Daydreams

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  The calendar page of Bo was split, boasting two photos instead of one. The photo on the left of the page showed Bo from mid-thigh up, standing in front of an old barn, wearing a worn pair of blue jeans and an open flannel shirt. His shirt hanging open was an obvious photographer’s beefcake maneuver, arranged to display Bo’s perfectly sculpted torso. The photo to the right was a full-length photograph of Bo dressed fit to kill in a black, well-tailored tux. Both photos displayed the absolute movie-star quality of Bo’s attractive good looks and physique. Both photos sent Sayler’s heart to thumping as she gazed into his mesmerizing face.

  “Oh, my heck!” Sayler giggled. “Unbelievable!”

  “But wait,” Monica said, pointing to the text surrounding the perimeter of the calendar displayed on the page below Bo’s fantastic photos. “They’ve got stats on each guy here around the calendar part. You really need to read his stats and trivia.”

  Sayler nodded, still awestruck by the photos of Bo. But as Monica tapped on the calendar page, she tore her attention away from his image in order to obey her friend’s instructions. “Look,” Monica said, pointing to the top-left corner of the calendar. “Start here.”

  Sayler smiled and cleared her throat as she began to read, “‘Name: Bo Bradley Booker. Age: Twenty-three. Height: Six foot two inches. Weight: One hundred ninety-five pounds. Brown hair, blue eyes…’” Sayler paused, reliving the moment at the Center when he had first opened his mesmerizing blue eyes and looked at her.

  “Keep going,” Monica interrupted her thoughts. Sayler shook her head, amused at her friend’s impatience.

  “Okay, okay!” Sayler giggled. She continued to read. “‘Mr. Booker holds a bachelor of science in architecture and is a partner at Booker Architecture and Contracting, a successful business founded by his father, now owned and operated by Mr. Booker and his older brother.”

  “Come on, come on! Just skip to here—this part,” Monie interrupted, pointing to a line of text beginning at the right upper corner and traveling vertically down the right side of the calendar. “Right here. Now read that.”

  Sayler shook her head, almost annoyed with her friend’s demands. She wanted nothing more than to gaze forever at the photos of Bo. Sure, she was interested in the information about him, but that could wait until she’d had her fill of looking at him.

  “All right! All right! You’re so impatient,” Sayler said, turning the calendar so she could read the text Monica was indicating. “Let’s see. ‘Ten New Favorite Things of the Past Year,’” Sayler read aloud. “‘When asked to name the top ten favorite things he’d discovered over the past year (in no particular order), Mr. Booker listed the following: Those curly puffy Cheetos, John Grisham books, green chili on bagels with cream cheese, the candy striper at R.R.C, Linda Ronstadt songs.’” Sayler was stunned into silence. She couldn’t even finish reading Bo’s list of new favorites. “‘The candy striper at R.R.C, Linda Ronstadt songs,’” she read again. Her mouth gaped open in astonishment as she looked up to Monica.

  “Yep! It’s right there in bold black-and-white, girlfriend!” Monica said. She pointed to the line of text with her own index finger and said, “The candy striper at R.R.C. That’s you, Say! That’s you!”

  “But…but it can’t be,” Sayler stammered. He couldn’t possibly be referring to her. Could he?

  “There isn’t another candy striper at Rawlins Rehab Center, Sayler,” Monica reminded her. “It’s you. You, Sayler Christy, are one of Bo Booker’s favorite things of the year!”

  “Aaahhhh!” Sayler squealed with delight. Running in place with excitement, she squealed again when Monica began clapping and jumping around too.

  “I told you it would be the best Christmas gift you’ll ever get!” Monica laughed. “Go, Sayler, go, Sayler!” she began to cheer as she danced around the room. “And these are much better pictures of him than the one from the newspaper. I expect it will be June all year long in this room!”

  “No doubt!” Sayler giggled.

  Later that night, as she lay in bed gazing at the astonishingly gorgeous calendar photos of Bo Booker, Sayler sighed and began to read the rest of the information printed on the calendar.

  “No. This certainly isn’t in my comfort zone,” Mr. Booker tells us when asked why he agreed to pose for the Children’s Cancer Hospital calendar. “But the Cancer Hospital has always meant a lot to me and my family…and it’s not like people will actually hang it up on the wall or spend a lot of time looking at it. Right?”

  Sayler shook her head and smiled as she studied the photos of Bo again. “Wrong, Mr. Booker,” she whispered to herself. “Dead wrong.”

  With one final sigh, she closed the calendar and set it on her nightstand. Bo Booker was delicious! He’d made her summer, her year, her life! She would never, ever forget any moment spent with him. No one could forget such a living dream. Still, in the quiet of the night, Sayler could almost hear Linda Ronstadt singing “Ooh Baby Baby” and wondered how she would ever get over the experience of him. How could any other man possibly rival him? Yet Sayler smiled. She was grateful he’d sauntered through her life. Only a daydream? Sure. But, oh, what a daydream!

  She closed her eyes and thought of the first time she’d seen him, of the dance she’d shared with him in his room at the Center. She inhaled deeply, trying to remember the scent of his cologne, the smell of his cheek the day he’d left the Center—the day he’d kissed her. Shaking her head, still unable to believe Bo Booker had actually kissed her, Sayler whispered, “Ooh baby, baby.”

  Sayler Christy drifted off to sleep, knowing Bo Booker had changed her. Sayler Christy drifted off to sleep knowing visions of the handsome Bo Booker would be slow-dancing in her dreams for the rest of her life.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER ONE

  “We’re running up to see my parents this weekend, Say,” Monica was saying. Driving through a wooded area, Sayler was afraid her cell would drop the call. “Do you think you can feed the dog?”

  Sayler laughed. “Of course, Monie,” she said. “But you tell Christian that I’m getting tired of dog-sitting. I want a niece or nephew to babysit!”

  Monica laughed on the other end of the call. “Be patient, girl!” Monica exclaimed. “Can we just celebrate our first anniversary before you start putting your bids in for babies?”

  “Okay, but that’s next month. After that, I’m really beefing up the campaign,” Sayler said. Her smile widened as she thought of Monica and Christian. They were the most adorable couple! And had been since they’d started dating nearly three years before. Married and existing in complete and utter bliss, Sayler saw them as the perfect young couple.

  “Thanks, Say,” Monica said. “You’ve still got your key, right?”

  “Sure do,” Sayler answered.

  “Okay, then! I’ll see you when we get back.”

  “Have fun.”

  “We will! Bye, Say.”

  “Bye, Monie.”

  Sayler closed her phone, smiling. Life was good. Christian had married Monica, and it was a dream come true. A familiar twinge pricked at her heart as she thought of her other dream come true in life. Shaking her head, she tried to dispel the vision of Bo Booker that leapt to her mind. After three years, his memory—visions of his handsome face—still haunted her.

  She arrived home a few minutes later and entered the house. Her mother’s car wasn’t in the driveway. She was alone. Climbing the stairs, she tossed her purse on her bed and plopped down next to it.

  “Whew,” she sighed. “What a day.” Sayler had endured three job interviews over the past few hours. She was exhausted, and part of her longed for days gone by and her job at the Center. Since her grandfather had decided to retire and leave the Center in her uncle’s care, well, it had lost its lure. Furthermore, she was older and felt she needed a job that better suited her age and ambitions.

  Yet after five interviews with different design firms around the city, Sayler still found herself jobless.

&
nbsp; “‘When you’ve finished your degree,’” Sayler said, mimicking the voice of the overconfident woman at Vicki’s Interior Design. Her last interview of the day had been at Vicki’s, and she felt more discouraged than ever.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, Sayler sat up and began to gather up the contents of her purse. When she tossed her purse on the bed, she hadn’t realized it was open. Lip gloss, keys, change, and sales receipts were strewn over her comforter. As she picked up her wallet, its contents also fell out as well.

  “Come on,” Sayler whined. She gathered up her debit card, a pretzel bakery punch card, and various other items. It was the worn business card that caused her to pause.

  “Booker Architecture and Contracting,” she whispered. All at once, memories and sweet melancholy flooded her being. “Oh, you were perfect, weren’t you?” she whispered.

  In truth, most days Sayler was content. Most days she was happy, simply glad she had met Bo Booker and content to know she had. Still, once in a while his memory was more intrusive on her life—once in a while as it had been today.

  She thought then of her last moments with him the day he had left the Center. She thought of his smile, his kiss, and when he gave her the business card.

  Suddenly, the most unthinkable, irrational thought entered her mind. In those last moments with him, just before he’d kissed her—in those moments he gave her the business card and told her if she ever needed anything, she could come to him. He had mentioned a job, summer employment. She wanted to get her foot in the door with one of the big design firms in town, but that was proving fruitless. Once she had her degree, or at least was closer to having it, then she would have a better chance. But until then, something else would have to do.

  She wondered if he had been serious. He had seemed sincere. It wouldn’t hurt to try. Would it?

  She shook her head, embarrassed with herself for even thinking about it. She started to put the card back in her wallet, where she had kept it for three years. Yet she paused. She did need a job, and he had implied he would employ her, hadn’t he?

  Still, she knew she would never find the courage to call him. Never! What would she possibly say?

  “Hello? Mr. Booker?” she spoke out loud, mimicking the manner in which she might speak with him on the phone. “Do you remember me? I was the silly little candy striper at Rawlins Rehab that summer you were incarcerated there…and I was just wondering if you would give me a job!” She shook her head, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity.

  Yet she needed a job, and she had exhausted all the desirable options she could think of. And he had said to come to him if she ever needed one. Well, she certainly needed one.

  Sliding to the floor, she knelt and began rummaging around under her bed. Shortly, she found what she was looking for. She laid the old calendar on her bed and opened it to June.

  There he was—Bo Booker in all his handsome, beefcake glory. Sayler wondered if he would look any different were she to find the courage to go downtown and pop in on one of the owners of Booker Architecture and Contracting. She imagined he would probably be even more good-looking. She was fairly sure he wasn’t married. She’d watched the engagement and wedding announcements in the paper every week for three years and never saw his name there. Still, that wouldn’t matter. She needed a job, and bachelor or not, Bo Booker had once implied he would give her one in a pinch. And she was in a pinch.

  Slowly, she traced the curves of his face with her fingers, wishing she didn’t still get butterflies in her stomach when she thought of him.

  Closing the calendar and returning it to its hiding place beneath her bed, she sighed. She would try it. She would go downtown the next day and try it. What’s the worst he could say? No?

  “Well, the worst he could say would be, ‘I don’t ever remember seeing you before in my life, and I certainly don’t want to give you a job,’” Sayler said out loud to herself. But she knew he wouldn’t say that, even if he didn’t remember her. He was too polite, too well-mannered to be cruel. She was certain of that.

  With a heavy sigh, she left her room, intent on starting some supper. Her mom and dad would appreciate a nice meal waiting for them when they got home. It was the least she could do. She would think about the job issue later. For now, her mind was tired and her heart pricking with residual memories of her favorite daydream.

  *

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Sayler muttered as she stood in the courtyard of Third and Maple gazing up at the high-rise office building before her.

  Sayler had tossed and turned all night and slept fitfully the night before. The idea of asking Bo Booker for a job had kept her from resting. She had awakened often, trying to convince herself she could find the courage to go to Booker Architecture and Contracting. Once she had convinced herself, however, her doubts would begin to whisper, and she would try to push the idea aside as being completely absurd. Still, try as she might, she could not rest, could not let go of the possibility—the possibility of seeing Bo Booker again. Chances were he would hardly remember her—tell her there were no open positions with Booker Architecture and Contracting, especially for an interior design major only halfway to her degree.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember exactly what Bo had said the day he’d checked out of the Center. She could see him in her mind’s eye. She could see his face, his soft brown hair, his mesmerizing eyes, and his dazzling smile.

  If you ever want a job or something…come and see me, he had said. She was nearly certain he had even said it more than once. Surely he wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t meant it. And Sayler did need a job. She wasn’t desperate enough to ask her uncle for a job back at the Center yet. Just nearly that desperate.

  With a deep breath to try and bolster her courage, she plunged forward. Sayler entered the building and looked at the office list next to the elevators. Booker Architecture and Construction was located on the twentieth floor. As the doors opened, she stepped into the elevator with several other people.

  “Can I get your floor for you?” an older man asked.

  “The twentieth,” she said, smiling at him. “Thank you,” she added, once he’d pushed the button.

  She felt sick, as if she might actually throw up! What would she say to him? Would he even remember her? Did she have a pen in her purse in case he did offer to let her fill out an application as an act of charity?

  The elevator doors opened all too quickly, and Sayler stepped into a spacious reception area.

  “Welcome to Booker’s,” a middle-aged woman sitting at the reception desk greeted. “What can I do for you today?”

  “Um…um…” Sayler stammered. She propelled herself forward on wobbly legs. “I…I was wondering if I might speak with Mr. Booker?” she managed.

  The woman smiled. “Which one?” she asked.

  “Oh!” Sayler exclaimed. “Um…Bo Booker,” she answered, her voice breaking from the nervous strain.

  The woman tipped her head to one side and said, “You just missed him. He’s off to an early lunch.”

  “Oh.” Sayler felt her heart land with a thump in the pit of her stomach. She was simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

  “May I give him a message?” the woman asked.

  “Um…no, thank you,” Sayler said. She wanted only to escape. She wondered how long she would have to wait for the elevator.

  “Joey’s in,” the woman offered. “Would you like me to see if he has time for you?”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” Sayler assured her. “I…I can come back another time.” She heard the ding of the elevator arriving and quickly turned to meet it.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to leave a message? A phone number where he can reach you?” the receptionist asked.

  “Oh, no. It’s fine,” Sayler assured her, smiling at her over one shoulder.

  The elevator doors opened, and Sayler pounced inside.

  “Well, have a nice day!” the kind woman called.

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bsp; “You too!” Sayler said, tossing her an awkward wave.

  The elevator doors shut, and Sayler buried her face in her hands, grateful she was the only occupant.

  She wanted to cry, scream, pull her hair, or something! She felt sick and overheated. What had she been thinking?

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” she scolded herself. She inhaled and exhaled slowly and deliberately, trying to soothe her nerves.

  What a ridiculous idea! She couldn’t believe she’d talked herself into such a folly!

  “That’s what I get for trying to solve my problems at three in the morning,” she grumbled as she walked out of the building and into the summer sunshine. The brightness of the day helped little to make her feel better. Still, she released a heavy sigh. Life would go on. She’d find a job somewhere. The knowledge she wouldn’t see Bo Booker again weighed heavily on her, however. She felt as if she had some sort of brick-laden yoke on her shoulders.

  She walked slowly across the courtyard, glancing at a group of women who looked like support staff sitting on the benches in front of the fountain. She sighed again, realizing these women already had jobs and weren’t out having to pound the proverbial pavement.

  Looking up, she saw two men walking toward her. It took a moment for her brain to register that the tall, well-dressed man was Bo. She quietly gasped at the sight of him. He was gorgeous! Her heart began to flutter; her breath left her completely!

  He was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and burgundy tie. His hair was shorter than she remembered it being before, his shoulders broader, his jaw more squared. In truth, he was even more attractive than he had been three years previous.

  Sayler was proud of herself for not dropping dead in her tracks! In fact, she didn’t miss a step, simply smiled when he seemed to casually glance at her for a moment as he approached her. She was certain she felt his essence brush her own as he passed her. Her brow furrowed in a pain-stricken frown as all her cherished memories of him rinsed over her. Her lips tingled with the memory of his kiss; her cheeks warmed at the thought of being held in his arms.