Exchange

by CF Frizzell

  Shay wandered to the far end of the dock. “You think I’m pressing?” She stuffed her fists into her pockets. “I just want her to give herself a chance, give us one.”

  “Give yourself time, too, Shay.”

  “Time.” That’s a familiar theme. She turned and they headed back to the house. “Maybe I am pressing.”

  All she could see was Mel’s desperate look, that see-what-I-mean resignation, with Turner at the counter. It hurt seeing Mel fall back to form. It hurt more than expected, being shoved under the rug, no matter how reluctant Mel appeared. It certainly felt like more than their exchange had ended. More like something much bigger had ended. Before it even started.

  Shay scrubbed a hand over her face, pushed images of sun-kissed hair and excited smiles aside, tamped down the sensations of warm hands and the draw of sweet lips. She tried to minimize the emotional high of the connection they shared, place it into a manageable perspective. If time was what they needed, dwelling in self-pity wasn’t going to help. The distraction of a heavy workload would pass the time.

  “I need to get to Sonny’s.”

  “You ought to take the night off.”

  “No. God knows what mess Bailey’s made out there today. Sonny’s leaving him there alone more these days, and he’s good at what he does, but slow, and shrinks away from customers.” She veered off from Coby, headed toward her bike in the garage.

  “Don’t stay till freakin’ dawn, Shay.”

  “Just a few hours.” The work would occupy her mind just fine. Just what she needed. She was glad Coby understood, like best friends did. She stopped and looked back to see her watching from the porch.

  “Hey?”

  “Hey what?”

  “Thanks.”

  All the way to Sonny’s, she wrestled with what to say when she returned Mel’s call, which she’d already decided to do. She didn’t really think she had much choice. She’d go nuts if she didn’t. But she wanted to let Mel do the talking, mostly because she needed to hear what was on her mind, and needed to hear her voice.

  Once in the office, Shay dialed in a classic doo-wop song on Sonny’s dusty old radio and dug into double-checking Bailey’s paperwork. She was relieved to find his mistakes simple enough to resolve within a half hour, despite the songs of love and longing that demanded her attention. Maybe I should shut it off. She took her own coveralls off the hook nearby and stepped into them. Her objective tonight was to have a new exhaust system on the Ford in the second bay, come morning.

  I need to call. Now.

  She lowered the volume on the radio, but picked up the desk phone receiver with hesitation. On Mel’s schedule, Wednesday evening meant they were “on deadline,” as Mel referred to crunch time, so Shay hung up. Damn it. Who knows what she’s dealing with right now…interviews, a crucial phone call, late word on the Heights… She kicked herself for waiting so long. Then picked up again and punched in the numbers anyway.

  “Good evening. Tomson Chronicle.”

  Shay’s throat jammed.

  “Tomson Chronicle. May I help you?”

  “Hi, Mel. It’s Shay.” She could hear Mike and a woman talking and another phone ringing in the background.

  “Shay? You sound funny. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Eh, well, look, I’m sorry to call now. You’re busy. I can call back at a better time.”

  “No, wait! Don’t hang up.” Rustling on the line quickly changed to silence, and Mel’s voice came back hushed. “Hi. I just moved out to the door. It’s crazy in here on deadline. So, you’re okay?”

  “I am. Are you?”

  Mel sighed. “I’m really glad to hear your voice. I left a message, but I wasn’t too sure you’d call.”

  “I wasn’t either.”

  “Well, I’m happy you did. Thank you. Misty said you’re working nights at Sonny’s?”

  “I’m here now.”

  “God, how do you manage? Are you running yourself ragged?”

  “I’m only going to push it tonight and tomorrow. Friday night, I’ll be at the ranch till late.”

  “Are things still set to go?”

  “Is that the reporter talking, Ms. Baker?”

  “Don’t be fresh. No,” she added hurriedly, “I take that back. Be fresh. I-I miss that.”

  Shay set her forehead onto her arm on the desk. I don’t want to be patient. I know, deep down, you don’t, either. You’re killing me, Mel.

  “We’re set to go. All the guys are up for it, even though only a few will get the overtime to work the events.”

  “Um. Listen, Shay. About Sunday here in the off—”

  “Let’s not get into it. Not now, Mel.”

  “I know, but things were said that—”

  “We don’t really want to do this over the phone, do we?” Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve had a change of heart, that we really can make something happen together.

  “No, I suppose you’re right.”

  “Hey, how’d you make out with the conservation people? How’s the story?” Mel didn’t respond immediately and Shay tensed. “Mel? What’s happening?”

  “Tomorrow morning. The commission is delivering a stop order.”

  “Really? God, Mel, excellent work!”

  “The leaching field issue went before the commissioners last night and they agreed to meet in emergency session earlier this evening. I just got back a half hour ago. We’ll have the announcement tomorrow.”

  Shay wanted to cheer Mel’s hard-won success. The Sorvini-and-Chandler tandem would finally learn it didn’t have free rein and that a town as meek and seemingly complacent as Tomson actually could do the right thing occasionally. However, the idea of repercussions unnerved her. She decided not to mention it for Mel’s sake. If anyone’s aware of what this means, she is.

  “You’re stronger than you know, Mel.”

  “Thank you, Shay, but we’ll see.” Her voice was so soft, Shay wanted to wrap her arms around her and steal her away, but Mel was just as wary of them as a couple as she was of the Heights fallout.

  “Good luck with putting it all together. Listen, I know you’re swamped right now, so I’m going to go.”

  “I need to talk with you, Shay. Could I catch you at the garage tomorrow night?”

  “I’ll be here. Friday morning, the carnies are due first thing, so you know where I’ll be.”

  “And all weekend.”

  “Through Monday. It’s going to be a madhouse.”

  “I’ll be there through it all, too. And I’ll stop by tomorrow night.”

  “I look forward to that.” Because I’m a glutton for punishment and can’t help myself.

  “Me too, Shay. Thanks for calling.”

  “Good luck with your deadline. Be strong.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Chronicle hit the stands at its usual six o’clock Thursday morning, and at nine thirty, armed with a dapper, silver-haired attorney, Ed Chandler raged at Mel over her desk. Refusing to sit, he slapped the edition down and papers blew everywhere.

  “What the hell have you done? You know damn well what’s at stake here, Mel.”

  She leaned back with an air of strict, professional calm. “I asked for your position on the board’s emergency session, Ed, but you said you were too busy to talk. You gave me that ‘no comment’ knowing full well how it would look. Not one of you even attended the session.”

  He shook a finger at her. “These town boards take forever, and now you’ve pushed them to reconsider the entire first phase of my project. Do you know what that means?”

  “Apparently, the Conservation Commission believes putting a hold on things is necessary. When I reached the planning board chairwoman last night, she deferred to the commission. The Chronicle simply asked questions, Ed. What town officials do is their prerogative. Your business is with them, not us.”

  “We’re headed over there now to settle this. And I want it put in the paper.”

  “For any de
alings with the project, the boards have to be in formal open session. They can’t have—and I’m sure you don’t want—personal discussions about town business. You’ll have to wait for the hearing in two weeks.”

  Chandler’s chest inflated and his face reddened. “And that’s another thing. Two weeks will destroy my schedule!”

  “Please lower your voice.”

  “I will not lower my voice. I’m furious, goddamn it! This will cost me a fortune.”

  She raised her hands in supplication. “Both boards have to advertise with us first, and seven days in advance. We can’t print it before next week, Ed.”

  He spun to his attorney. “Are you sure that’s cast in stone?”

  The stoic man nodded. “State law.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” He eyed Mel sideways, his pallor rolling from red to scarlet. “So I just let this simmer? Stew in it until I get to say my piece? And by the time those guys cough up some decisions, it’ll be a month, if I’m lucky? Son of a bitch!”

  “Look, Ed. If you want, we could sit down and you could detail your side. We could run the interview next week. You could explain the issues as you see them.”

  “Huh.” He seemed to consider the invitation, but then menace returned to his eyes and he pointed into her face. “You generated all this with your damned crusade. My timetable—for the Heights and projects I have lined up behind it—is shot to hell now because of you, and I’m not going to forget it. And neither will all the help I’ve contracted. Do you have any idea what this delay of yours is costing them? How furious they are already? I won’t be held responsible for their actions, Mel. Remember that.”

  Mel looked to the attorney and wondered if he construed his client’s words as a threat. The man’s steady gaze revealed nothing.

  “I’m sorry, Ed, but it’s not our delay. The Chronicle doesn’t make the laws. Our offer stands.”

  “You can rest assured you haven’t heard the end of this. You just might be sorry you played this game of yours.”

  The attorney tapped Chandler’s shoulder.

  “That’s enough, Ed.” He nodded at Mel. “We’ll consider your offer and let you know.”

  “Very well.”

  The front door jingling shut signaled it was safe for Mike to emerge from his workroom, and the Chronicle’s part-time correspondent, Ida, trailed out behind him.

  “You were awesome, Mel!” she exclaimed, and hurriedly collected scattered papers off the floor. “The man’s a beast. Anyone taking his time can see—plain as day—that he screwed up. Like, him taking that extra hundred and twenty feet wouldn’t be noticed?”

  Hands in his pockets, Mike rocked back on his heels. “That shot we got of the inspector and commissioners out there, looking at the dig was right on.” He shook his head. “Chandler had to know things would blow. What did he expect?”

  “He expected the usual, I imagine, to be cut some slack,” Mel said. “I just hope this was the worst of it.”

  Mike stared down at her. “Did my ears pick up a threat in that tirade?”

  “Yeah, mine did, too. He’s such an intimidating guy, but that just made me mad. He brought all this on himself—with Sorvini. Was all I could do to hold my temper.”

  Ida tapped her desk and bent closer. “You got guts, Mel. I’ll give you that.”

  “Only Della could give you more grief,” Mike said. “If she was planning on a big opening for the Christmas season, she just might be a tad upset now.”

  Ida rolled her eyes. “Cruella-Della. Don’t you let her get to you either, Mel.”

  “Let’s just be thankful she’s not our landlord.”

  “Got that right,” Mike said. “You know, stands to reason the public will see Chandler’s mess as some Slattery scheme. She hired the guy.”

  “It really exposes her big July Fourth bash as the propaganda ploy it is, and not some generous, heartfelt effort.”

  “She’ll be beside herself.”

  Mel nodded at him and imagined Shay right in the middle of it all. “Well, it’s too late for her to cancel now. Besides, that would look even worse.”

  “Oh, folks will still go,” Ida said. “It’s going to be a blast, even though Della’s motives are pretty obvious. I mean, people will jump to take advantage of such a fun time. Don’t you think?” She looked from Mel to Mike and back. “That doesn’t make us all a bunch of hypocrites, does it?”

  *

  Thursday was “polish it up day” for the Fourth event, and Shay’s stops at the main barn and 10B, the performance arena, found Rogers’s carpentry crews on the final phases of work. When the Tomson health inspector appeared for a surprise inspection, his approval boosted her spirit even higher.

  By lunchtime, Shay was thankful the Softail’s gnawing growl always reminded her to focus on the task at hand. As she rumbled across the acreage, she saw only sapphire where the horizon met the sky, and felt the sun’s golden aura melt into her pores. She relaxed her grip on the throttle and let the Softail roll to a stop in the middle of acres of open ground. Has hell swallowed her up this morning? Call and check as soon as you can.

  Mike’s Volkswagen bounced up beside her.

  “Hey, Woman in Charge,” he sang out the window.

  “Mike, what’s up?”

  “Town’s buzzing, Shay. We smoked a grand slam over the damn fence this morning.”

  His excitement was contagious and Shay was glad Mel had his wholehearted support. She needs it.

  “Great job, you guys did, Mike. Important in so many ways.”

  “Phone’s been ringing off the hook. I don’t think either of us got more than a few hours’ sleep. Mel was already in when I got there at seven thirty. Chandler showed up with a lawyer, totally pissed off, and Mel stood her ground.”

  That’s how it’s done, Mel. You’re better at it than you think.

  He stared off through the windshield, still smiling and looking a bit dazed by the Chronicle’s achievement. She wondered if he’d be lured by the excitement to seek employment at a bigger paper, a daily. She hoped not, for Mel’s sake.

  “Anything I can do for you?”

  “Oh, um. Sorry.” His cheeks pinked. “Just amazes me that we pulled it off, that the timing was perfect. That’s so hard, so rare for a weekly to break such a newsy story, y’know?” He shook his head. “Yeah, so, the fair. Is it okay if I wander around some? Get some shots of the locals at work?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She turned on her seat and waved back at the landscape, the carnival, fair, and stage areas dotted with workers and trucks. “We’ve got electricians finishing up, the main barn is practically done inside, but the guys have to rebuild the front steps. The grandstand is nearly done, too. Take your pick. Toilets arrived a while ago—a lovely shot, I’m sure,” she added with a grin. “There are folks from different groups in town putting their own touches on their booths. That might make for better pictures.”

  “Got a few minutes to show me, tell me what’s happening so I can get some stuff?”

  Della’s directive replayed in her head. Good PR, she heard her say, that’s what this is all about. Or was. She smiled inwardly.

  She circled back to the fairgrounds with the Volkswagen close behind. They left the vehicles at the entrance, and Shay led him into the maze of newly constructed booths and pointed out each community organization as they walked.

  Three women from the Tomson Fire Department Ladies’ Auxiliary were putting up hooks and light shelving in their booth when Shay brought Mike to the counter.

  “Hello there,” she said. “I’m Shay Maguire, project coordinator for Slattery, and you might already know Mike Richards from the Chronicle. He’s looking to take some pictures of how hard everyone’s working.”

  The women giggled at each other and tried to wave him off. One stepped forward while the others shared a whisper, and Mike slid right into professional mode.

  “You ladies just pretend I’m not here,” he said, camera to his eye. “Go right back t
o what you were doing. Shay, let me get one with you inside, too. Hold up that board with them.”

  Shay was reluctant, if a bit sadistically amused. These women and the dyke: such a telling picture for the quaint little weekly. She sighed helplessly as Mel came to mind.

  “You come right over here, honey,” the lead woman beckoned, and Shay did as she was told, despite feeling that the others weren’t thrilled by the idea. “You just stand with us and we’ll pretend we know what we’re doing.” They all shared short, polite laughs as Mike leaned and crouched and ran around the booth, shooting from different angles.

  Positioned between the whispering women, Shay summoned her most casual, welcoming posture. The middle-aged bleached-blonde at her left looked up with a feigned innocence. “So, where’s Mel Baker today?”

  Shay’s irritation mounted. Oh, she’s recovering from our wild night of wet, steamy sex. She returned the innocent look. “Ms. Baker? Well, it’s Mike’s job to take pictures, so I’d say she’s busy doing hers, but what that involves, I couldn’t begin to guess.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “We’re good,” Mike declared, finished. Shay was relieved to leave the booth while Mike recorded the women’s names.

  “We’ve got the best pies in Tomson due in,” the jovial woman called to Shay. “Make sure you come by for some!”

  One of her whispering friends chimed in. “And tell Mel we expect to see her, too!”

  “Thank you,” Shay said, and mumbled to Mike when he caught up. “Sometimes, I just don’t know how to read this town.”

  He appeared not to hear, his photographer’s eye evidently preoccupied by everything in sight. “Mel said to say hi to you, to make sure I did.”

  Shay grinned at her boots as they walked.

  “And make sure you tell her I said hi back.” She stopped them halfway to the concert area. “The word is out, isn’t it?”