by Tara Mills
Van smirked. “You’d miss us.”
“But I’d have a better chance of making my fortieth birthday.”
“There is that.”
“Anything I should know about before we air?”
“Nothing. I approved the script. I wasn’t sure if you’d make it back in time.”
“Good. How about the tease?”
Van looked at his watch. “That should be done now.”
“What are we going with?”
“Colfax neighborhood is taking back their streets after yesterday’s shooting. Marty got some pretty good footage.”
“Fine.”
They headed out to the studio, which was bustling. While Justin was wired for sound Becky, aka Sunny Saunders, the station’s weather personality, was draped across the desk obviously flirting with him.
Jackson studied her pert backside and long shapely legs for a thoughtful second. “Is it just me or are Becky’s skirts getting shorter?”
“It’s not you.”
“What do you think? She’s a bit old for him.”
“She’s twenty-six, but they’re both legal.”
“I can’t have this affecting the show.”
“You shut her down now and you’ll have a mutiny on your hands. The guys will go nuts. She’s doing an awful lot of bending over lately.”
“Christ,” Jackson said with a groan, shaking his head. “Keep an eye on that, okay?”
Van grinned. “My pleasure.”
“You know what I mean,” Jack said, not amused.
“Sure, but no reason it can’t be enjoyable for me too.”
Jackson waved at Bonnie and went hobbling into the booth.
She nodded, acknowledging him. With her booming voice she yelled, “Derek, Becky, we need you behind the desk. Come on, people, three minutes to air.”
Jackson chuckled. That woman was better than a megaphone. She probably scared her kids shitless.
****
Sabrina carried two of the empty French fry boxes out to her car and went back for the last. If she broke them down flat she could easily carry all three at once, but she’d learned during prior moves they were stronger left intact. Don’t screw with the glue.
Tanya caught up with her. She was eating something.
“What’s that?” Sabrina asked as she pushed her way out the back door to the parking lot.
“Onion rings. Want one?”
“Maybe one.” Sabrina plucked one out of Tanya’s basket. “Is that all you’re eating?”
“Probably.”
“At least order a sandwich or something.”
“Ugh. I’m so sick of the food here. I need a change, something different.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Nothing sounds appealing. I’m eating because I’m bored. I don’t even want to.” She shoved the basket at Sabrina. “Here, take these away from me.”
“I don’t want them.” Sabrina got her back door open and fought the last box onto the compact seat with the other two.
Tanya watched dejectedly as she chewed another onion ring. “Looks like you’ve got exciting plans tonight too.”
“I’m packing.”
“I see that.”
“What’s on your agenda?”
“Brian should be here to pick me up any minute. I have no idea what we’re doing. Probably going home, watching television. I can hardly stand the excitement of my life right now.”
“Want to help me?”
“I’m not that bored.”
****
Sabrina ate cold cereal for dinner, then packed up her kitchen one box at a time. There wasn’t much to put away. Half her stuff was still in boxes from the last move because there simply wasn’t enough cabinet space for everything.
Friday night. It was a Friday night, for crying out loud, and here she was, alone, packing up her kitchen again. She was starting to feel like a hamster running and running on its wheel but never getting anywhere. All that energy burned, and for what? This wasn’t living, this was surviving.
Well, if Tanya thought she had it bad, and boring, she ought to take a good look around. She was living with a guy she loved, talking marriage, sharing her burdens and laughs with someone. Even when things felt stagnant she still had company. She wasn’t reduced to endless games of solitaire, scrapbooking, pity movies on the sofa by herself, or dinner after dinner eaten alone. She could have a random thought and share it instantly. Bitch all she wanted when Brian pissed her off—he was still there to hold her close at night.
Moaning and groaning about her pathetic life wasn’t going to cut it tonight. Sabrina needed space. She needed to breathe fresh cool air and clear her head. She needed to tackle this problem straight on and batter it into submission, if she was going to manage it.
Going into her bedroom, she changed out of her pajamas, then snuck down the staircase, escaping the confinement of her apartment with more pent-up energy than she’d felt in days.
So what should she do about this discontent of hers? How far did it actually extend?
Heading down the sidewalk at a fast clip, she wondered how normal twenty-nine-year-old single women spent their Friday nights. Not like this, that’s for sure.
She blew out a big breath. Damn it. It was time for some serious life assessment here. Oh, goody.
For starters, why not just admit she wanted someone in her life but she didn’t know how to go about it? She was serious when she told Tanya that the meat market scene wasn’t for her. No way was she interested in hooking up for impersonal one-night stands, and she’d never been much of a dancer or a drinker. A little alcohol went a long way and made her look like an idiot, and if combined with two left feet and floppy wrists—oh, yeah, she would really turn some heads. Yikes!
Of course the guys from work were out of the question, not that she was attracted to any of them anyway. She had to keep a proper distance in order to maintain her authority, and so far she hadn’t seen anything to tempt her into crossing that line. No, those relationships were strictly professional, and that was just the way she wanted it.
She could consider joining a co-ed team of some kind, but again, limp wrists on top of dual left feet spelled major spaz. Just give her a huge zit on her chin and wet stinky pits and she was a shoo-in. Nope, not exactly her element.
But this wasn’t her element either. She didn’t know what was, yet, but this wasn’t it, and she had grave misgivings about the next place, too. No, she jumped at that apartment way too fast, more concerned about running from this crappy place than the destination. Typical. She had a tendency to look backward as she rushed forward, leaping from one mistake right into the next. If she kept that up, she’d never be able to afford to transform her space into something she loved. All her spare cash was constantly rolled over into setting up the next stark and depressing dungeon. All her scrapbooks filled with beautiful interiors and exteriors, the furnishings that made her moan with longing, linens and fabrics that made her eyes tear, and the arrays of colorful paints she could never put on rented walls left her need to feather her nest unsatisfied. If that wasn’t depressing enough, she never once had a balcony where she could tend a few plants, either.
Ugh! When would it end?
At least her professional life wasn’t so screwed up. She’d stuck to that, worked her way up and earned her position and a certain amount of respect in the bargain. She could be tough. She could be fun and flexible. She welcomed input from her staff, and she was fair and understanding when problems cropped up, but she wouldn’t let anyone screw up the important dynamic.
In a busy and stressful restaurant where you ran the bottoms of your shoes down to nothing, you had to count on everyone doing their jobs. Slacking off, screwing around, disappearing at critical times for cigarette breaks or who knows what else, those were things she didn’t abide, because one weak link could throw off the entire chain. The business functioned symbiotically. If only one person dropped the ball or let the team down,
there was a domino effect. Sabrina gave two warnings, the first gently delivered, the second sternly reminded. Failure wasn’t tolerated a third time.
Then why was her personal life such a disaster? She knew she was capable, competent—lonely. Tears pricked in her eyes, but she squeezed them away. She didn’t want to cry, even if no one saw her.
“This blows,” she said to the starry sky, swiping under her nose bitterly with the back of her hand. She walked around a tricycle lying on the sidewalk and hugged herself.
When was the last time anyone asked for her telephone number, anyway? She thought back and felt ill. Had it really been three years? Looked like it. Well, she hadn’t exactly been putting herself out there, so she shouldn’t be all that surprised. There were what, three set-ups over the years, and all awkward and uncomfortable, each and every one of them.
She remembered sadly how it felt to be held by someone you wanted to touch back, how wonderful it felt to be kissed. It was crushing to recall how long it had been since she intercepted one of those looks from a man, the kind so intimate you felt yourself blushing, heating, needing, and he hadn’t even said a word. It was a connection of the head, the body, and the heart that she longed to make.
Sabrina turned at the next corner and headed back in silence.
****
“TGIF, my man!” Van yelled, hanging in the doorway of Jackson’s office. “Come on, a bunch of us are heading out to have a couple of drinks and watch Becky shake her groove thing for Justin.”
Jackson laughed. “Is it really Friday?”
“It is, indeed.”
“Huh.”
“You coming?”
“No. I think I’ll just go home and elevate my ankle. You wouldn’t drop me at my building, would you? They haven’t swapped my rental car for one with an automatic transmission yet.”
“Sure.”
****
Glad to be home and finally easing into a hot tub, Jackson decided the Jacuzzi’s only drawback was the noise the damn thing made. Oh, well, at least the powerful jets made up for that. He turned his leg in so the massaging action hit his ankle in a new spot.
“Mmm.” He let out a deep rumble of pleasure and took a sip of cabernet, savoring the rich taste before turning his attention to his Discover Magazine article.
Less than two minutes later Jackson’s mind had strayed from the Hubble Telescope.
It was Friday—seriously? Huh. He looked at the page again but couldn’t seem to re-enter the article.
Maybe he should have gone out. If he kept passing on the invites, they were going to stop asking him altogether. It might have been interesting to sit back and watch Becky throw herself at Justin. How long before she bedded him? He shook his head. That wouldn’t end well.
He thought of his own track record of late and wasn’t soothed. He hadn’t slept with a woman in over five months, and after that fiasco he’d shied away from any situations that might prove equally embarrassing. And she was a perfectly lovely woman, absolutely nothing wrong with her. Hell, he’d asked her out three times, so why did he find it impossible to connect with her intimately? He blamed his father, the man who could fuck the coat-check girl at his club on the way to the bathroom and be back before the next round arrived. The more sexual grandstanding his father did, the less Jackson was able to perform himself.
He didn’t want to see women as convenient stress valves: in-out release, straighten the tie, zip the fly, good-bye. That kind of behavior turned his stomach. Still, his utter detachment was really beginning to worry him. He felt nothing when he looked at a pretty woman. Oh, sure, he could appreciate the view, but that was the extent of his sensory engagement, and for a man who needed to savor everything with uninhibited relish it wasn’t nearly enough.
Jackson looked at the glass in his hand and tipped it, studying the cabernet. Women needed to be enjoyed like fine wine. You admired the color, looked for clarity, and hoped the subtle essence you inhaled would hit the right note with you. Then there was the body, something you’d want to sink your teeth into, and let’s not forget good legs. As far as taste was concerned, a hint of earthiness was good, rich and fruity, of course, and sexy as hell on your tongue. Age and complexity went without saying, but once she was inside you, you felt warm all over.
Just thinking about what he wanted had given him an erection. He stared at it in surprise as it bobbed in the bubbles.
“Where the hell do you go when I need you?” he asked in bemusement.
Passion, that’s what he was missing, passion. He wanted a woman to stir his blood, shake up his world, turn his life on its edge and reorganize it into something beautiful and different. How hard could it be to find that?
Pretty hard, actually. He was pushing thirty-five and hadn’t found it yet.
Chapter 7
Sabrina was so keyed up about the move she didn’t get more than a few hours of sleep. She had a stack of boxes near the door, her bed stripped bare, and her apartment cleaned top to bottom by the time her brothers showed up, right on time, early Saturday morning. Familiar with the drill, they each went to work. Aaron’s tools came out and he dismantled furniture, Andy pulled the drawers out of the dressers and carried them out, and Sabrina and Sam carted the boxes down to the vehicles. It reminded her of setting up and breaking down camp when they were younger. Each just automatically took over a task and they all got it done without a lot of fuss.
Her furniture went into the back of Aaron’s pickup. The mattress was wedged on its edge between the dressers on one side and her loveseat on the other. They tucked her de-legged table top between the mattress and the box spring, and her two kitchen chairs rode in comfort on the sofa cushions. All the boxes were loaded into Sam’s SUV.
Sabrina gave Aaron the address, then went back upstairs alone to look the apartment over one last time. The last thing she wanted to do was forget something and have to come back for it.
Now that it was bare it looked even smaller than it had initially, even when it was furnished. How was that possible? It felt like the pitched walls and low ceilings were coming down around her. How did she stand it for so long? She must have been out of her mind when she leaped at this place.
Satisfied that she was leaving it in better, certainly cleaner, condition than she got it, Sabrina set the key on the counter and closed the door behind her. She left it unlocked as per Mrs. Starkey’s instructions. No doubt the woman would be up there going over the place with a fine-toothed comb as soon as she was gone.
She wasn’t planning to stop, but when Mrs. Starkey’s front door opened Sabrina turned, bracing herself for one last unpleasant encounter. She shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d felt the woman’s hard eyes monitoring all of them the entire time from behind her curtains.
Like always, Muffin growled and scratched at the bottom of the metal screen door, trying to get at Sabrina, but Mrs. Starkey somehow managed to keep him back with little or no blood loss.
Sabrina gave Mrs. Starkey an insincere smile. “I’m leaving now. The key is on the counter and the door is open, just like you asked.”
“Fine. Good-bye.”
Sabrina nodded, unable to say anything more to the woman, and headed down to the street. Her brothers were waiting. Andy chuckled at her and got into his pickup. Aaron, shaking his head, climbed into the passenger seat.
Sam hung back and asked, “What’s wrong with that dog?”
Sabrina scratched under her ponytail and shrugged. “I used to think it was rabies, but now I’m pretty sure he’s just plain evil.”
“And you chose this place why?”
“No Carla.”
“Ah.”
The pickup led the caravan, Sam followed in his SUV, and Sabrina pulled up the rear in her little car.
****
Keeping up the tradition, once they had her moved into her new place Sabrina took the guys out for pizza and beer. It was a lot cheaper than hiring movers and an inadequate way to thank them, but they wouldn’t acc
ept anything more. No matter how many times she grumbled about being cursed with three older brothers, when it came down to it, Sabrina was awfully glad they were around and willing to turn up when called.
She returned to her apartment alone to unpack and settle in. While unwrapping plates and glasses, Sabrina came to a decision. This would be her last impulsive move. From now on, she’d look before she leaped, she’d get her personal life in order, and dang it, she was going to meet some men and stop spending her weekends—hell, her week nights, for that matter—like a social outcast.
Something had to change, and this move was going to be the start of a new direction.
Feeling a flood of empowered determination spread through her like warm sunshine, Sabrina actually remembered to set up the coffeepot, water and grounds, for the morning.
****
Tuesday afternoon Jackson presided over the early production meeting.
“Derek, your footage of the Bloodhounds game last night is running long. Can you cut it down by two seconds?” Jackson asked, looking at his notes.
“No problem,” the KBHY sportscaster said, marking his script. “What’d you think of my interview with Coach Berman?”
“It’s good. We’ll air it if nothing important comes in.”
Jack looked up at another man across the conference room table. “Willis, have they got the feed from the Manheim Lanes fire yet?”
Before Willis could answer, Bonnie returned and took a chair. “Just now,” she said, looking at Willis apologetically. “It’s going to need voice-over because no one can get close without a respirator.”
“Justin?” The kid’s eyebrows rose. “Write something up as soon as we’re done here. I’ll need to see it before we air.” Justin nodded and Jackson moved swiftly on.
“Van, you sent Robbins to get footage of former Congressman Shuman’s funeral procession, didn’t you?”
“He’s covering it now.”
“Good.” Jack stood up. “I want to see the scripts and a run-through in one hour.”
His exit dismissed everyone to return to work.
Jackson’s cell rang on his way to his office. He checked the number and smiled. It was his brother on the line. “Hey, Rob,” he said cheerfully. “What’s up?”