A Different Kind of Valentine

by K. J. Dahlen

  "Thanks." If this coffee doesn’t work, maybe…

  Setting his coffee cup on the desk, he answered his ringing phone.

  "Yes, sir, of course. Right away, sir." He hung up the phone.

  "I've got to see the boss." Daniel made the statement to no one in particular.

  He strode down the long corridor to John's office. His mind turned over all the possibilities for this meeting. He realized at yesterday's meeting John had stated each employee would be met individually.

  "That's right. They're just filling me in on what we'll be doing to improve our company production." Daniel relaxed. He was, after all, the only Computer Tech still here from the group recruited out of his college class. His expertise was indispensable. His knowledge covered the beginning of the company's computer changeover to the present. He knew what these programs could and couldn't do.

  Unlike Frank, who seems to think these computers are limitless. I know they have boundaries we can't cross. Daniel knocked on the door marked John Spencer, Manager Information Services.

  A voice from behind the door instructed him to enter the office. Daniel took the seat offered him.

  "You're Daniel Wilkes, right?" the manager asked.

  "Yes, sir." Daniel would've been insulted but the company had grown so quickly in the last two years he knew keeping track of all the employees was impossible.

  "Well, Daniel, this company is in the information business. And our department is the heart of the business."

  Daniel nodded his agreement. That's what he liked about his job. It was the center of the company, which made him important in the day-to-day running.

  "We've been receiving complaints from other departments you're hard to work with. Your attitude seems to be you're doing everyone a favor by showing up to handle their computer problems."

  Daniel didn't understand. He’d just been doing his job--fixing their computer snafus. Sure he was a little--grumpy, now and again, but for the most part, he did his job and left. Now they were complaining? He was sure Mr. Spencer would understand his position. He was, after all, one of them. The Computer Guys.

  "I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go. You've continually rejected the new technology set in place by Corporate. Your co-worker, Frank, has embraced the new technology and improved on the original. He's setting standards for this company I'm not sure many will be able to reach. We might have kept you if you'd taken a page from his book and worked on ideas and problems with him. However, we've had reports you’re resistant to the changes the company must make to stay competitive in today's market."

  John Spencer leaned over his desk and pushed an envelope to Daniel.

  "Your final check is there along with a month's severance pay and payment for the four weeks of vacation you would've earned this year. I'm sorry, Daniel, but you'll need to be off company property before noon."

  Daniel realized Mr. Spencer had ended the meeting. There'd be no appeal. Clutching the envelope, he stumbled down the long hallway to his office unaware of the activity around him.

  They can’t fire me. I’ve been here for 13 years. I know all the old systems. They just can’t!

  Daniel cleaned his desk of personal items and dumped his problems into Frank's in-box. Let him handle Nadine every Monday.

  He picked up his briefcase, the few personal items he had and left. For the first time in thirteen years, Daniel felt like an intruder in the building he'd made his second home. The gloom would've consumed him but the moment he saw the car, his car, he brightened up. He'd saved enough money on his own to take six months off. Even with the expensive insurance, he'd not have to worry. Once inside the car, he opened the envelope. The figure on the check disgusted him. I’ve given the company thirteen years of my life and this is all they think I’m worth? He gunned the engine and, squealing out of the parking lot, left skid marks all the way down the street.

  He'd show them. He had enough resources he could take his time looking for another job. He was experienced enough to pick and choose where he'd work.

  Daniel headed to his townhouse. He parked the car in the driveway and noted the house next door was empty. His neighbor had moved out in less than three hours. There was a ‘For Lease’ sign on the front lawn with the number of a local realtor.

  He dropped his briefcase on the entry table and shuffled to the kitchen to make a sandwich. He peeked out the window at the mailbox. The flag was down; the mail had come. He ambled to the curb, opened the door, and pulled out the envelopes. He noticed a letter addressed to him in his grandmother's elegant writing. Great! He needed some good news, and Gram was always good for a laugh or two. Her letters chatted up happenings at the nursing home.

  He carried the letter to the living room and plopped on the couch to read it. She opened with her unique greeting.

  Hey there, buddy boy,

  Happy Valentine’s Day!

  Just a note to let you know I’ve sold the townhouse to defray the ever-rising medical costs here. My lawyer told me to get rid of everything so the state will declare me destitute then I can stay. It’s become my home, Danny. I don’t want to have to come live with you cause you have your own life to live, after all.

  Sorry for the short notice, hon. The new owners want to move in on the 17th. I know you’ll understand.

  Love,

  Grams

  Daniel looked at the date the new owners wanted to take possession, the 17th. He had three days to move.

  What is happening? He stared out his front window at the status symbol sitting in the driveway. He had to keep her. But how? Right now he didn't even have a place to live. Remembering the For Lease sign next door, he looked out and wrote down the number. He called. He choked when they told him how much rent they wanted for the identical townhouse next door; two months up front plus a cleaning deposit. It would nearly wipe out his savings. Even with his last check he'd only have a month to search for a job that would compensate him with a salary sufficient for the cost of the townhouse, the insurance on the car, utilities, food and car gas. Daniel had a choice to make--less expensive apartment or part with the car. His heart was set on this car. He called around. The affordable apartments were in the less desirable sections of town; places he knew he couldn't keep the car protected. Reluctantly, he concluded he needed to call Mike and see if he'd take the Ferrari and give Daniel his Thunderbird. He'd be able to live in a less expensive apartment and have transportation.

  He dialed the number listed in the phone book for Mike Jacobson's Foreign Fantasies.

  "The number you have reached is no longer working. If you believe you have reached this number in error, please hang up and dial again. Thank you."

  He frantically phoned the information operator.

  "For what city?"

  "Austin, Texas."

  "How can I help you?"

  "Yes. I’d like the listed number for Mike Jacobson’s Foreign Fantasies."

  "Please spell Jacobson for me."

  Daniel pulled out the business card and spelled the name.

  "One moment please while I search for that number."

  The silence was unnerving. Daniel felt his heart thudding in his chest and the palms of his hands were getting moist.

  "Sir?"

  "Yes."

  "I don’t have a listing for a Mike Jacobson’s Foreign Fantasies."

  "Are you sure? I have his business card in my hand! Check again."

  The operator sighed heavily.

  "Yes, sir. I’m checking Austin--no Mike Jacobson’s Foreign Fantasies; checking West Lake Hills, Rollingwood, Oak Hill… no Mike Jacobson’s Foreign Fantasies. Would you like me to check further sir? Maybe Houston or San Antonio, sir?"

  Daniel shook his head. "No, thank you."

  He slumped forlornly glaring at the phone. His life was a shambles. Even worse was the realization he'd done this to himself. He'd turned down opportunities at work to learn a new system because he was sure they wouldn't get rid of him. He'd let his desire for t
his car override his common sense. He should've realized Gram would need to sell the townhouse to stay in the nursing home. He been too busy being smug about how good he had it. Well, now, he was unemployed and three days from homelessness. But he had the car of his dreams for all the good it did him. He looked at the date on his final check.

  Happy Valentine’s Day to me.

  Next time, he'd be careful what he wished for.

  Crazy 'Bout You

  Clay Renick

  Chapter One

  It started like any day in October. The air was cold, the sky cloudy. And Dr. Sara Aspen was getting ready for work.

  She faced a mirror in her condo bedroom and was pulling a brush through her blonde hair.

  "We're back to Mornings with Phil and Lynn," an announcer said on the radio. "The traffic update is on next but first a word with author T.R. Stallion."

  "Thanks for having me," the man said.

  Sara stopped combing hair and turned up the dial. A stack of paperbacks was on the night stand next to her bed. And they had his name on the cover.

  Phil continued in the background. "You're in town for a promotion."

  "That's right."

  "The ladies will love this. You specialize in those titles with the half dressed couple on the cover."

  "Afraid so."

  "This book is different from all the rest?"

  "Right." T.R.’s rugged voice stopped. "It's not finished."

  "Well, that's odd," Phil said on the radio. "Did we miss something in the PR department?"

  "Not at all," T.R. paused. "I've been writing about this for years, but really don't know much about it."

  The other announcer broke in. Her name was Lynn. "I can feel a good one coming ladies," she said. "You can't see this but I've got goose bumps sitting across from this man and he's here looking for you."

  "In a way that's right," T.R. said. "I want some input that will help me--as a person and writer."

  "Let me get this straight," Phil added. "You want some lady out there to help you write---your own story."

  "Got it."

  Lynn jumped in. "How will you find them?"

  "That's the hard part," he answered. "I won't."

  Sara dropped the comb. "What are you talking about?"

  "She'll find me," T.R. said.

  Phil and Lynn paused. "So," Lynn drew out her words. "They don't know who you are and don't know how to find you. But you want them to teach you something about love?"

  "Got it."

  "I've heard everything now," Phil said. "So how will they know it's you?"

  "They won't," he said, "until I volunteer that."

  Lynn began to shout again. "So we're going to have women all over this city breaking their necks to meet Mr. Millionaire romance writer who is now hidden but waiting to meet and fall in love?"

  "Sort of."

  Sara moved closer to the radio.

  "Don't you think it's a bit unfair?" Lynn asked. "They have no way of knowing you're out there."

  "You're right," T.R. responded. "That's why I'll leave a hint in the next few mornings and take calls at night."

  "Where?" Lynn asked.

  "Here on your program." He paused. "Don't you have a call-in program late at night?"

  "I don't," Lynn told him. "But a local therapist has one."

  "Great," T.R. replied, "I'll get some counsel on the side then."

  Sara looked at her bedroom mirror again. A small newspaper clipping hung under it with details about her new radio talk show.

  "Local Therapist Starts Weekday Call In," the headline said. "Afraid of relationships?" the first line read. "One local psychologist can unlock the fears that hold you back…"

  "So what's the first hint?" Lynn added on the radio.

  "Patience," he said. "Today that special girl will have something to say about--patience."

  "Well you've got it girls," Lynn told the listeners.

  "He's out there. And he's looking for you. We'll be right back after this message so stick with us..."

  Sara turned off the radio and looked through her bedroom windows out across the city.

  "He's out there, just waiting…"

  Chapter Two

  The office was busy that morning. It was on the third floor of a building that had mirror-windows facing the city outline and the river below it. Dr. Sara Aspen sat at a desk and looked through those windows. Her eyes were on the tree line that followed the river as it worked its way around the city.

  Her reflection stared back. She wore a business suit and she had hair that was blonde, almost white. Her skin was smooth and features tight, athletic, ready to respond in fight or flight. It was the build of ancestors that went back thousands of years to Nordic explorers who sailed the world and explored the unknown. She was like them in a sense but her journey was inward and not across oceans. Her job was therapist. In that sense she both attracted men then left them in her efforts to help others. It was odd to develop trust in the safety of a counseling room then live alone.

  But reasons extended to a childhood where her own father left for "other" women and she watched her mother struggle with her day care just to pay the bills. That was years ago but the memory remained. Sara Aspen was like other Nordic women who plot a direction in life and go for it. Even her desktop was clean, organized in neat piles of folders and correspondence.

  Everything about her gave the impression of professionalism and organization. But there was no ring on her finger and no pictures of family.

  Her thoughts were on the skyline when a voice came over the intercom:

  "Dr. Aspen, your first appointment is here."

  She sat up and hit the reply button. "Send them back."

  "Very well."

  The woman stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in her business suit. She looked down at the first folder and opened it as the door opened. A man walked in, broad chest, narrow waist, muscled arms under a sports coat with short hair. His steps were confident, appearance clean: kaki pants, pastel shirt with coordinating tie. He looked like a linebacker from a professional football team.

  Sara held her hand out. "Mr...."

  "Stone. Blake Stone." His words were confident, tone oddly familiar. He smiled at the therapist as she pointed at a chair off to the side.

  "It's good to meet you." She looked up into his eyes and smiled. "What can I help you with?"

  "Oh wow," he pulled his hands together and took a deep breath, "what can't you help me with?"

  "That bad?"

  "Is now."

  She waited. Her blue eyes scanned him for clues. They were clear eyes that understood even as they focused.

  "I'll get right to the point," he volunteered. "I've got a problem with..."

  The man stopped again. "It's so embarrassing to even talk about."