California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances

by Casey Dawes

  When the performer began plucking the guitar strings for the notes of the opening number, she let go of her angst about the incident. The mid-twenties singer spun a story in the air, drawing her into his vision. The song crept into her soul, whispering to a part of herself she had long forgotten. More than anything in her life, singing went right to the heart of who she was.

  The vision expanded and she closed her eyes, feeling the ghost of guitar strings beneath her callused fingertips. Her chest vibrated with unsung songs. From thin air, she created the fantasy of a small studio of her own amid Monterey Cyprus trees and acres of wildflowers bordering a rocky coast. She’d create a CD, selling it from the back of the room. Her technical skills would make selling it online easy. With each song, she built her dream, the joy of touching souls around the country, maybe even abroad, in places like this.

  She brought herself back to reality. Dreams were for the innocent, women who hadn’t had their spirits wrung out of them by circumstances and bad husbands; people who didn’t need to make a living. She’d chosen the right path — the only one open to her. No matter what anyone said, no matter what her heart whispered, she would continue to do what she’d done since she left Fred. It was the best way she knew to make sure she was secure.

  When the concert ended, the sense of the dream remained, like the aura before a migraine, creating a well of sadness within her. She sat in her chair absorbing the beauty of what she’d heard, reluctant to return to the loneliness of her hotel room, no matter how comfortable it was.

  Gathering his things, the man in front of her stood up. “What drivel,” he said.

  “Oh. You perform?” She stood.

  “No, but I know good music when I hear it. That wasn’t it.”

  “It’s easy to be a critic. Not so easy to get up there and sing.”

  “What makes you an authority, lady?”

  “Been there. Done that. Got the damn tee-shirt,” she announced, stunning herself with her reaction. Where the hell had that come from?

  She spun around when she heard a slow clapping start behind her.

  “Bravo,” said a good-looking man in a navy blue tailored jacket. “I’ve been waiting for someone to take Walter down for a long time.”

  “Yeah, right, Mark,” the offender said. “Why don’t you go back to academia where you belong?” Walter shoved his way down the aisle.

  “Hi,” said the man behind her, extending his hand. “My name is Mark Hopkinson. Did you enjoy the concert?” He wore rimless glasses perched on a patrician nose and his broad smile displayed whitened teeth. A starched Oxford shirt and pressed khaki pants showed off a trim body.

  “Yes, I enjoyed the concert very much,” Annie replied, shaking his hand before picking up her coat. “My name is Annie, Annie Gerhard.”

  “We’ve spent the evening in a coffeehouse, but I’d love some decaf. Would you like to come with me?” he asked.

  She should go back to her hotel room and prepare for her grand entrance in the morning. On the other hand, maybe this was an opportunity to meet someone who might be as nice as his appearance. “Sure,” she said, stifling a momentary whisper of caution.

  “Good. I know a place not far from here.”

  The two walked out into the chilly air to the tiny coffee shop a few blocks from the church. A couple was leaving when they arrived, providing a place to sit in the crowded café. Mark slipped the coat off her shoulders, hanging it on the hook at the end of the booth. Declining the offer of a sweet from the waitress, he ordered coffee for the two of them. “Have to watch our waistlines, y’know,” he said, glancing at her.

  She started to object, but thought of the cookies she’d had at the concert. Maybe he’s right. I could stand to lose a little weight.

  After the waitress left, Mark began a running commentary on his exploits. Once he found out she was from California, he focused the monologue on his time in the state. He knew many of her favorite places, including Yosemite and Big Sur. “I’ve even climbed the back of Half Dome,” he announced halfway through his coffee.

  “Wow. That must have been amazing. I’ve never felt strong enough to handle that trek.”

  “It’s a matter of training. I’m sure you could do it if you got in shape. It’s best to get up really early to beat the crowds, but the view is spectacular. Climbing the cables to the top can be a little scary the first time — not a problem the second or third time. I make a point to do it every few years.”

  “You must be in really good shape.”

  “I have a really good trainer. I’ll give you his name. When you move out here, you can get started right away. As we age, it’s best to maintain our fitness level.”

  Why is everyone always trying to change me?

  As the time wore on, she relaxed into her role as a good listener. He was an entertaining storyteller, but it felt like something was missing. He certainly was different from John. She felt a small pang of yearning for the quiet Montanan, but quickly pushed it away. That relationship wasn’t possible.

  When she finished her cup of coffee, she glanced at her watch, startled to see how late it was. “I need to get back to my hotel.”

  He picked up the check, glanced at it and left some bills on the tray before standing to get her coat. “Where are you staying?”

  She told him.

  “I’ll walk you there,” he said.

  “You don’t have to bother. I’m used to walking alone.”

  “Yes, but I can’t retain my chivalrous reputation if I let you.”

  She really wanted to walk by herself, to clear her head before going to sleep, but acquiesced. It would be rude to turn down the gentlemanly gesture. She rethought her decision when he followed her into the lobby of her hotel. Did he expect to be asked up?

  “I know an amazing Italian restaurant. You’ll love it,” he said as she turned to face him. “Can I make a reservation for Wednesday night?”

  “That’d be nice.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She didn’t really want to go out with him. There was something about him that was a little bit off, nothing she could put her finger on, simply a slight tinge of fear. Oh, well, too late now.

  “Good. I’ll pick you up here. The dress code is East Coast Casual.” He smiled. “I know you Californians are used to a more laid-back life, but this is Princeton. We’re a little more formal here.”

  “I see. So what exactly is ‘East Coast Casual’?”

  “No jeans, no shorts, and for heaven’s sake, no flip-flops. You know — a nice skirt and sweater set, or something like that.”

  She forced a grin. “No flip-flops in my luggage! I get the picture. See you Wednesday.”

  She waved good-bye and headed for the elevator. Skirt and sweater set? I thought that went out with the 50s.

  That night she dreamed she was on an island she’d never been on before. The landscape reminded her of Maui, verdant grasslands contrasting with deep valleys of intense foliage. She followed a narrow path through rainbow eucalyptus trees, allowing the sacred silence to seep into her bones. As she walked, she became aware of a deep thrum in the distance, disturbing the birds that nested in the tall trees. She followed the path to a clearing, where she saw a gang of men with chainsaws ripping through the grove. One of the workers spotted her and pointed her out to the man with a clipboard next to him. The boss man turned, a red flush of anger covering his face. Her father’s face.

  She started to run.

  In her dream, her father chased her down, turning into a loud bee, buzzing in her head. She had to escape. She had to make that noise stop. She had to …

  … wake up.

  Shuddering, she turned off the alarm and dragged herself into the shower. She let the warm water sluice over her, nudging her to a form of awakening and banishing her father’s g
host to the distant memory where it belonged.

  She drove to the JCN offices and waited at the lobby desk for Jim to come get her, her company badge not yet programmed for the facility. A flushed, round man in a traditional business uniform of white shirt, striped power tie and dark slacks bustled into the lobby with his hand outstretched. “Jim Borzetti,” he said. “You must be Annie.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Glad to meet you.”

  “I’m sure you’re anxious to see where you’re going to be working,” he said, leading her up a ramp to the second floor of the building. “We have a great team here. Management is anxious to get the Common Criteria project up and running. There’s a great deal of competitive advantage to completing the certification.”

  Jim’s office, nested in a line of similar offices, actually had walls and a door, unlike the maze of cubicles downstairs. He ushered her into the windowless space, closing the door behind her.

  “As I said, this project is vital to us. We need a strong project manager, like you, to pull it off. What I’d like to do over the next few days is to have you look over the work the previous manager did, talk with some of the team and give me your plan to complete the project. I’ve also arranged some interviews with a few of the managers you’ll be working with. Based on their input and our opinion of your plan, we’ll decide whether or not to extend the offer.”

  He leaned forward. “Randy highly recommended you,” he said, looking pointedly at her. “This is a very visible project in a highly political environment. We need someone who can make things happen without ruffling any feathers, not someone who’s going to cause trouble. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Of course I can,” she replied. “I know I will do a great job for you and your team.”

  “Okay,” Jim said, seeming to be satisfied with her response. “Sounds good. Oh, one more thing,” he added as he stood. “You got the e-mail I sent about the corporate dinner tonight?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. We can put you to the test there tonight.”

  As she left the building at the end of the day, she knew two things: the project wasn’t going to be simple and the help was going to be non-existent. Everyone had too much to do already; providing documentation for her wasn’t going to be high on anyone’s priority list. Still, she’d completed other difficult projects. She could do it again. The work would be frustrating and time-consuming, but hopefully her success would allow her return to the company office in California.

  A half hour later she slid the green silk dress over her bare shoulders and strapless bra. She watched it settle around the spandex cylinder restraining the lumps and bumps of middle age, then forced her feet into three-inch stilettos, more strap than shoe. She felt like a hooker.

  Studying herself in the full-length hotel mirror, she shuddered. Elizabeth’s borrowed dress clung to her curves, the thigh-high slit revealing her stocking-encased leg. Her friend had been right. Jim had insisted that she come to the managers’ dinner dressed appropriately — a cocktail dress, not a pantsuit.

  “These are the people who’ll decide whether or not we offer you the job,” he’d said. “First impressions count. Do it right.”

  Tossing her coat over the dress and grabbing the slim evening bag Elizabeth had provided, she clicked her way to the elevator. After a short trip, she followed a drive through rolling golf greens. The white columned club looked as if it belonged in a remake of Gone with the Wind, with its large chandeliers gleaming over tuxedoed valets.

  After surrendering her car, she made her way through a spacious rotunda with inlaid wood floors. She hesitated at the door of the dining room, gazing at the white-clothed tables with their centerpieces of silver tapered candles and vases of spring flowers. Silver-rimmed plates sparkled in the candlelight. Tight clusters of people dotted the room, cocktails in hand, earnest faces in place. On her left, an angular man in a dark business suit brightened only by a vibrant red necktie gestured dramatically at a corpulent fellow in a gray suit. She skirted past them.

  She spotted Jim in a group near the heavily curtained floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the room. She wove her way through the tables to greet him, passing one of the few women in the room on the way. Like her, the woman had on a slim-fitting cocktail dress, heels and glittering earrings. A quick scan of the room showed her that the rest of the females were similarly outfitted.

  Jim looked her up and down. “You look fabulous. Good job.”

  She withdrew her hand from his. “Thank you.”

  “Are you going to keep her all to yourself, Jim?” a short, balding man asked. The suit may have fit him once, but his current girth gapped his dress shirt where it met his pants, revealing a ribbed undershirt beneath.

  “No, Conrad, I’m not. I’ve mentioned Annie to you. She might take over the Common Criteria project. We’ve invited her in for a few days to get her opinion on the project. Annie, Conrad Wilkins, Director of IT.”

  “Very good. Very good. It’s very important work, young lady. I hope you’re up to it.”

  “I can handle it,” she said quietly.

  He patted her arm with his beefy hand. “It’s a tough job. We’ve already lost a few project managers over it. They were all men, so we decided to see what a woman could do. Be sure to save a place for me at dinner. I want to hear what you’re going to do differently.”

  Oh, great. Someone in power who thinks women don’t belong in business. She’d need to please him enough to get the job, while keeping her distance as much as possible.

  The cocktail hour dragged on and, true to his word, Conrad plopped himself next to her at dinner. “They serve the best rib-eye steak here. Comes with baked potato, sour cream, the works. My favorite. We’ve been having our corporate dinners here since the company opened this division. My idea. It’s a good way to get folks together in an informal setting. Greases the wheels, you know.” Conrad launched himself at his blue cheese-laden salad. “Dig in,” he said.

  Annie was spared from laying out a project plan by Conrad’s running monologue about his experience with the company, punctuated by “accidental” touches of her hand and arm. The tight seating around the circular table brought his porcine leg into close contact with hers. When she thought she’d put in the time required to make a good impression, she pushed away her half-filled plate and stood up.

  “Lovely meeting you,” she said to Conrad. “I’ve had a really long day. I need to get back to the hotel to get some rest so I can lay out a good plan for Jim tomorrow.”

  Conrad stood, his shoe coming perilously close to crushing her toe. “I look forward to seeing you around. I think you’ll be perfect for the project.” He patted her on the arm again, fingers lingering a little too long. Thanking him, she turned to leave, allowing her stiletto heel to land on the soft leather of his dress shoe.

  “Ow!”

  She stopped, a little amazed at her own action. “I’m so sorry! I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Red-faced, Conrad glared at her. “It’s all right. I’m sure you didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “It was an accident. I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

  “Not a problem,” he said, once again putting his hand on her arm. This time his squeeze was a little too hard.

  She pulled her arm away, said good night, made her excuses to Jim, and rapidly left the dining room.

  In spite of her concern about the consequences of her action, a small smile of satisfaction twitched her lips as she handed the valet her parking voucher.

  • • •

  Annie’s satisfaction ended early the next morning.

  “Conrad’s a good ally to have in this company,” Jim said after they’d exchanged greetings.

  She stilled. Did the director report her shoe-stabbing incident? What if he had? I’m so tired of men behaving badl
y and thinking they can get away with it.

  “Too bad you couldn’t have stayed later.”

  “Was it a problem that I left early? I was exhausted. Traveling takes a lot out of you. I couldn’t keep my eyes open a minute longer.” She flashed her best simpering Southern belle smile — a tough job for a hard-working girl from the Midwest.

  It didn’t work.

  “I’m not sure if it’s a problem or not. I thought Conrad was enthusiastic about you early in the evening. But he didn’t mention you at all when the evening ended. Did something happen? He’s an important player in this division and it would help if you stayed on his good side.”

  “Nothing happened that shouldn’t have.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Oops. “Um, nothing. Conrad and I had a nice chat over dinner and I left. That’s about it.”

  Jim looked at her for a long minute. She went for boldness and continued to look him in the eye. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

  “What I’d like you to do today,” he finally began, “is talk to the managers who you’ll be working with on the project.” He handed her a list. “I’ll be gathering their feedback before I make my final decision about the job offer. Oh, and I’d like a preliminary report telling me your views on the project.”

  Her day didn’t improve.

  Every manager she talked to about the project told her that he or she didn’t have time for it. Continual layoffs meant that programmers and analysts were overworked and there was no sign that cuts wouldn’t happen again. Producing the documentation that she needed for Common Criteria was not a high priority.

  Before she left for the hotel, she wrote the report that Jim wanted. It had to be good enough to show him she could do the job, in spite of the obstacles. It was simply a matter of persistence — keep going back to the managers until they gave her the material she needed.