The doctors’ estimate of when Jonathan could come home were conservative, at best. It took him ten more days to be released from the hospital.
John practically shouldered him inside until his father nudged him off. “Quit yer fussin’. Damn, it’s toasty in here.”
“New furnace, Pop.”
“Gotta coupla handymen. Now all I gotta do is get ya ta start fixin’ cars. I’ll never hafta worry about whether I’m hirin’ an honest mechanic again.” Logan grinned behind them as he brought his father’s things inside. He had two green plastic personal belonging bags from his hospital room and a folder full of paperwork, two small white prescription bags from the pharmacy, and his father’s oxygen tank that they sent home with him, holstered in a small green hand truck.
In the meantime, his home was a welcome change from intensive care. Logan and John made sure it was clean as a whistle, cleaning old food out of the fridge and restocking it with his favorites, within reason.
“Where are those grandkids?”
“Upstairs, playing their games. I didn’t want them to tie up your big set down here if you wanted to rest on the couch.”
“Well, bring ‘em down here! Don’t hide ‘em away.” Rose patted his shoulder fondly and obeyed, heading for the hallway. She cupped her hand around her mouth.
“Vic! Laura! C’mon down and kiss Grandpa hello!” Their feet thundered down the steps and they came shrieking into the living room.
“Take it easy!” John warned. “Don’t crawl all over him yet! Grandpa can’t handle too much rough-housing.”
“Give me five minutes,” Jonathan promised. The twinkle was still in his eye as he hugged and kissed them, ruffling Vic’s hair. He still looked tired. Rose was still on her feet, running on autopilot.
She had lunch on the table in a flash, Jonathan’s meds in his hand with a glass of water and his oxygen hooked up with little effort. Logan tossed his dad the remote control.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m gonna check my messages.”
“Ya never get a vacation even when yer on vacation, boy,” he complained, shaking his head.
“I took a little family leave. The office can still reach me by email.”
“It’s like they have you on call,” John muttered. “You missed your calling. You should’ve been a doctor.”
“Might’ve saved me a stay in ICU.” Jonathan blew on his soup. “When are ya headed back?”
“Tomorrow,” Logan said.
“In he comes, out he goes,” his father mused.
“Sorry, Pop.”
“Man’s gotta make a livin’. Call when ya get back. Let me know nothin’ happened to ya with the shitty weather we’re gonna have. Four more inches, according ta the news. Saw that this morning before you kids got there ta pick me up.”
“Let me know when you’re set to go, Logan. I can pack you a lunch,” Rose offered.
“Don’t worry about it, darlin’.”
“Let her do it, man. Save a few dimes on the cost of food on the way back. We stopped at a Bob’s Big Boy on the way down. It was highway robbery,” John complained. “Not that you have to worry about that, anyway.”
“It’s renewal season. Mid-year is a different story. My voice mail’s so empty at work off-season that it practically echoes.” Logan then wondered why he bothered to rise to his brother’s bait. John earned almost as much as Logan did but had a family to spend it on.
“Sounds like they still think yer important.” Jonathan stared at his son thoughtfully. “Hey, Jimmy, c’mon with me for a sec.” He struggled up from the couch. Logan hurried forward to help him, but his father fanned his hands away. “Yeah, yeah, I got it!”
“Hardheaded,” Logan muttered.
“Pot calling the kettle black,” Rose called back from the kitchen. As they passed by the other doorway to it from the hall, Logan saw Rose rummaging in the refrigerator for butter. He wondered what she was preparing to make.
He followed his father upstairs, mentally cursing the steps.
“Ya could’ve sent me up ta get whatever it was ya needed, Pop.”
“I wanted ta show ya a few things. Some stuff ya might wanna hold on to.” Logan still kept his hand at his father’s back as they climbed.
The attic door was still sticky when Jonathan opened it. The scent of lavender sachets and mothballs mingled with dust, making Logan sneeze.
“Gesundheit.”
“Phew. Itchy.” His father roamed the space, poking at boxes and old trunks. He spied a bookshelf in the corner. “Here we go.” He pulled down two thick albums. “These are gatherin’ dust up here.”
“Pop…”
“Yer brother’s addicted ta that damned computer of his. Scanned a whole shitload of old photos of you kids and put ‘em on disc for me. Yer mom put together these scrapbooks. There’s all the old stuff, and a lot of pictures of you and Jean.” Logan swallowed, suddenly having difficulty.
“Ya don’t hafta give these ta me.”
“They’re yours if ya want ‘em.” Jonathan parked himself on a hassock and gestured for Logan to seat himself on an adjacent trunk. “How have ya been?”
“Things are things.”
“I mean, how are ya managing at home?”
“Things have been quiet.”
“Haven’t found anyone new?”
“I had lunch with someone. She was nice. Other than that, nah.” He didn’t want to get his father’s hopes up, but still…
He wanted to give him good news. Logan felt so many times like he was bursting. He didn’t want to unload on his father, since his own burdens weighed heavily enough on him. Sometimes he edited himself. He substituted “I’m fine” for “My life’s turned to shit.”
His father sighed. “Ya can’t blame me for bein’ a little nosy. Or for wantin’ someone ta walk into yer life. Just checkin’.”
“Hey, it wouldn’t be a trip home if I didn’t have you an’ John breathin’ down my neck and fussin’ at me.” Logan leaned his elbows on his splayed knees and returned his father’s smirk. “That’s why I come home.”
“This is still yer home, ya know.” Jonathan handed him the albums. “Take ‘em. There’s some that are a riot. Who knows, I might just keep ‘em around ta embarrass ya the next time ya bring a lady friend home. Maybe that one ya took ta lunch.”
“Not likely, Pop.”
“She pretty?”
“Eye candy,” Logan shrugged.
“What does she look like?”
“Nice legs. Fair. Small. Red hair.”
“Hnh. Sounds like Jeannie. Or like Rose.”
It only struck Logan then that his father was right. Damn.
“Wasn’t what I was goin’ for.”
“Probably not. But it happens. Ya tend ta reach out fer what’s familiar and comfy. Yer mom was a lot like mine. I never admitted it until years down the line as we both got old. Jimmy…it’s all right ta miss yer mother. And I know it makes it hurt more, but it’s okay ta miss Jeannie, too.”
“Pop, I’m fine. Everything’s peachy keen. Okay?”
“I’m sure yer okay. I’m sure yer great. Why wouldn’t ya be? I’m proud of ya. Did ya know that?” Logan waved it away dismissively. His tone was gruff.
“Yer makin’ me blush, Pop.”
“Smart aleck. I’m proud of both of my sons. Ya’ve done a lot with yer life. I just wanna see ya happy. Indulge yer old man. Find yer happiness, whether it’s in work, play, or findin’ someone ta spend yer life with.”
“Jeannie was kind of it for me, Pop.” He leaned back and folded his arms. He looked like a sullen boy. “There wasn’t anyone else like her.”
“There might not be. That doesn’t mean there’s no one else, though. You’re young. Not bad looking, either, but I’m biased. Get a haircut, and ya might clean up okay.” Jonathan leaned forward and slapped his knee. “Ya have a lot ta offer. Don’t ever sell yerself short. Yer not dried up yet.”
“Neither are you, Pop.”
“Shit, who said I said I was?”
They spent another half hour going through old heirlooms and junk. Logan pulled aside a few clothes and books that he wanted, along with a couple of old model cars that he missed.
His father was snoring softly on the couch an hour later. John and Logan spent the rest of the afternoon left to their own devices; John took the kids out for pizza while Logan checked his email and voice mail accounts from his Blackberry and laptop. He used his father’s desk as his makeshift office. By the time he finished reading all of the memos and reviewing all of the sales attachments, he felt as though he’d spent as much time working as he would have, had he not been on vacation.
Logan stretched. He needed to get out of the house.
The sun already set; the sky turned from dove gray to inky black.
“Where are you going?” Rose looked drowsy from a nap. She had a pillow crease on her cheek. Logan watched her heat up a cup of milk for her cocoa.
“The beach.”
“Are you nuts? It’s freezing!”
“I like lookin’ at the ice.”
“Go tomorrow before you leave.”
“I just wanna stretch my legs. I won’t be gone long.”
“Drive safe.”
“Get some rest yerself, darlin’. The kids are gone. Take advantage of it now.”
“Especially while this one’s being cooperative,” she told him, patting her stomach.
“Gimme another niece or nephew ta spoil.”
“You’re a pro.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “You’re good dad material, whether you go that route or not.”
“Might not happen. That’s what Vic and Laura are for.” He wrapped his scarf around his throat and zipped up his coat. “I’ll be back.”
The ocean was frozen, waves held captive in black and gray ice. Moonlight and parking lot lamps shone down on it, picking out diamonds and pearls in the dark. Instead of lapping water, he heard howling wind. He stood against it, turning his face in to it, even though it almost hurt to breathe the cold air.
He was unbreakable. He was immovable.
He didn’t need. Let everyone else need. Even let everyone else need him.
Sure. He told himself that.
His favorite Jim Croce song came on the radio as he sat in his car a few minutes later.
>And they say, "You don't tug on Superman's cape,
You don't spit into the wind
You don't pull the mask off that ol' Lone Ranger
And you don't mess around with Jim."
He tapped his hands on the dash to it, thawing out from his walk down the sand and snow. He wished he had someone to share the sight with, even though he liked being left alone with his thoughts. After developing cabin fever in his father’s home and having the kids underfoot for the past few days, he got too big a dose of the peace that he wished for now. His trip home beckoned to him and yawned open like a black hole.
He drove back and was glad he’d been out a while, having renewed his enthusiasm to be with his family once he collected himself. The house felt warm instead of stifling, and the air was filled with the scent of baking apples.
Rose was still in the kitchen where he left her. She stood by the sink with an apple she just washed, twisting it off its stem.
“What’re ya doin’?”
“Can’t keep out of the fruit. The pie’s not ready and I want one of these.” She continued to spin it. Her lips mouthed something Logan couldn’t hear.
“What are ya doin’? Talkin’ to it?”
“Nope. Figuring out who I’m gonna marry.”
“Yer already married!” Logan practically choked on a sip of the cocoa Rose had made.
“Girls always do this. You recite a letter of the alphabet for every spin of the apple. On the last spin, when the stem breaks off, that letter is the first initial of your husband.”
“Sheesh. That explains a lot.”
A vague piece of his conversation with Tory when they first met haunted him.
Some girls like spinning an apple off its stem. One turn for each letter of the alphabet.”
Some girls. Not you?
Not my kind of wish.
He hadn’t a clue what she was getting at before; it didn’t help that she enthralled him and plied him with tequila.
Had she been burned?
Her MO at the office was clearly “hands off, Jack,” even if…well, her hands, said otherwise. And that mouth…damn it, that mouth.
Rose’s teeth crunching through the fruit brought him back to attention.
“You guys miss out on this stuff. Girls get to play all kinds of games like this before we’re old enough to wear lipstick.”
“I’ll stick ta Rock’em Sock’em robots.”
“Wussy.”
*
Ororo looked up mid-click as she cranked out another memo to Selene about an add-on plan for an April renewal when she noticed an envelope zinging across her screen.
New message, Subject: Thank you!
It was from Monet.
Ororo, thank you SO much for coming out to my dinner, and thanks again for the box. Those outfits are beautiful. I’m afraid I’m gonna need ‘em sooner than I thought, I can’t even button my jeans. I’m holding ‘em shut with rubber bands under one of Everett’s long shirts today. I appreciate you thinking of me.
Love, Monet
Ororo sighed. The note warmed her, but her melancholy threatened to come back.
Her weekend had been hell.
Ororo still enjoyed Christmas, but she despised post-holiday clean-up. Taking down a tree wasn’t a problem this year, thanks to her trip, but that left her usual burden of finding room for her purchases and gifts.
That meant throwing old stuff out. It was a bear. Too many decisions, too many promises that she would find the time and place to wear things she’d bought on impulse, and too much guilt to simply take some of it back to the store when she had the gift receipts in her purse.
She went through her closet first, diving straight into the back. About two dozen hangers of goodies hadn’t seen the light of day in months.
She hauled them out and dumped them on the bed, leafing through each one.
Peasant dress from the cotton store downtown. That had to go first. What had she been thinking? It looked like old lady cruise wear.
White pants. No. Gotta go.
Ditto a navy blue dress that looked good in the store but became the most boring thing in her wardrobe fast. It almost worked for work, except it was too casual. The right shoes could save it, the right hair could save it, and some jewelry would pep it up, but that was reaching, trying to build a look that just wasn’t her.
Lycra-blend wrap dress. That could stay.
Slightly faded denim jacket. That could stay in the back until spring. No brainer.
She folded the castoffs and tucked them into a cardboard box, returning some of the hangers to the rod. Ororo paused as she came to several outfits she didn’t recognize.
She held up the first, a long, simple A-line black dress with an empire waist. She held it up to herself in the mirror and scowled. Why was it cut so loosely? She spied the care tag: 100% cotton, tumble dry low. Size 10. Motherhood Maternity…
The room spun for a moment. Ororo sat numbly on the bed; the garment lay draped across her lap. She stared at it, stroking the soft fabric thoughtfully.
She went through the motions with the next several outfits. Only two of them were missing price tags. They were either spanking new or worn once or twice, in perfect condition.
This stuff always looks cute in the store. Once it’s on your body, it’s a different story.
Those had been her mother’s words the first time they’d actually walked into one of those stores. They rifled through rack after rack. N’dare held up so many outfits against her, clucking over the color, guesstimating how long she’d be able to wear each and whether it was even worth the money.
One by one now, she removed each garment from its hanger and laid them aside in a pile. Dark, boot-cut slacks with a Lycra insert in the waist. A black sweater. A red track suit with black trim on the cuffs. Three long-sleeved tees with gathers in the side seams, forming a convenient “pocket” for her belly. Winter clothes, anticipating a spring baby.
They all had to go. She had no room. No what ifs, no waffling and no promises to herself that they’d come in handy or that she’d miss them.
She folded them and packed them into a separate box. Ororo marked the first collection of rejects “Goodwill” with her Sharpie pen. She addressed the second one to Monet’s home.
Ororo ran her errands next, needing to get out of the house. She played her radio uncharacteristically loud, belting out Mary J. She knew drivers in neighboring lanes must have thought she was nuts, but she didn’t care.
She was restless in the post office, practically shoving the box at the worker in the next window. Ororo whipped out her debit card and paid for the exorbitant express postage, hoping Monet would consider it a late Christmas, early Valentine’s gift.
She went to the Safeway down the street from her apartment and bought groceries she didn’t need. She contemplated a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food, playing “should I or shouldn’t I?” until the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Hey, who?”
“Whaddya mean, who? I rate that high, huh?”
A cold knot formed in her stomach, and Ororo set the ice cream down on the counter. “Hi. What do you want?”
“Can’t call just to talk, huh?”
“Because we’ve had so much success in that department before.”
“You think it’s from lack of trying, though. That’s what you’ve always thought.”
“No. You’ve just proven me right. Again. Goodbye-“
“No. Don’t. Hold on. I need something. That’s why I called.”
“What?”
“The receipt for the pink slip when we renewed it.”
“The Jeep’s in your name now, Victor.”
“I know that. But you were the one who went to the DMV. Unless you wanna claim it, darlin’.”
“Don’t call me that. And don’t bother trying to be nice.” She thunked the phone down on the counter, not caring that he was still talking. It felt good to hear his voice getting far away as she stalked to her room.
She jerked her filebox out of the tiny cabinet by her desk and rifled through a folder called “Tax records.” She found the receipt exactly where it needed to be.
“Five hundred fifty-six bucks. Paid in full. I’ll drop the receipt in the mail.”
“Ya don’t hafta do that.”
“What, you want an audit? Keep it for your records.”
“Geez…”
“Is that all you called for?”
“Yeah…geez. Shit. No. I just wanted…I guess I wanted ta tell ya I’m sorry. I know it kinda sucks for ya ‘round this time of year, Tory-“
“How would you know? You don’t know that much about me if you think I’m having this conversation with you right now.”
“What, I can’t be sorry?”
“I don’t know. You didn’t act all that sorry before you left. Don’t tell me that just to make yourself feel better.” She softened slightly. “You don’t have to. I don’t need that from you, Vic.”
“Sure. Sure, ya don’t. Because yer all about not needin’ anything, Tory.” Her eyes sparked with tears she refused to shed.
“Fine. That’s exactly what I’m about. I’ll let you get back to your life.”
“Tory…it hurts. It still hurts. Okay? Am I allowed ta tell ya that?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I can’t take it back. It does hurt. I guess…if I’m feelin’ this way, I know yer feelin’ it a lot worse, and I’m havin’ a hard time with that. I hate that I caused a lot of yer pain about this.”
“You’re giving yourself too little credit,” she snapped. Ororo’s breathing grew slightly ragged. Her chest felt tight. She began to fan her eyes to dry them before she embarrassed herself. He just wasn’t worth it anymore.
“Ya don’t wanna hear me out?”
“So, what? You’re guilty? And this is supposed to make it better? That’s like giving me a Band-Aid when I’m bleeding out!” Ororo grew more agitated and began to pace her kitchen.
“I know how ya felt about becomin’ a mother.”
“What you DON’T know was how I felt about being a wife. Didn’t seem to matter to you, did it?”
“Tory…fine. Ya know what? I don’t wanna go here with ya either, any more than ya wanna hear from me. I guess I thought…I don’t know what I thought.” He paused. “It’s all about you. You’re the only one who lost him, huh? Just you.”
“Just me, you sonofabitch.”
“That’s what I thought. Bye, Tory.”
And oh, how it hurt. His pain magnified her own and resonated through her like a corridor of echoes.
She slumped back against the refrigerator and stared ahead into space. Ororo didn’t get back up until her heartbeat slowed back to normal.
For a few moments, Victor’s voice had sounded wounded and contrite, almost like a sad little boy. That made it worse, made her feel like the bad guy. More often than not, Ororo knew that was the toughest weapon in Victor’s arsenal before they went their separate ways. He had no right to make her feel that way.
She had no appetite for the ice cream. She stuffed it into the back of the freezer for future emergencies and went to lie down.
*
Ororo finished her memo and sent it off to Selene for a quick proof. She began to tackle some of her filing, sorting through the stack of paper in her inbox. It felt good to shred the duplicates, and to just be destructive in general. Each sheet made a satisfying, grinding, crunching noise as she fed them into the slot.
She stayed busy. It helped. Somewhat.
A knock on her door interrupted her “spring cleaning” of her emails. She cringed when the system administrator sent her a note that she was on his most wanted list to delete her bulk mail and cut her mailbox down to size to save bandwidth on the server.
“Mind if I come in?” Selene trilled as she entered without waiting for the answer.
“Feel free.”
“I got the memo. I had a couple of tweaks I wouldn’t mind seeing you make.”
Ororo fumed silently. “That’s fine.”
“I see you already sent it out, though.”
“The rates aren’t going to change for what we sold. It’s all there in the narrative and breakdown of what they had with their previous carrier.”
“That’s fine,” Selene agreed quickly. “I just want the memo more…polished.”
“Did you redline it?”
“Of course!” she chirped. Ororo had no doubt that her document was bleeding a slow death in her inbox.
“I can recall the other one and send out a note that I’ll have this one back before lunch.”
“Excellent. That’s my girl. Oh, Tory, before you do that, I wanted to lay something on you.”
I can barely move now. “Shoot.”
“Business travel.”
“For…?”
“A conference in Boston.”
“Not more training?”
“No. More of a meet and greet, and the chance to get to know some of the account managers there. It’s just nice to see how they run things at our sister sites, share processes and make sure the left hand knows what the right is doing.” Ororo felt irritated that she used Logan’s phrase but merely smiled.
“Have to keep everyone on the same page.”
“Which is like herding cats sometimes,” Selene admitted. “I just think it’s a nice opportunity to see one of our business hubs.” Something in Selene’s expression gave Ororo pause.
“Why? Are you planning to work there more often?”
“I’m tentatively considering a move there.” Ororo’s mouth dropped open.
“You’re kidding. I thought you loved living here in the Big Apple.”
“I’m ready for something new. Conquer some new territory, see some new faces, have a little new blood.” Her stark red lips bloomed into a smile. “And I have a special interest in that particular site.”
“And that is…?”
“A certain member of our AMT who I’ve been keeping in touch with.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve met someone?” Ororo knew she must have looked like a fish flopping off the hook.
“Donald.”
“It rings a bell.” She was drawing a blank.
“Donald Pierce. The one in Implementation. He’s kind of a pen pal.”
“Kind of, huh?” Ororo’s slow smile made Selene toy with a lock of her hair. Ororo never thought she would see the day.
“You could say that.”
“This is big. How does he feel about seeing more of you, is he excited?”
“He better be!” Selene tossed her hair and planted her hand on her hip in a gesture Ororo recognized, having done it enough herself. “But in the meantime, I had Tessa go ahead and schedule the flight. You know how to fill out the new form for the expense report, right? You’ll have an Amex card for car rental if you need it. Don’t go over fifteen dollars per meal.”
Huh? How did it go from simply telling her there was a conference to actually shoving her on a plane without so much as a by-your-leave? “When is it?”
“Next week. That won’t be a problem?” She didn’t really phrase it as a question.
“I guess it can’t be. I’m on board.”
“We’ll take the same car again, okay? Pack something warm!” And she was off before Ororo could get her bearings. But what else was new?
*
Logan’s inbox was stacked with folders and memos when he got back.
“Good ta be home,” he muttered as he booted up his PC and read the morning news from the company Intranet site.
His dad’s house had been comfortable, but Logan always slept better in his own bed. Part of him still craved the slower pace of his hometown, though. He felt chafed by the city bustle already. Every bus felt too crowded, every street a little too noisy.
He medicated himself with his mug of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and hit his emails. Despite his efforts on his laptop on his trip, his Outlook still burst with new messages, all red-flagged with attachments.
“Hey, stranger. When did you get back?” Scott’s voice was too chipper that early in the morning.
“Last night.”
“How was your dad?”
“Ornery as all get-out. He’s feelin’ a little better, but he could use a little more meat on his bones. Rose is takin’ care of that part. She made pie.”
“Heck, yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Scott agreed. “How were things back at the house?”
“The same. John and I put in a new furnace, though. Lettin’ someone else do it woulda set Pop back too much.”
“Good job. You only get one dad in this life.” Scott had lost his in a plane crash three years prior and was still feeling his loss keenly. His demeanor was cheerful most of the time, but occasionally sadness lingered in his eyes and around the corners of his mouth. It was a common bond between him and Logan once Elizabeth passed away, something that drew them together for talks over beer and darts.
“Whaddya got goin’ on today, Summers?”
“Tying up loose ends on the X-Factor account.”
“What’s that?”
“That sports drink company. They skimped a little and only bought one out of network plan with flexible spending.”
“Short and sweet, eh?”
“Yup. I have a meeting with their director later this morning. Should be a piece of cake.”
“I miss anything else?”
“Not unless you mean the conference tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Logan scowled and scanned through his emails, finding several with that in the subject line. “Shit.”
“It’s here, on the fifth floor. Pretty mellow. Cassandra Nova and a couple of the other directors planned this as a thank-you for a successful 1/1.”
“It’s not successful yet; it ain’t over. I’ve ten more clients this month alone that want to add on and change everything retro’d back.”
“Hey, take what you can get! It’s catered. It’s nice to get some props every now and again.”
“Could’ve spent the money on a bonus.”
“That would make too much sense.” Logan snorted and took a thirsty gulp of his joe.
“It’ll be a nice break from teleconferencing with everyone here.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’m considering heading out for lunch today. Did you bring anything?”
“Nah.” His cupboard was bare, once Logan threw out anything that spoiled in his fridge while he was out of town. It was time to go shopping.
“Wanna hoagie?” Logan’s mouth watered.
“Now you’re talkin’.”
“Shoot by at eleven so we can beat the rush.”
Three hours later found Logan grumbling under his breath and wanting something much stronger than coffee. He loved it when a client bought more than what was proposed, but waiting for sign-off was the eighth ring of hell.
He finally archived the emails he wanted to save and dumped the rest before checking his voice mail.
You have five unread voice messages. He punched his way through each.
“Hey there, Jim. It’s Maddie. You know, Madelyne here in New York. I was wondering if you could manage to pencil me in. I’m flying in for the conference on Friday. I’ll have a relatively early flight, it gets in at five, and I wouldn’t mind…dinner, or something. Let me know what you think. Her voice sounded silky and full of promise. Logan smiled and contemplated the possibilities.
It was just a business trip. It wasn’t like he saw her every day, or anything.
Harmless.
Right?
He pondered it on the walk to the sub shop with Summers. The cold air made his eyes water, but it was good to see daylight.
“They’ve got a decent tuna here.”
“The hell with that. I want meat. Lots of meat.”
“The number nineteen’s practically a heart attack on a plate.”
“I’ll have two.” Logan eventually only ordered the twelve-inch with a bag of sour cream and onion chips, but he tore through it like a lion set upon a wildebeest’s throat.
“Gonna have a full house tomorrow. Hope we have enough space to put everybody if they have to telecommute.”
“Probably gonna be packed asses to elbows,” Logan grumbled around a mouthful of pastrami and cheese. “I almost wanna take another day off.”
“You don’t look like you rested much.” Scott looked concerned. Logan waved it off.
“That wasn’t the point of the trip anyway, Summers. I had to take care of business.”
“So, you’re brother was there? How about the kids?” Scott loved kids and eventually wanted a whole houseful when he found Mrs. Right.
“They’re gettin’ big. Pretty soon, Vic’s gonna be big enough to get me in a headlock.”
“So, what, a few weeks from now?” Scott joked, checking his watch.
“Punkass.”
“Isn’t Rose expecting again?”
“Yup.”
“I liked her when you had her over to that garden party Jean threw.”
“Couldn’t separate ‘em the whole time.” Logan heard more about beauty appointments, compost, feminine product comparisons, catalog parties and how “your body never really goes back to what it was after you have a baby” than he ever wanted to know every time he walked into the kitchen. Rose was Jean’s partner in crime.
“How’re you holding up?”
“Good enough. Still standin’.”
“Any new developments?”
“Whaddya mean?”
“Developments,” Scott repeated meaningfully. “Whatever happened after that hookup in Mexico?” Logan choked on his soda and glared at Scott through watery eyes.
“What *aarghh* the *kaff* fuck, Summers! Shit. Ya tryin’ ta kill me. Hookup, he says.”
“Take it easy. What else do you want me to call it? Have you ever heard back from her? Stay in touch?”
What the heck could he say?
He settled on “Ya don’t wanna know.”
“Wait…so you have kept in touch? C’mon, Logan, don’t leave me hanging, ‘bro.”
“Keepin’ in touch ain’t how I’d put it, but fine. I’ll give ya that.” Logan wiped crumbs and mustard off his fingers with a paper napkin. “Found out late in the game that she’s on the network. All the same accounts for our market.”
“Same accounts? Wait…she works for the company?” Scott was incredulous.
“Damn skippy.”
“Which branch?”
“New York.” A light went on in Scott’s eyes. He stared at Logan agape.
“Holy crap.”
“Yeah. Took me by surprise.” He waited for Scott to drop the other one.
“Ororo?”
“That’s what she goes by, apparently.” Logan was still sour about the case of mistaken identity.
“Apparently? Why? She didn’t tell you that was her name before?”
“Nope. She was Tory.”
“Wait…right,” Scott said, slapping his forehead. “That’s why that was so damned familiar. Wow.”
“Wow.”
“How often does something like that happen in the universe?”
“This shit doesn’t.” Logan sucked down most of his soda. “It’s fucked up. She coulda told me.”
“Logan, when? Think about it. You said she left the hotel before you woke up. She was certainly gone when I got there.” Scott grinned. “You were torn up, man.”
“Fuck off, Summers!”
“Still, she was probably embarrassed. One night stand, you guys probably had a little alcohol. What would you have done if she’d been there? What would you have said?”
“What do ya usually say when ya wake up with someone ya don’t plan on seein’ again?”
“That’s just it. You’ve seen her. That doesn’t just happen. This is big.”
“Pfft,” Logan tossed back. “Sure it is.”
“You could have gotten her number.”
“Before or after her dress was hangin’ from the rafters?” Scott sighed.
“It just would have been cool.”
“That’s what you think. I don’t do long distance relationships. I don’t want a pen pal.”
“She seems nice. I like her.”
“So? She’s in the address book. YOU call her. She drives me nuts.”
“Why? She’s awesome. I love her emails. She’s quite the kidder.” Scott crunched a couple of chips. “Cute, too.”
“She ain’t cute.” It was too weak a description and wasn’t a word in Logan’s vocabulary, anyway.
She was sex on legs. Hot legs. Oh, what he could do “ already did “ with those legs…
“Good looking, then. She’s unique.”
“Ya plan on tryin’ a start something with her?”
“Would you care if I did?”
Logan’s fists balled up so tight his knuckles nearly popped through the skin.
“Yup. No go. I get it.” Scott wasn’t blind. “You still have a thing for her. Don’t you.”
“Yer full of shit. As if.”
“Defensive,” Scott tsked. “Man, you’re transparent. Don’t worry. I won’t blame you, and I won’t say anything.”
“Ya’ve already said too much. I ain’t goin’ there. We had fun, but it ain’t in the cards.”
“Why not stop treating it like a game? Talk to her.”
“We don’t get along, in case ya haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve hardly seen you two say two words to each other aside from meetings. You guys seem civil enough.”
“Hand her a few sharp objects the next time ya see her and me in the room, Slim, and ya can probably kiss my ass goodbye.”
“Man,” Scott muttered. He shook his head. “Fine. Water under the bridge. Let it go. You guys technically work together, anyway. Sometimes office stuff doesn’t work.”
“Compatibility’s the problem, somethin’ we don’t have, Scott.”
“If you say so.” They finished their sandwiches and watched the Knicks game on the TV mounted over the counter.
*
The following morning found Ororo staring out the hotel window at the snow flurries and white sky. She didn’t look forward to going back out in it. Selene’s sharp knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Give me a moment,” she called as she retrieved her winter boots. She opened them and whistled at her manager’s long black coat. The collar was trimmed in what looked like real mink. “You want to risk wearing that out in the street? With all those animal rights nuts walking around with spray paint and ketchup?”
“Plenty of women in Boston wear fur,” Selene argued. “It’s not even that much. I’m no Philistine walking around in hides that still have the heads attached, for God’s sake.” Ororo shrugged and tugged on her boots. She tucked her heels in her carryall and shouldered her way into her long violet wool coat.
Ororo walked fast once they left the lobby, partly due to the cold and to make a speedy getaway before PETA caught up to Selene’s mink. They made it to the parking garage with no incident and used the GPS, getting slightly turned around on a couple of one-way streets.
“Remember your badge,” Selene nagged as she parked. Ororo wrestled with her carryall and fished it out of her purse in tandem, wishing she had more hands. Her security lanyard dangled from her hand as she flashed it at the receptionist. Her name plaque on the circular desk named her Yukio. Ororo sighed inwardly; she was garbed in all black, like Selene. It was practically standard issue, the company’s armor for everyone Ororo saw in the building.
“Sign in for me?” She handed the clipboard over the counter. “Wow! Don’t you both look nice!” Ororo smiled back; without turning her head, she felt Selene preening under her praise in her coat.
“Which floor do we want?”
“Fifth. Straight up, down the hall to the left.”
“Is there a…bathroom?”
“Right around the corner, Sunshine.” The receptionist winked. Ororo felt as though she’d been undressed. Selene cleared her throat.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly as they hurried through the double doors, keying the plate with their IDs.
A quick pit stop, makeup touchup, and trip to the water fountain later, they headed up in the surprisingly plush elevator. Music even played softly through the speakers.
“So far, this is nice.”
“I’ll be impressed if they have decent food.”
“People don’t do too shabbily in regard to food here. I’m dying to hit Faneuil Hall if we get to go to Quincy Market this week.”
“It’s not in my day planner. We’re not going to be in town that long.”
“Never mind. It was just a thought.” But Ororo was disappointed. What was a trip to Boston without doing some sight-seeing?
They followed the tide of business suits toward the huge conference room. The tables had been reconfigured into three large circles to enable people to talk more easily without having to lean over their neighbors.
“Hello, stranger,” a deep, slightly nasal voice purred. Ororo recognized it quickly and knew immediately it wasn’t for her.
“There you are,” Selene cooed back. She took Donald Pierce’s hand in both of hers and held it too long. He wasn’t bad looking, Ororo mused; tall, blond, and relatively fit for a man who looked to be in his early fifties. He wore a double-breasted power suit in “ of course “ black, but interestingly, his shirt, vest and tie were all blazing white. He and Selene practically matched.
“You made it all right.”
“We did. How long have you been here?”
“I came in a couple of hours early so I could finish running the eligibility tapes Nate sent.”
“Eager beaver.”
“Early bird,” he shrugged. His eyes crinkled and he slowly let go of Selene’s hands for appearance sake. And to shake Ororo’s briefly. His grip was so firm it hurt. Ow. Leggo! She smiled with some difficulty.
“Nice to meet you, Donald.”
“Call me Don.”
“Thanks.”
“And you go by…?”
“Tory,” Selene offered for her. “She’s my star underwriter.”
“Oh. Wait…isn’t that…?”
“Ororo,” she piped up.
“Ah.” Donald’s expression was bland. “Have you had any coffee yet?” It was directed mainly at Selene. Ororo drifted away, planning to find a table to park their coats.
Halfway down the aisle between tables, she heard her name.
“Ororo?” She was smiling before she even turned around. Scott looked fresh and comfortable in a sweater and blazer. He clasped her shoulder warmly and shook her hand properly, without crushing her knuckles.
“Yay. Someone sane.”
“Jury’s still out on that. And the morning’s young. How was your flight?”
“Short and cold. I had on my coat for most of it and those little blankets they give you suck.”
“You look nice.”
“Likewise.”
“Hungry? They set out a few goodies already to pick at.”
“I could eat a moose. Without condiments or utensils.”
“Easy, killer.”
“Lead the way.”
They wove their way through the growing crowd, doling out a round of “excuse me’s” and “beg your pardon’s.” It was par for the course; Ororo was from the city. She didn’t know what wide open spaces were.
Ororo practically fell over a woman who backed up right into her path, nearly knocking her off her spindly stiletto heels.
“Oh!”
“Gah!” She was petite. Ororo was grateful she didn’t bowl her over.
“I wasn’t watching.”
“No harm done.”
“DIdn’t I see you at that training?”
“We sat in the same aisle,” Ororo reminded the redhead politely.
“That’s it. I’m Maddie.”
“Tory.”
“So you work out of the New York office, then? That’s your home base?”
“Yup.”
“You’ve got the accent.”
“So do you.” Maddie sounded like a total New Englander, including the slightly flat vowels and the “r” that was nonexistent at the end of the word.
Suddenly Maddie looked past Ororo’s shoulder and her face lit up. “Could you excuse me?” Before she could even reply, Ororo watched her gallop off in her high heels toward the exit.
“James! You made it!”
Ororo watched in disbelief as Logan smiled casually at her approach. The redheaded heifer shook his hand, holding onto it like it was made of gold. She leaned in and gave him a one-armed hug and cheek rub combo.
“Well…shit.”
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