Exchange

by CF Frizzell

  Mel flipped through the papers on her desk and found her pen. God, I can’t hear this. “I’m not discussing Shay Maguire anymore. Go do something.”

  “Any more late-night rendezvous you want to confess?”

  Mel raised her pen. “I’ll throw this at you.”

  Mike sat back. “When did it happen?”

  Mel frowned severely. “Nothing happened.”

  “Something did. When? Did she come on to you?”

  “You are absolutely the worst busybody in Tomson.”

  “She did and you two clicked.” He clapped his hands together gleefully. “I knew it!”

  “She didn’t come on to me, Mike. We are friends, yes.”

  He snorted. “Have you slept with her?”

  “Hey!”

  “It’s just a question.”

  “And none of your business.”

  “Jesus, I hope you did. Told you you’d be great together. Does Misty know?”

  Mel slammed the pen down. “No, Misty doesn’t know. I mean, we didn’t—There’s nothing to know.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m going to grab a beer at the club tonight and I’ll get the scoop from her.”

  “Unlike you, Misty is a good friend. She doesn’t gossip.”

  “So there is a scoop.”

  “Mother of God. Give it a rest, would you?”

  Mike straightened in the chair. “I’m shooting the work at the Five Star later. Maybe I’ll run into Shay.”

  “Don’t you dare put her on the spot. This is my personal life you’re toying with.”

  He stood and picked up his bag. “I’d never say a word. I’m just razzing you because I care, but I know something’s going on.”

  *

  Shay dismounted at the back porch to Della’s office, debating just how much of Sorvini’s character she should destroy. She reached for the railing but was abruptly hauled back by the arm, and Sorvini delivered a smashing backhand that knocked her on her ass.

  The world went black for a second, the hum in her head deafening. Something warm and wet tickled her nose, then spread to her upper lip, and she blinked up at his raging face, much too close for comfort.

  Instinct pushed her to her feet, but she swayed in place, too dizzy to retaliate. Son of a bitch!

  Sorvini barked, and his hot breath made her cringe. “Mother-fucking dyke!”

  Shay pressed a hand to her mouth and looked down to find it covered in blood. She’d also bled onto her favorite shirt.

  Sorvini shoved her, and she staggered backward. He capitalized on that momentum and shoved her again. She threw up an arm to block his, but he fended her off and pushed again. Off balance, Shay hit the building hard. Her head spun and her vision went fuzzy.

  “You fucking make an ass of me in public? You fucking dyke? I might just clean your clock right here and now.” He seethed into her face, his bulk nearly blocking out the sky. “You know what it’s taking, not beating you to a pulp?” He seized a fistful of her shirt by the neck and banged her against the building. Daylight dimmed. “Wanna play the man, huh? Come on, then, dyke, show me what you got.”

  “Get your hands off me, Sorvini,” she muttered, blood and saliva mixing along a trail to her chin. A split in her lip stung when she spoke. And trying to breathe through her nose felt like she was under water. Her jaw throbbed.

  Sorvini yanked her toward him and then slammed her against the wall with all his considerable might. Her head hit first, and her knees began to buckle. Everything went black again, for a bit longer this time, long enough for Sorvini to land a punch to her face. The impact snapped her head sideways, and then a follow-up punch dropped her to the gravel.

  She had no concept of time, no idea how long she’d been on the ground before becoming conscious of a sturdy hand on her shoulder and a familiar male voice calling her name.

  “Shay! Come on, Shay. Wake up. Jesus Christ.”

  Opening her eyes didn’t accomplish much so she shut them again. The left one wasn’t cooperating anyway. Damn, this guy’s persistent. She swallowed, and the coppery taste made her gag. And that hurt like a bastard. Her cheekbone, jaw, nose, even her teeth hurt when the pain of everything else forced them to grind together. And someone must have glossed her lips with liquid fire.

  She groaned as she was pulled into a sitting position against the building. Cautiously, she peered out at her savior, a tall, thin fellow squatting down, holding her upright.

  “Shay? What the hell happened? Can you hear me?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Can you see me? It’s Mike. From the Chronicle.”

  “Hey.”

  “I’m taking you to the clinic. You need stitches. Can you sit there by yourself?”

  “Mmm. Foggy.”

  “Yeah, no doubt. Listen, I’m going around front to get my car. I’ll be right back, okay?” He backed away slowly, then ran.

  Shay prodded her jaw, delicately worked it up and down, relieved it still functioned even though it hurt like hell to touch. Her cheek was wet, and she traced the moisture up to a slice across her cheekbone. Her nose was still straight and she had all her teeth, but her lips felt puffy and they were a bloody mess. And she estimated that her left eye would be swollen shut within minutes. Sorvini. Christ, what did you hit me with?

  Suddenly, Della was on the back porch. “Oh my God!” Shay heard high heels hammer down the steps. “Chicago! Look at you!”

  Mike’s Volkswagen arrived in cloud of dust, and he scrambled around the car to crouch before Shay.

  “Is she all right?” Della gasped.

  “Does she look all right?” He draped Shay’s arm over his shoulders and put his own around her waist. “Look, Ms. Slattery, do her a favor and call her house, her friends. Tell them I’m bringing her to the clinic.”

  Shay blinked repeatedly to focus on Della. She winced as Mike hoisted her to her feet, and fresh blood began flowing from her cheek, nose, and bottom lip.

  “Della.”

  “Don’t talk, Chicago,” she said, and hustled to open Mike’s side door. “Just take it easy.” She retreated to let Mike maneuver Shay onto the seat. “Did she say who did this?”

  “No. She was out cold when I spotted her. Who knows for how long.”

  “Well, I hate to assume it was someone on my ranch.”

  Mike shut the door and sighed as he rounded the car. “Y’think?”

  “I have to reach my foreman immediately.”

  Mike drove carefully until he left the gravel driveway, then sped off. Shay just shut her eyes and tried not to vomit. She thought it grossly unfair that her stomach wanted to make her even more miserable.

  “Mel, it’s me. Listen up.” Mike spoke rapidly into his cell as he approached the center of town. “I’m taking Shay to the clinic. Someone’s done a number on her. Yes, Shay. I don’t know. I just found her at the ranch. Yes, okay. Good.” He threw the phone into the console. “Just when I thought you were becoming the most popular gal in town, Shay Maguire, this happens.”

  Shay moaned as her head bobbed forward, blood dripping from her nose and mouth to her jeans. Mike guided her head back to the headrest with a free hand, and Shay groaned again and put a palm over her stomach.

  “Hey, no pukin’ in my baby, okay? Hang on. We’re almost there.”

  Shay lurched when the car stopped and was glad Mike had belted her upright. She also was thankful for whoever it was helping him get her inside, and for being able to lie down, finally.

  Outside, Mel and Coby arrived simultaneously, and Coby fired off questions as they hurried into the building.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “Someone beat her up, Mike said.”

  “Jesus Christ.” She pointed at Mel’s eye. “Somebody hit you, too?”

  “Huh? Oh. No. Somebody broke my office window, and I dodged everything but the door.”

  “Goddamn, you two are a pair. So, you know who did this to Shay?”

  Frantic, they looked around the empty reception
area.

  “No idea. I’d just seen her this morning at Moriarty’s Lumber.”

  “And? Jesus, Mel. This is like pulling teeth. What happened?” Coby glanced around the room again, impatient. She slapped the countertop several times. “Anybody home here?”

  “Angelo Sorvini is my bet. He was furious with her and made a fool of himself, but I bet he blames her.”

  “Oh, this is going to be one hell of a mess.” She pounded the counter with her fist. “Hey! Where is everybody? Screw it. Come on.”

  Mel followed Coby around the counter and down the hall to the exam rooms, letting her poke her head into each one. The third door Coby swung wide open.

  “Found you, you pain in the ass.”

  “Shay!” Mel gasped from the doorway. Darkened by bruises and half-coated in blood, Shay’s swollen face and bloodied shirt lay in stark contrast to the white exam table. Mel crossed the threshold but stopped. The automatic nature of her reaction startled her, the familiar reticence did not. Still, she knew her instinct had shifted.

  The nurse finished situating pillows behind Shay’s back and head and turned on them. “Both of you, out.” She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Shay’s arm. “Hi, Mel. Only family, you know. Now out.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Coby said from the foot of the exam table.

  “Are you family?”

  Coby folded her arms. “Yeah, I’m her sister.”

  A doctor arrived and recognized Mel as he squeezed past her.

  “Hi, Mel. Friend of yours or are you here for this woman’s story?”

  “Friend first, Dr. Yarrow.”

  He opened the remaining buttons of Shay’s shirt and reached beneath her tank top with the stethoscope. They watched him manipulate Shay’s head, prod, lift, and generally cause her more pain. Again, blood trickled from her lips.

  “We’ll need some pictures to be sure,” he said into Shay’s one bloodshot eye, “but we may have a slight fracture here.” He moved his fingers from her jaw to the bones surrounding her closed eye. “This concerns me more.” A glance at the nurse earned him a nod. “I’d also like to rule out concussive injury, so we have some work to do.”

  He took Shay’s chart from the nurse and started scribbling.

  “Will she need to go the hospital?” Coby asked.

  “Can’t be sure yet,” he answered, not looking up. “We’ll take some X-rays to see. If you all would take a seat out front, we’ll let you know shortly.” He patted Shay’s arm. “Ms. Maguire, you sit tight, okay? We’ll see about getting you stitched up. And put on your prettiest face for the camera.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Shay muttered as he handed off her chart and walked out.

  “Just what we need,” Coby sniped, “a comedian.”

  The nurse spread her arms wide to herd them out. “Have a seat, folks. It’ll be a while.”

  Coby stepped around her. She went to Shay’s side, placed a palm on her chest, and leaned down.

  “Sorvini?”

  “Never had a chance,” Shay said. “Aww, think I’m gonna hurl.”

  “Nurse!” Coby grabbed a plastic basin off a nearby counter. “I gotcha. Roll this way.”

  “No. My head’s splitting.”

  The nurse edged Coby away from the bed. “Outside. Now.”

  “I bet she’s got a concussion. Be careful.”

  “I’m only saying this once more. Out!”

  “We’re not going far, Shay. Be strong.”

  Mel tugged at Coby’s shirt. “You should call the Exchange, give Misty an update.”

  Coby nodded and squeezed Shay’s hand. “Back in a bit.” She glared at the nurse and stormed past Mel. “Try to stay with her.”

  The nurse guided Mel into the hallway. “So is your black eye related to this?”

  “I just ran into my office door Sunday night. Someone threw a brick through the window and I turned too fast.”

  “Wow, Mel. Never a slow news day in the busy metropolis of Tomson, huh?”

  “Count your blessings, Erica. Just wait till we’re a thriving shopping Mecca.”

  “Ha. No kidding. Seems things are getting more hectic, the closer we get to birthing Slattery’s dream child.” She tossed a thumb toward Shay. “This one will give you a story, no doubt. I’d say she’s as tough as she looks, too. I give her credit, though. That day we protested at the Heights, she stepped right in and rescued Joanie McGilvary. Took a wicked blow to the head for it. I saw the whole thing.”

  “I remember the pictures.”

  “My guess is somebody has a thing against her because she’s, you know…”

  “She’s what, Erica? Catholic? Russian? I know—vegan.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. A lesbian. Hard-core, if you ask me. Listen, if you really need to get your scoop, you go ahead in and talk with her. I’ll stay right here, if you’d feel better about it.”

  “I’d just like a few words.” She wanted far more than that. And the insinuation that Mel needed protection from Shay irked her. “You don’t have to stay. She’s no terrorist or psychopath.”

  Erica patted Mel’s shoulder and went to the next exam room.

  Mel turned to Shay. She leaned against the door frame and studied the tortured face. How long since I kissed it?

  “Are we alone?” Shay murmured.

  Mel went to her quickly. “As ideal conditions as we’ll get for a while, I’m afraid.”

  “Then you’re definitely not safe, fine lady.”

  “Such a tease.” She ran her fingers lightly through Shay’s hair and cupped her right cheek and jaw.

  “Now who’s teasing?”

  “You’re a mess.”

  “You make me feel like a million bucks.” Blood threatened to spill off her lower lip.

  “So, what’s the other guy look like?”

  “Sorvini. I never saw him coming.”

  “For that business this morning?”

  “Yeah. For making him look like the ass he is.”

  “Okay. Shh. You’re bleeding again.” She found gauze nearby and dabbed at the thin stream heading toward Shay’s chin.

  “Christ, just two shots and he does me in. Well, two’s all I remember.”

  “Shh, I said.”

  “Jeez, Mel. I must be losing my touch.”

  Mel’s anger rose. Damn, she hated that man as much as she did Della. His beating Shay’s face to a bloody pulp made her crazy, overwhelmed her self-control. She felt so emotionally raw, torn between vengeance and desire, she lost track of where she was.

  She stroked Shay’s right jaw with the back of her fingers. “You’ve got just the right touch.”

  Shay took Mel’s hand and kissed it. They both noticed the blood she left behind.

  “Gee,” Shay said, her voice gravelly, “got lipstick on you.”

  “You certainly did, Ms. Maguire, and I’m going to leave it right where it is.”

  “Oh.” From the doorway, Erica watched their hands lower to the bed. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mel. I thought you’d left.”

  Mel took a deep steadying breath, her nervous heart thumping wildly, and she felt Shay squeeze her hand as she withdrew.

  “No problem at all,” she said as brightly as possible. “In fact, your timing is perfect. I’m leaving you to your chores.” She rubbed Shay’s shoulder briefly. “Don’t run off on us, Maguire.”

  “No chance.”

  Mel elbowed Erica as she left. “Thank you.”

  Out in the hall, she dared congratulate herself for not crawling under the bed when Erica witnessed their tender moment. And once she pushed the ramifications from her mind, her nerves even settled a bit.

  “Mel?”

  Erica appeared at her shoulder and Mel fought to relax. She should have known Erica wouldn’t let it go.

  “Hey, um, about that, just then?” Mel offered only a questioning look. “I’m sorry if, y’know, earlier, if I said something I shouldn’t have.”

  Mel gave every impress
ion of struggling to recall that conversation. “All you said, really, was that Shay’s a lesbian and even something of a hero.”

  “Yeah. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t offend you, seeing as how you two are…close.”

  “We’re good friends. She is tough and hard-core, but I got the scoop.” She winked as she walked away, at least for this moment downright proud of herself.

  But the drive home sank that emotional high into the depths of her stomach. She knew what Erica had seen, how rumors grew, and what they could cost her. Sensational headlines written by a replacement editor flashed through her mind, visions of her father’s threatening face so real she had to stop the Subaru on the side the road and collect herself.

  She’d succumbed to his power play, backed into the closet he made, and, in effect, closed the door on herself. And now, with only eight months left before he signed the Chronicle over to her, she could pay the price. In forgetting herself with that display of affection at the clinic, she’d taken a profound step she couldn’t retract. It was so right. A step out of that damn closet was a step into oncoming traffic, a head-on collision with him and a substantial percentage of her readership.

  Why in the name of God did I ever agree to this? Mel pounded the steering wheel. With rumors circulating, she knew she’d soon be the talk of the town, forced into public denials just to placate her father, and the struggle would be insufferable, both personally and professionally. As much as she hated every aspect of his game, the thought that he now might oust her at any time made her nauseous. She wrapped her arms around herself and fought back angry tears, as ashamed of herself as she was of him. He was that out of touch with the times, that afraid of “tarnishing” the family name and the newspaper he’d inherited but had no desire to run. Of course, she could beat him to the punch, tell everyone to go to hell, and finally pursue a relationship she wanted…and watch her father sell her newspaper to the Tribune.

  She’d never have both the Chronicle and a relationship with Shay, not in Tomson, at least not in the foreseeable future. She knew she’d have to steel herself and make a firm choice. Damn her conscience, now whispering ever louder, reminding her of what really mattered and what didn’t.