A Low Blue Flame

by A. J. Downey

“Right,” he said. “Identification?”

  I blushed and pulled out my production ID with my author name on it and my given name and handed it and my new Maryland state ID over the counter. He looked at them both like he didn’t believe who I was and said, “I’m going to need to see a proper ID with the name ‘Timber Philips’ on it, Ms…” he checked my license again, “Banks.”

  “Hey, don’t do that, man. She’s trying to be polite. There’s no need to talk to her that way,” Backdraft said, and his tone was gentle but firm.

  “And you are...?” the clerk asked and I stiffened taken aback.

  “Is there a manager I can speak to, please?” I asked, abruptly. I was pretty done with this guy.

  “Timber!” We all turned to the voice that called out and I smiled, my shoulders sinking with relief as Veronica hurried across the lobby in our direction.

  “Problem?” she asked.

  “Yeah, guy’s being a total dick,” Backdraft stated flatly, and Veronica gave me a long slow exaggerated blink, her expression saying it all. When she turned, she gave the clerk a pointed look.

  “Problem?” she demanded again, and the clerk tugged his jacket down and shook his head.

  “This is Timber Philips, I’m officially vouching for her. Now, get her a damn room key,” Veronica snapped and I got the distinct impression that this wasn’t the first problem she’d had with the hotel.

  The clerk did his job but didn’t look happy about it, and he held out the room key to Veronica. She snatched it out of his hand, rolled her eyes, and handed it to me. I took it; he said, “Room 1422,” in a bored tone, and Backdraft looked like he was about to come unglued. I put my hand on his arm and jerked my head toward the elevator leading up into the rest of the hotel.

  We trooped over and called it to the lobby, and when the doors swept open, stepped on board. As soon as the doors shut and the elevator began to lift, Veronica and I squealed like the two excited girls we were, hugged, and bounced up and down.

  Backdraft looked surprised and turned a little bit green as he said, “Whoa!” I tried to rein in my excitement, remembering what he’d said about elevators and entrapments before he quickly followed it up with, “Do that again.” He grinned, I laughed, and Veronica did too before holding out a slim hand.

  “Veronica Preston,” she said and arched one auburn brow. “You must be Backdraft.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a slow, sexy grin and I rolled my eyes. Just friends, I reminded. Just friends, you can’t be jealous and why wouldn’t he flirt? Veronica is beautiful.

  She was, too. Tall and slim, perfectly toned, with long auburn hair swept up into a high ponytail. She wore a perfectly-tailored matching dark-brown suit jacket and pencil skirt with light gold pinstripes and a cream silk blouse underneath. Her high spike heels were a chocolate-brown alligator skin, though I didn’t think it was real.

  “Nice to meet you, Backdraft.”

  He looked past her and his eyes landed on me, a questioning look in them as he asked, “Lil didn’t introduce me as Emmet?”

  “Why would I?” I asked. “That may be your name, but it’s not the one you choose to go by. I told you that your preference mattered more than formality.”

  His mouth drew down into that classic, I’m impressed look and he asked, “So, we’re here, what’s the plan?”

  Veronica laughed and said, “I like him.”

  I grinned. “I told you,” I said.

  Backdraft paused. “Wait, you told her what, exactly?” Veronica and I exchanged a look and both of us burst out laughing. Backdraft reeled back and said, “Oh, oh-ho, I see how it is!”

  The elevator doors opened and we stepped off onto our floor. We found the room and I slid the keycard into the lock. The little light blinked green and I opened the door into a typical hotel room with a single king sized bed in it.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Veronica looked like she was fuming. “I’m going to feed that little twerp every brass button off that vest in reverse.”

  “What does that even mean?” Backdraft asked.

  “Up his ass,” I explained.

  “Come on, we’re going to get this fixed,” Veronica declared.

  Cue over forty-five minutes of arguing with the hotel staff and management over the lack of pre-ordered accommodation as laid out in the initial agreed-upon booking. Or, so Veronica said. She was pretty much to the point that even her unflappable calm was severely damaged. I expected her to lunge over the booking desk at any second and make good on her promise upstairs. Me? I sucked at confrontation. I just wanted everyone to stop fighting and being angry at each other.

  Backdraft ended up being the calm to prevail when he stepped in and put his hand on Veronica’s shoulder.

  “Clearly they aren’t willing to compromise,” he said. “In the interest of not causing a total scene right now, this room will do, but you know what? There’s a thing called Yelp and there’s plenty of other social media outlets, so this is what’s going to happen. Your hotel is going to comp the room completely, and in exchange, on our end, Lil here isn’t going to pick up her pen. Trust me, boys. Her pen is indeed mightier than her sword and she could completely destroy your hotel’s reputation.” The desk clerk looked down his nose at me and the manager finally took a good look and blanched. Backdraft’s smile was pure evil as he said, “That’s the compromise, boys. Either take it or you put your head between your legs and kiss your asses goodbye.”

  I tried to back up Backdraft’s threat by calmly looking them back in the eyes like I was already thinking about what to write and how to phrase things. The manager, realizing that I was, indeed, the real Timber Philips, asked us, “Would you like a complimentary breakfast served in your room, or will you be taking it in the restaurant?”

  “Attaboy, and in our room, if you please.”

  The manager looked to me for confirmation and I smiled sweetly. “That would be lovely, thank you,” I said calmly, and Veronica gave me a tight-lipped smile with a raised eyebrow.

  We left the front desk and went back for the elevator and she said, “Impressive, you two.”

  “Not really,” Backdraft said, tiredly. “Feel like we took the low road.”

  “We did, but it wasn’t any lower than the road they seem to travel on a regular basis,” I murmured.

  “Right, totally the high road by comparison,” Veronica agreed. She gave me some side-eye and asked, “You’re going to rake this place over a verbal cheese-grater even after they comped the room, aren’t you?” I gave her a tight-lipped smile back and sighed. She knew me so well.

  “They comped the studio,” I said with a shrug. “We’re the ones they insulted.”

  “That’s a good point,” Backdraft said. He was looking at me like he was duly impressed.

  I sighed, it was a bit of a damper on the trip but I refused to let it get to me. Instead, I changed the topic completely and asked Veronica, “Did you bring them?”

  “I will have them brought up, now that we know your room number.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Bring what?” Backdraft asked.

  “The clothes she ordered, and the designer dress the studio ordered to put her in for the red carpet.”

  “I don’t have any idea how any of this works,” he confessed and Veronica smiled.

  “That’s ‒my‒ job, thank you very much,” she said.

  “Dinner is?” I asked, and Veronica launched into doing what she did best. I smiled at Backdraft and let him be swept along with the Hollywood tide.

  13

  Backdraft…

  This shit was nuts.

  Before I knew what was happening, the girls were talking a mile a minute about timelines, and inside ten minutes there was a dude knocking on the hotel room door to take my measurements. By the time he was done, I felt vaguely violated. He’d gotten all up in my junk, supposedly to measure my inseam. I’d been so insecure it’d left Lil and Ronnie howling with laughter and nearly in tears.
>
  If Pasquale could only see me now. I’d thought.

  Then it was a delivery of some high-end retail bags and a black, nondescript garment bag. Lil asked a few questions and Veronica told her not to worry, that hair and makeup would be there bright and early, and somehow, that included me.

  Next thing was dinner, because the cheesesteaks had long since worn off. That’d been pretty okay, just me, Lil, and Ronnie in the hotel restaurant and bar. They comped it, of course, not that it swayed Lil much. She still had that calculating look and I almost genuinely feared for this hotel. She’d feed their reputation like she fed unwanted pages of one of her manuscripts: through a shredder. I’d read some of her books, I knew she had the writing chops to do it.

  Out of everything that’d happened that day, it was finally time for what I’d found myself anticipating the most. I was chilling on one side of the bed in a pair of boxers and one of my favorite, but damn-near worn-out, tees channel surfing, waiting for Lil to get out of the bathroom and come to bed.

  She’d taken a long shower after insisting that I go first and just when I thought she’d be out, the hairdryer started up. I smiled to myself and had to wonder if she was putting off the inevitable. Wasn’t she the one to say that ‘friends slept next to each other all the time’? That it wasn’t a big deal?

  The hair dryer shut off and the bathroom door opened. She stepped out and I tried to get my admiring sweep in before she looked up and caught me. If I didn’t think it’d make her even more nervous, I would have given a low whistle.

  She was gorgeous. Her blonde hair foamed around her face, freshly dried. She wore this tiny satin and lace sleep set, black edged in off-white lace, a little cami and pair of short-shorts that put her legs on display. She was a short woman, and I actually liked that about her. There was something about being taller that made me feel all manly or some shit. Sexist as hell, but also true. That being said, she didn’t have a pair of legs that most dudes would go for but I liked that about her too. She had thighs I could grab onto and haul her across the bed by, but she wasn’t fat, no way. She was muscular from all that swimming she did. Fit and toned, more athlete than model.

  Down, down, you need to go down! I thought at my cock, then frantically tried to come up with something that would kill any boner. Thankfully, in my line of work, I had plenty of horror shows to use for backup in situations like this. I also didn’t have to tap a single one of them, thankfully. All I had to do was think about Torrid and I was good, boner sufficiently laid to rest. Rest in peace, buddy. I thought at it.

  “You okay?” she asked nervously, rubbing at a spot on the top of her arm near her elbow with the thumb of her opposite hand.

  “Yeah! Yeah, I’m good. What you got going on, though?” I gestured to the arm and she sort of laughed and came around the bed.

  “Tendon gets a little angry from so much typing. My back, arms, wrists, and hands can sometimes be a real mess. I do massages regularly but I don’t always stretch like I should. Hazard of the job, I’m sure you know how that goes.”

  “Sure do,” I said softly, patting the empty side of the bed. She climbed up and I pushed myself into a sitting position holding out my hands for her arm. She reluctantly handed it over. I put my thumb over the spot she’d been working on and watched her face carefully as I applied pressure. She winced and I backed off just a little and started working it in small circles. The wincing came back and settled into a little grimace, which is right where I wanted it.

  No discomfort meant you weren’t getting the job done when it came to these types of injuries, but too much discomfort meant you were probably doing more harm than good. The goal was to make her feel better, feel good, not worse. I wanted to fix it, not hurt her more. I ached to do more, though. I ached to make us both feel good, but that’s not what we’d agreed to.

  Just friends…

  “Thanks,” she murmured, and took her arm back gently.

  “Any time.”

  “Tired?” she asked.

  “Not too bad, figured I’d watch a little bad hotel TV.” She looked at Sports Center playing out and made a face. I chuckled.

  I eased back down so I could lounge some more and she got up and slipped between the sheets. She laid on her side and tucked her hands under her cheek. I switched off the TV, struck by how tired and somber she seemed all of a sudden and shrank down the bed some, turning on my side with a pillow hugged to my chest so I could face her.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  She gave me a half smile and said, “Don’t get me wrong, I love these things, seeing my books come to life on the big screen is always amazing...” She hesitated.

  “But?” I gently pried.

  “But the politics and the media, all of the attention and flashing lights… what happened with the room and how you’re sometimes treated… it can be exhausting.”

  “Spoken like a true introvert,” I said with a smile and she smiled too, pushing down a laugh. I sighed and said, “Let’s get some sleep.”

  “You don’t want to watch TV?” she asked.

  “Changed my mind,” I said when what I was thinking was Really, I’d rather watch you. I got up and switched out lights, returning to the bed and sliding under the blankets with her. She huddled on her side on her side of the bed and I asked, “You cold?”

  “A little, but you’re warm,” she inched closer, and I smiled and pulled her over. She turned over and I spooned her, a little sad I couldn’t see her face, thinking every boner-killing thought I could scrounge up, and settling her curves into the protective cover of my larger frame. She fit perfectly.

  “Better?”

  “Better,” she said, and her voice was tentative and shy.

  We talked softly in the close dark and it was nice, learning more, sharing intimate thoughts. Some hopes, some dreams. We settled into a natural silence, but I lay awake what seemed like a long time after she’d fallen asleep. I closed my eyes and listened to her deep and even breathing and took a liberty for myself. Pressing my lips in a single chaste kiss against the back of her silky-smooth, lightly-scented shoulder. She’d used a lotion on her skin; something exotic and fruity with hints of spicy vanilla.

  I settled in and let myself enjoy her closeness and wished like hell it could be something more than what it was currently, but I was too damn scared to push it further. I’d rather have this ‘just friends’ over ‘nothing at all’.

  Life with her in it was just too good compared to what it’d been before.

  The next day was a total fucking whirlwind of activity for Lil, but for me, not so much. I couldn’t believe the amount of shit they put her through for the red carpet that night. She was waxed, buffed, and polished to within an inch of her life and none of it looked pleasant to accomplish. Meanwhile, I sat in the corner and listened, sometimes joining in on the conversation, while everything went on around us.

  They’d turned one of the hotel’s conference rooms into an impromptu salon, spa, and barber shop and it didn’t surprise me when the stylist said, “Your turn, honey.”

  I found myself thinking that the guy could give Pasquale a run for his money as I sat in his chair. A shave with a hot towel, and a haircut that didn’t seem necessary but looked sharp went down; when I was done, Lil had been moved and was nowhere to be seen.

  “Don’t worry, she’ll meet you in the lobby in a bit. Let’s get you dressed.”

  “Seriously?”

  “What?”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve got it, not something I need help with.”

  He leaned back and gave me that hyper-sober look I was used to getting from Pasquale anytime we told him something he didn’t want to hear.

  “You know I’ve seen it all before, right?” he asked. “No need to hide what you might be compensating for with all of the rest of this.”

  I laughed and just kind of stood there trying to gauge if he was for real. He waved his hand dramatically and stopped in the same exact pose he’d started in.
It was a little bit of a standoff.

  “Well? What are you standing there for?” he waved his hand at me dramatically again and I sighed. The “Shoo!” put it over the line, though. Challenge accepted.

  I hauled my shirt over my head and demanded, “Where’s this damn monkey suit?”

  The stylist walked over to a rack and selected a garment bag off of it and unzipped it. When he turned around, his overly-penciled eyebrows shot up as he swept me from head to toe, lingering on my Jockey boxer-briefs a little longer than was polite.

  “I stand corrected, honey,” he said, and held out the hanger. I went over and found the pants first.

  I pulled them on and realized they hadn’t been hemmed. No shit, that guy tailored the hem of those pants and the sleeves on that jacket right then and there. I’d never had a tux fit so damn good in my life. Usually, it was tight in the shoulders and loose in the torso, but I could just get away with it without looking like I was trying to wear my dad’s suit.

  This was nice: black pants, black shirt, black jacket, with a muted emerald-green necktie and a matching handkerchief for the pocket. He messed with my hair again and nodded at the final result in the mirror.

  “Time to wake-up to make-up, honey.”

  “No way, I didn’t sign on for that,” I said, laughing, and Martine, pronounced ‘Mar-teen’, gave me another flat look.

  “You don’t and you are going to look like hell on camera. I’m not talking any guyliner or anything like that, baby. I’m talking just the basics. That, and you’re here, which means you did sign up for it.”

  “Shit,” I muttered. Lil was gonna owe me. Like ‘watching football at the firehouse’ owe me. I was going to have to do something hyper-masculine to balance this shit out, but for her I really would do anything at this point, and so, being the good sport that I was, I gritted my teeth and gave a nod.

  He put a drape on me and shoved tissue paper into my collar all the way around and got to work. That shit had to be the weirdest feeling, but I had to hand it to him, he was right. He’d snapped a before-and-after pic with his cellphone to prove it and in the first pic I looked like death warmed over; in the second I was alive, so I ate it.