Cold Ambition

by Rachel Sharpe

  I turned back toward him and replied, “I fly out of here on Monday morning.”

  “Maybe we can get together . . . you know, get a cup of coffee or something?”

  Desperate to escape this awkward situation, I forced a smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

  He returned the smile and headed back toward the awaiting leaf blower. “Cool. I’ll call you. Have a Happy Thanksgiving.”

  I started to jog off as I called back, “You, too.”

  Seeing Greg again was uncomfortable. After running for nearly fifteen minutes, I had completely circled the neighborhood and saw my parents’ house come into view. It didn’t appear that anyone was home yet which came as a relief. My mind-clearing run had turned into an awkward mental nuisance. Instead of coming up with some excellent strategies for approaching my first case, I spent the entire time going over my conversation with Greg. I decided that I couldn’t wait until Friday to talk to Heather.

  I took a shower in a second attempt to clear my head. Since my parents’ bathrooms had shower stalls separate from the garden tubs, the only way to shower without soaking my arm and causing my cast to reek was to wrap it securely in plastic bags and clear tape. After my shower, I cut bags off the cast and went back to my room to get dressed and to call Heather.

  By the time I finished, it was nearly two o’clock, which meant it was nearly noon in LA. I dialed Heather’s number, and she picked up on the second ring.

  “What situation have you gotten yourself into that can’t wait until Friday when I see you?”

  “Uh, yeah, it’s nice to talk to you, too,” I retorted.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry, Jordan. Today has not been a great day. I finished this script yesterday, and now some stupid producer has decided that he wants it completely changed and is only giving me until five to do so. My flight leaves at seven tonight, and I haven’t even packed yet. What’s up with you?”

  In our friendship, she was always the levelheaded one who helped me deal with situations and reminded me that even the most devastating problem, with the right perspective, was usually trivial. She rarely complained about her own issues. My run-in with Greg paled in comparison to her looming deadline.

  “It’s nothing, really,” I quickly replied. “I just didn’t know what time you were getting in, and I wanted to know if you had a ride lined up.”

  “Oh, yeah, my mom’s coming to get me, but thanks. Now, I hate to be rude, but I really need to get off the phone and finish this. I have a feeling it’s going to take all my concentration.”

  We said our goodbyes, and I tossed my cell phone on the bed. I frowned. I hadn’t even been home for twenty-four hours, and I was already dealing with more drama today than I had had in the past six months.

  “This is why I left here,” I muttered as I lay down on my bed.

  Chapter 10

  I attempted to call Jon Thanksgiving morning to no avail. As a last resort, I sent him a text to both wish him a Happy Thanksgiving and apologize for what had transpired between us. About thirty minutes after I sent my text, the phone beeped. I rushed over only to be disappointed to see the message was from Heather. I spent the rest of the morning in mindless activities. I was frustrated because I was unable to move forward with my case and apprehensive about the family meal I would have to endure in a few hours.

  Charlie Coyle, my future brother-in-law, arrived half an hour before the dinner. He hugged Alicia, my mother, and finally me, which took me by surprise. Looking at him, I was positive I had never seen him before. He was not as tall as Alicia had claimed, five-feet-nine at most, with light-brown hair and kind, brown eyes. My father, who is usually very stoic in his expressions, smiled broadly as he shook Charlie’s hand.

  They excused themselves and went into my father’s study as my mother and Alicia busied themselves by making sure the caterers had everything ready. Having nothing else to do and nowhere to go, I went with them and offered my assistance. I was still nervous about the dinner and dealing with my father’s colleagues.

  Thanksgiving dinner was, however, surprisingly pleasant. Since there were so many people there, my parents didn’t spend too much time dwelling on my situation. It also helped that Alicia was engaged and my parents could proudly show her and her fiancé off to my father’s partners and associates. At dinner, Alicia decided to formally request that I be her maid of honor. Although I was touched, I had a sneaking suspicion she chose this particular moment for the ultimate dramatic response.

  Later that evening, Heather called my cell phone to ask how the day went. I gave her all the details, and she relayed the events from her day to me. She sounded a lot more relaxed than she had yesterday, and I assumed she had handled the script situation as effortlessly as she had handled honors classes in college. I was about to go into the humiliating details about my encounter with Greg Bell when my mother called me from downstairs.

  “Jordan! Telephone!”

  Who would be calling me at my parents’ house? I wondered. No one knows I’m here except . . .

  “It’s Greg Bell!”

  I groaned. Either my mother has a voice as loud as a stadium announcer or Heather has dog ears because she heard what my mother said.

  “Did she just say Greg Bell is on the phone for you?” she asked in a judgmental tone. “What have you not been telling me? What about that Boston guy?”

  “Hold on.” I walked to my bedroom door and yelled, “Mom, I’m on the phone. Could you please take a message?”

  “All right, fine.” I shut my door and locked it and hoped that Alicia hadn’t heard about my telephone suitor. Explaining it to Heather was going to be bad enough.

  After about twenty minutes, Heather was caught up on my new case, Jon, and now Greg. By the time I finished, my throat was dry. On the other end, there was silence.

  “Hello? Heather?” I looked at the screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

  “I’m here,” she finally replied. “Just a little stunned.” She whistled and then laughed. “Wow, I thought I had a bad day yesterday. It appears, as usual, you put yourself into a much more dramatic situation. You really ought to keep notes. This would make great material for a sitcom.”

  I forced a laugh. “Yeah, well, you better pay me commission for it, or I’ll sue you.”

  “Whatever,” she laughed again. “You’re not the type. Now what about tomorrow? It’s Black Friday, so I didn’t know if you wanted to do a little Christmas shopping, grab lunch . . . wait. You are coming home for Christmas, aren’t you? I’m planning on it and I don't want to be stuck here alone.”

  I lay down on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. It was a smooth, white plaster. “To be honest,” I finally replied, “I’m not sure yet. Alicia is planning on getting married next spring which means I have to fly down then, and it just might be a little more than I want to spend on flights right now. I just started my business, and I’m trying to make a go of it.”

  “Then ask your dad for some money for the flights,” she suggested. “I know, I know. You don’t have to say it. That’s not going to happen.”

  “No,” I answered firmly. “He already sees me as a failure as it is. If I were to ask him for more financial help . . . well, I’d rather stay up there and watch movies and eat Chinese on Christmas day than ask him for help and give him more reasons to be disappointed in me.”

  I had taken some of my pain medication an hour earlier and, although the bottle stated it did not cause drowsiness, I attributed my sudden exhaustion to that and the time change.

  She laughed. “It’s funny. This is the first time in nearly a year that we have been in the same time zone, but our bodies are adjusted to completely different ones. I’m wide awake. I could start working on an opening scene right now, but I won’t because I’m on vacation,” she muttered. I had a feeling that this last statement
was more directed to herself than to me.

  Yawning, I replied, “Okay, so what time tomorrow?”

  “How about nine? Or maybe ten?”

  “Which one?”

  “Ten?” She asked.

  “That’s fine,” I replied. “Pick me up?”

  “Yeah, that’s no problem,” she paused. “Will we be meeting Greg? I know you’ll need a date for your sister’s wedding.” She began to laugh hysterically.

  “That’s not even funny,” I groaned. For some reason, the thought of having to call Greg made me physically ill and, strangely enough, made my arm throb. As soon as I was off the phone with her, it beeped. I eagerly checked to see if the message was from Jon. It wasn’t. It was from Rick Michaels. It simply said, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Perplexed, I sent him a similar reply. Before I had a chance to think about this, someone knocked on my door. I pulled one of the throw pillows over my face and groaned. There was a second knock, and the doorknob jiggled.

  “Jordan? What are you doing? Open the door,” Alicia called. I lifted the pillow slightly and listened. I tried to will her away. She knocked again. I threw the pillow across the bed and used my good arm to roll over and stand up. I walked to my door and unlocked it. She barged through the door, and closed it behind her.

  “Who were you on the phone with?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Where’s Charlie?” I replied.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t be smart. Was that Greg Bell?”

  Exhausted, I lay back down on my bed. “Sis, if I were on my phone with Greg, why would he have called the home phone?”

  She considered this option as she sat next to me on my bed. At dinner, she had been dressed in a lovely, hunter-green cashmere shirt and a pair of light, khaki pants. Now, she sat next to me and had on a med school T-shirt and cotton pants. She had also taken her contacts out and stared at me from behind her wireframe glasses. “Well, if it wasn’t Greg, who was it? That guy from Boston?”

  I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. I couldn’t understand why this insignificant argument with Jon was bothering me so much. I barely knew him. Shutting this thought out of my mind, I replied, “No, it wasn’t Jon. It was Heather, all right?”

  “Well, that’s good. Charlie and I were watching television, and I heard the phone ring. When mom said it was Greg Bell, I almost fell out of my chair. You’re not interested in him again, are you? I mean, he dumped you before prom!”

  “Thank you for bringing up those painfully embarrassing memories,” I muttered.

  Alicia bit her upper lip and looked down at the bed’s comforter. Finally, she looked up again and took my right hand in hers.

  “I know we’ve never been very close,” she began. “I mean, the age difference and all. But I really love you and care about you. It’s pretty difficult having my baby sister thousands of miles away. I never had your courage, Jordan. I mean, look at me! I’m a twenty-eight-year-old neurosurgeon living at home with my parents. I’m never going to experience life on my own. I really admire you, but I’m still your older sister, and I want to protect you. When I see you with a broken arm, hear about some strange guy in Boston, and then that Greg Bell is calling . . . it concerns me.”

  I took my hand back and ran it through my hair, which had fallen out of the makeshift ponytail. I thought about what she said. It actually caught me off guard. It was true that we had never been very close; even though Alicia lived at home through college and med school, she was always studying. I grew accustomed to being a quasi-only child. Realizing that Alicia was staring at me and waiting for a response, I cleared my throat.

  “I’m not brave,” I started. “I just don’t like this climate. Anyway, I appreciate your concern, but I’m okay, really. The broken arm was a total accident. The sidewalks get pretty icy up there and, unfortunately, I have a bit of a clumsy gene. You have nothing to fear regarding Greg Bell. I don’t like him. I accidentally bumped into him and agreed to meet for coffee to get out of an awkward conversation. I didn’t think he would actually call.”

  This revelation seemed to calm her a bit. “Oh, okay. Well, I know we really don’t talk much, but I was hoping you could help me a lot with the wedding planning . . . well, as much as you can since you live so far away,” she trailed off. “Are you free on Saturday? I was hoping to look for my wedding dress and maybe the bridesmaids’ dresses.”

  I tried to conceal my apathy. I was thrilled that Alicia was getting married and touched that she wanted me to be her maid of honor, but my mind was not focused on dresses. I was so anxious to get back to Boston and begin working on my case that I was considering flying out on the red eye on Saturday night. I smiled at Alicia and nodded.

  “Yeah, that sounds great,” I replied. “I think Heather and I were going to hang out some on Saturday but—“

  “Well, she can come, too,” Alicia interrupted, a little too enthusiastically. “I mean, I could always use another opinion.”

  I raised my eyebrow at this comment but didn’t reply. While Alicia and I had never been close, I had a feeling that she was jealous of my relationship with Heather because, in all honesty, we were basically like sisters. Again, I put on a smile and nodded.

  “Sounds great, Sis,” I replied. I was unable to stifle a yawn. Alicia stood up.

  “Well, I’ll let you get some sleep. It’s been a pretty long day for us all.” When she had her hand on the doorknob, she turned back and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  I smiled as well. “Me, too. Night, Alicia.”

  “Good night, Jordan. Sleep well.”

  She closed the door. I tried to will myself to get ready for bed but was asleep within minutes.

  Chapter 11

  Friday flew by, thanks in large part to Heather. Although we hadn’t hung out in nearly a year, it didn’t seem like any time had passed when we were together. Of course, she gave me a hard time about the broken arm and an even harder time about Greg, but we had fun. She did some Christmas shopping, and we ate at a small Italian restaurant near the mall. Before I knew it, the day was over.

  Saturday went by equally fast. Although a great portion of the day was spent at bridal shops, it was a lot more fun than I expected because Heather was there with me. By three o’clock, we had been to four shops, and Alicia had tried on nine dresses. I had been forced to try on four, two of which were so atrocious it should have been illegal to sell them. Naturally, those were the dresses Heather liked.

  “Wow, Alicia,” Heather cooed, “that dress would look great on your bridesmaids while still being subtle enough so as not to upstage your dress.”

  I gave Heather a dirty look because the dress was bright teal, and it had shoulder pads. Alicia, who was never one to recognize blatant sarcasm, studied the dress closely. Finally, she shook her head.

  “No, no, I don’t think that one will work,” she replied. “I can’t think of a complimentary color to teal I would like to incorporate.”

  Saturday night was over as quickly as it arrived. As soon as we returned home, I went to my room and crashed.

  By Sunday I was thoroughly exhausted and ready to go home. My father and I had managed to avoid any meaningful dialogue which was a relief. My mother also stayed very busy with Christmas preparations. Heather met my family and me at church that morning and then headed back to LA.

  Alicia was called in for an emergency surgery, so I found myself alone once more. I called Jon but hung up when I heard his voicemail. I read over my notes on the David Michaels’ case again and felt hopelessly lost because there was nothing I could do while still in Louisiana. I packed my bag and looked around my room to see if I wanted to take anything with me back to Boston. Just then, my cell phone rang. I jumped and answered it before checking to see who was calling.

  “Hello?”

&n
bsp; “Yeah, uh, is this Jordan?”

  “Yes, may I ask who’s calling?”

  “This is Rick. Rick Michaels. I hope I’m not calling you at a bad time.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. How are you? How was your Thanksgiving?”

  “Oh, it was very nice, thanks. And yours?”

  “Good. It was very good.” I paused and waited for his response, but there was silence. “Rick? Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” he finally answered. “Yes, I’m here. I was a little embarrassed about calling . . .”

  He trailed off and I closed my eyes, expecting the worst. My first client was going to dump me over the phone, thousands of miles away. My initial thought was that I wished I hadn’t offended Jon. He tried so hard to get me this case, and I blew it without even beginning the job.

  “So what do you think?” Rick’s deep voice interrupted my thoughts. I hadn’t heard anything he had said. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat.

  “I’m sorry, my connection isn’t too good,” I offered. “Could you repeat that last part?”

  “Oh, sure. I said that at Thanksgiving dinner, my mother actually opened up a little bit about my father’s death.”

  I felt my heart leap into my throat when he said this. “What? Are you serious?”

  Rick laughed. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to get her to talk about this for twenty years, and she would never say a word to me, not a single word. Jon comes over during Thanksgiving dinner, and she’s a fountain of information. I still don’t understand why he didn’t go into law or something like that.”

  “Jon? Jon Riché was at your Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “He said you sent him there since you were out of the state. You did send him, right?”