glanced back. Lance did not look up from his papers. Without a word she pulled the door shut behind her.

  6

  Summer was miserable. It was seven fifteen, she was getting ready for her first day of work with Lance and she was scared. What must he think of her? She’d broken down in tears in front of him then had thrown herself on him like a wanton. He must think her either an emotional ninny or a slut.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned aloud, wondering if she’d messed up her chance at her dream job.

  She sat in front of the mirror and slowly traced her lips with wine colored lipstick. She had picked out a burgundy suit and this lipstick was the only one that went with it. Although she didn’t often wear make-up, today she wanted to look her best. She’d seen how Lance dressed and didn’t want to embarrass herself by not fitting in. She dusted her cheeks and nose with loose powder then applied light mascara to her lashes. Finally, she added a little eye shadow then she was ready to go.

  By seven thirty Summer was out of the house and heading for the L train. Now that she knew the way to Munroe Productions she had no need to rely on a taxi cab. In fact, she’d found the cab ride expensive and was definitely not planning on spending that kind of money every day. She was sure that, even with a pay raise, she wouldn’t be able to afford such luxury. She’d save the cab rides for specific occasions such as if she happened to be running late or it was raining. Realizing what a stickler Lance was for time she would make every effort to be punctual.

  She arrived at exactly eight sixteen. The office was on the fifteenth floor of a forty story building on Canal street. As she rode the elevator she took deep breaths and checked herself in the mirror on the wall. She was glad she was alone so that she could scrutinize herself freely. “Well, I guess I look alright,” she whispered. She was not exactly high fashion, but she would do.

  The elevator door opened and she walked down the corridor to the glass doors with black and gold lettering. As she entered the receptionist looked up and smiled at her.

  “Good morning, Miss Jones. Mr. Munroe told me to expect you.”

  As the attractive woman spoke she rose from behind the reception desk and walked ar
ound to extend a hand to Summer. “My name is Chantal Snow. Welcome to Munroe Productions.”

  Summer was surprised at the warm reception. Although Chantal had been pleasant enough when she’d come the day before, she had looked so sophisticated in her chic, obviously expensive suit, that Summer had immediately assumed she was a snob. Now it seemed that she’d been wrong, at least from what she’d seen so far today.

  She smiled back and took the woman’s hand. Chantal was at least two inches taller than she was and her make-up was perfect. Her satin-smooth cheeks were dusted with soft rose-colored powder, a perfect complement to her maroon eye-shadow and plum-red lipstick. Her jet-black hair was cut short and immaculately coiffed, giving the impression that she had just stepped out of a hair salon.

  Summer felt a little intimidated by this glamorous woman; she knew that she looked nothing like that. But then she gave herself a mental shrug and straightened her back. She was not here for a beauty contest. She was here to execute a project and she was going to do a damn good job of it.

  “Thank you,” she said brightly. “I’m glad to be here.”

  “Please follow me. I’ll show you to your office.”

  My office. Summer smiled. She liked the sound of that.

  She was taken to a small room lined with shelves full of books, video tapes, DVD’s and CD’s. She even saw what looked like old movie reels. A desk was in the middle of the room and it was obvious that it had been cleared to accommodate her. It was totally bare except for a desk unit that held half a dozen pens and pencils, a note pad and a small Dictaphone.

  Outside of the desk and chairs the only other piece of furniture was a credenza on which she saw stacks of photographs and magazines - Rolling Stone, Vibe and Honey.