“How did you meet?”
“I hadn’t left college. I was doing an internship for a high fashion clothing line. Em worked in sales. We hit it off. I think I was one of her only friends who didn’t mind doing stuff with Owen. She was older, full of knowledge and spunk. I was just starting out and inspired by her energy.”
“And she infused all of that into Owen?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah. He oozed confidence early on. She set rules, told him the consequences, and always followed through. I remember a trip we took to Disneyland. We weren’t an hour in and Owen started whining about something. She gave him one warning, told him if he didn’t stop, we were leaving. Owen tested her and we left.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And tickets to Disneyland aren’t cheap. Owen tested her after that, but she only had to tell him once that they were leaving, the toy would be thrown away . . . whatever, and he snapped out of his fit. Of course, that wasn’t quite the way things worked out when he got older. He became quite the negotiator. Emily gave him say in many of her decisions, which is where his confidence comes from. He doesn’t take crap from anyone but knows when he needs to keep his trap shut.” Rachel sounded like the proud parent herself.
“Does he take authority from you?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t really had to come down on him about anything. He does better than okay in school. The kids he hangs out with are respectful and don’t seem to be in the wrong crowd. Because I’m not his mother, we get to have a friendship. Losing a parent changes you.” She looked up and met Jason’s gaze. “But I don’t have to tell you that.”
“I was older.”
“Still.”
He was drowning in her smile. If he didn’t continue the conversation, he was at serious risk of reaching out to remove fake lint from her hair, or brush his fingers against hers . . . anything to touch her and ignite the flame that burned low in his gut, which he wanted to grow. “Are your parents still around?”
“Yeah. My parents are typical Southern Californians. Love the sun and hate the snow. Which is why they aren’t coming around this Christmas. They want to visit in the spring.”
“It’s nice that time of year.”
“Dad still works, so it isn’t like he can visit all the time. They’re very fiscally responsible.”
For the remainder of the ride home, Rachel spoke of her parents and brother. It was obvious that she missed them but wasn’t lost without them by her side. Her independence was just one of the things Jason was beginning to admire about her.
Back in the parking lot of the local station, the snow was piled everywhere. The cars that hadn’t moved all day held several inches. The slope of the Jeep’s windshield made quick work of snow removal, and they were on the road and headed back to Rachel’s within a few minutes.
“Wow, the snow seems thicker here.”
“It will stick around for a few days. Once it starts to melt and freeze over at night, driving becomes even more difficult.”
“Great.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Is that your way of saying I should take the train again tomorrow?”
He drove past the hill that ditched his Audi and made the turn toward her home. “I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”
Jason caught her grin and noted a lack of denial.
The lights of his Jeep caught the snowman greeting them from Rachel’s front yard. The colorful lights glistened on the roof, and the tree inside her house welcomed them.
“Looks like Owen has been busy,” she said.
“I used to love snow days.”
He pulled into her driveway, left the engine running.
“Thank you, Jason.”
“You’re welcome.”
She jumped down from the Jeep, grabbed her purse. “See you in the morning.”
“All right.”
He watched her walk to the front door and waited until she turned and waved at him before he pulled away. And he prayed it would snow again before the end of the week.
By Friday the snow had melted to a few inches, and taking the train was no longer a requirement to make it into work on time. And since Rachel had promised Julie she would join her for a girls’ night out after work, there wasn’t a choice about driving into the city.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” she quizzed Owen while he was eating breakfast before she left Friday morning.
“Geez, Rachel. I’m fifteen, not five. I’m going to the football game, just like always. I won’t miss you not being here.”
She held her little black dress in a garment bag. A small makeup kit was shoved in her purse. “I won’t be too late.”
“Take your time. It isn’t like you ever do this kind of thing.”
“Okay.” She picked up the boots she would wear out, and filled the back seat of her car with everything she needed.
It was a typical Friday at work, with people peeling away early to get a jump on the weekend.
Gerald told Rachel and Julie to leave early once he got wind of their evening plans. By five fifteen Rachel was standing in Julie’s apartment down in the Meatpacking District, pulling her little black dress over her head.
“I heard the apartments in New York were small, but holy cow,” Rachel told her friend.
“If I went bigger, I’d need a roommate. Been there, done that, lost my computer and my stash of cash when she moved out.”
“Really?”
“Before Tricia, there were four of us in a two-bedroom flat, a big loft that we partitioned off to give us our private space. Damon kept bringing his boyfriend over, and listening to the two of them go at it every night killed it for me. So I live in a glorified closet with a kitchen I never really cook in.”
“Sounds reasonable to me.”
Rachel adjusted her dress, glanced at her profile in the mirror mounted to the back of the bathroom door. “I honestly don’t remember the last time I dressed to go out.”
Julie tucked her head around the corner and looked at her. “If I had your boobs, I’d rock that dress every day.”
She looked down, wasn’t unhappy with her cleavage. “They’re not that big.”
Julie moved to stand beside her, stuck out her chest. “This is what it’s like to be hit with the Korean gene.”
“Maybe a push-up bra?” Rachel suggested.
“This is a push-up bra.”
Oops . . . “How about a boyfriend that will buy you a pair?”
They both laughed. “Someday.”
Rachel tucked beside her in the bathroom to fix her hair. She’d given it little thought after winter set in. Wearing a beanie or muffs over her ears had become the norm, which meant teasing her hair to some kind of perfection never happened.
Julie groaned and took the pale pink lipstick out of Rachel’s hand. “Tonight is a red night.”
“It is?”
“Yep, here.” From a never-ending drawer of makeup, Julie unearthed a shade of red Rachel wouldn’t have thought to buy. She had to admit, once it was on, it worked.
By six they were headed out the door. “It’s early for the nightclubs, but we can hit happy hour, grab some food, and then find some live music.”
“All within walking distance?”
“We have dozens of options in a few blocks.” Julie tucked her arm around Rachel’s. “You’re gonna love this city.”
The first bar they walked into was just outside Julie’s building and across the street. Happy hour was in full Friday night swing, and everyone in the place knew Julie by name. Rachel wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
Julie introduced her to half a dozen people before they ordered.
Like many places in Manhattan, the bar was a tight spot with a dozen tables lining the walls around the space. Finding a place to sit wasn’t an option, even at their early hour.
“How come we haven’t seen you here before?” The bartender had dyed Christmas red hair a
nd a tank top that exposed more flesh than a bikini on the beach in California.
“I live outside the city,” Rachel said.
“She’s been here four months, and this is her first night out.”
The bartender offered wide-eyed disbelief. “Welcome to the crazy.”
Rachel sipped her vodka soda. “Thanks, I think.” She scanned the bar, not sure what she was searching for.
“See anything you like?” Julie asked her.
Rachel looked again, decided there wasn’t anyone of the male variety that tickled an itch. “Everyone looks perfect.”
“Everyone in this town is a wannabe actor or model. You have the whole musician crowd, and they all look perfect, too.”
It was one of the things Rachel had noticed before the weather went bad. The women had amazing legs, probably because of the amount of walking everyone did in the city. And the men were beautiful. They dressed as if they were one chance meeting away from finding the perfect agent or gig. While she didn’t consider herself unworthy, Rachel didn’t believe she measured up to a New Yorker her same age.
“I’m not worthy,” Rachel teased.
“See why I said ‘little black dress’?”
“Jules!”
Julie turned around and beamed. “Mimi.”
Mimi had to be six feet tall, but maybe that was the four-inch heels she balanced herself on. Bone thin, with high cheekbones and perfectly black hair. She was stunning.
“Mimi, this is my friend Rachel. Rachel, this is Mimi.”
Rachel stuck her hand out, felt a little awkward when Mimi’s handshake resembled that of a child. “I’m guessing you’re a model.”
That had the woman beaming. “Why, thank you.”
“Sit.” Julie patted the barstool next to them.
“I can’t for long, I’m meeting Monique.”
Julie’s smile dropped. “I thought you two broke it off.”
“She’s an addiction, what can I say?”
Julie nudged Rachel. “I could never hang with Mimi if she wasn’t into girls. I’d never get laid.”
The three of them laughed.
For the duration of one drink, the three of them chatted about the men and women walking into the bar. Monique showed up, and the men who were eyeing Mimi abruptly stopped when the bombshell slid her arm around her girlfriend’s waist before welcoming her with a kiss.
Rachel and Julie waved them off, settled their bill, and worked their way to a cozy and very filled restaurant a block away.
Once they ordered, Julie brought up work. “You know they are grooming you for management.”
“I hope so.”
“Which means you’ll be my boss. I have to admit, that is gonna suck a little.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been here for three years.”
Rachel opted for water since she would be driving later that night. Julie was on her third drink since they’d left her apartment.
“So why not apply for management?”
“I need to finish my degree first.”
“Are you taking classes?” Rachel didn’t think so, they’d never spoken of it.
“I’ve thought about it. I don’t know. Not sure I want the pressure. It will give me wrinkles.”
It wasn’t a secret that part of the reason Rachel took the job with Fairchild Charters was because they were looking for leadership in marketing. So far everything was pointing that way.
“So what’s happening between you and Jason?”
The question came from nowhere.
Rachel hesitated. “Nothing.”
“Uh-huh . . . you do remember the part where you told me the guy you helped that was stranded on the side of the road was killer good-looking.”
There wasn’t any denying that.
“He is killer good-looking.”
“They all are,” Julie said.
“True.”
Julie tapped the edge of her cocktail with a fingernail. “You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”
“No! Of course not. He’s our boss.”
“You said that waaaay too fast, girlfriend.” Julie lifted her fork and used it as a tool for pointing. “You’ve been quiet at work. I see you texting more during your day than ever before. Smiling into your phone. I know the signs that there is a guy in a woman’s life.”
Rachel sighed and offered most of the truth. “We are not dating. I assure you. I told him we couldn’t.”
“Ha! But he wanted to.”
She looked down at her salad. “Yes.”
“I knew it. The way he watches you in our meetings is a dead giveaway.”
“I’m not going there, Julie. Just because he helped us with the Christmas lights and tree doesn’t make us dating. Dating requires dinner and drinks and—”
“He hung up your Christmas lights? Jason Fairchild hung your lights?”
Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn’t meant to say that.
“He offered before I knew he was a Fairchild.”
Julie’s smile beamed. “That’s priceless.”
“And no one at work should know about it.” Rachel stared. “Promise me you’ll keep this between us.”
Julie pushed her lips into a thin line and pretended to button them.
Rachel doubted the button would hold.
“What does Owen think of him?”
It was hard not to smile. “Owen likes him, a lot.”
Julie stuck her fork in her salad. “I’m guessing he isn’t the only one.”
Rachel spoke around her food. “Not going there. Fastest way to lose your job is to date your boss.”
“Uh-huh . . . I’ll remind you of that.”
For the next hour they talked about anything and everything outside of Jason Fairchild. By eight thirty, they were standing three deep at a bar just a couple of blocks from where they’d started. Rachel sucked on soda water and kept her eye on her watch.
There was a time when the bar scene was one she enjoyed. The young energy, and the spark between strangers that created conversation and connections. Julie introduced her to many of her friends, or perhaps barroom acquaintances.
Twice Rachel texted Owen to see how his night was going.
Twice he told her she was being a ninny.
The third time, he took a picture of his room, telling her he was tucked into bed and not to worry.
Rachel knew there was no way in hell Owen was in bed before nine.
“Are you texting Jason?” Julie asked, trying to catch a glimpse of her phone.
“Owen.”
“Who is Owen?” the guy who’d been attempting to grab Rachel’s attention over the last half hour asked.
“My friend’s son who lives with me.” She really needed a better way to say that.
“You have a kid?”
“He’s not my . . .” She stopped. “Yes, kinda.”
“I don’t do kids.” And Pickup Guy was gone.
Julie stepped in and watched him go. “Whatever.”
Rachel tucked her phone into her purse and sighed. “I should go. I’m an hour from home and the roads are still slick.”
“It’s early!” Julie complained.
“I know, but Owen is home alone. I don’t want to push it.”
Julie pouted.
“This was great, really. I want to do it again.” Rachel glanced around them.
“I’ll walk you back to my apartment so you can get your things.”
“No, no . . . just bring them to work on Monday. You stay. I’ll taxi to my car at the office.”
“You sure?”
Rachel kissed Julie’s cheek. “Thank you for getting me out.”
Within twenty minutes, she was in her car and on her way home. Since when did she call an end to a Friday night before nine?
On the bright side, there wasn’t any traffic to speak of, and she pulled into her driveway just after ten.
Lights were on in the living room and upstairs. She pulled into the garage a
nd walked around the boxes still piled in the corners.
Once inside, she shook out of her big jacket and left her purse on the kitchen table as she walked through. Voices drew her to the second floor. The temperature dropped as she climbed the stairs. At first she thought Owen had his TV up loud, but then she realized the door to his room was open and no one was inside.
“Owen?” she called his name and walked to her room. The door was closed, and light and noise came from the other side of the door.
Owen’s music from bands Rachel couldn’t identify reached her ears.
“Dude! You’re not very good at this,” she heard Owen say.
“You’re one to talk, you’re wearing more than you’re getting on the walls.”
Jason?
She sniffed and knew exactly what the guys were up to.
“I have an excuse, I’m fifteen.”
“Ha. I have an excuse, I’m old.”
Rachel smiled behind her hand before slowly opening the door.
Her bed and dresser were pulled away from the wall, the nightstand sat on her bed, with the lamps plugged in and lighting the room. Plastic tarps covered everything. The paint she’d picked up, which had been sitting in the garage since Halloween, now covered most of her walls. The window in the room was open, helping to air out the fumes and letting in the cold.
Jason had on a pair of worn jeans and a denim, long-sleeved shirt. Owen was decked in a pair of old shorts and a T-shirt.
Owen saw her first. “Oh, man.”
“What?” Jason used a step stool to reach the corners with a brush.
“Jig is up, dude.”
“Wow.” Rachel stepped in, careful with the splatters of paint.
Jason turned to look at the sound of her voice.
“What are you guys . . . this is fantastic.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Owen said, grinning.
“Color me surprised.”
“Whoa!” Jason stared at her, his eyes taking their time looking her up and down.
She’d forgotten that she was still in her little black dress and boots that went to her knees. Heat reached her cheeks with his blatant stare. “What are you doing here?”
Not Quite Crazy Page 15