WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR: a nostalgic romantic comedy (Boston Classics Book 1)

by Karen Grey

  At least right now.

  Alice would be proud of me, leaving a boy toy at home with my cat, and a breezy note and house keys on the kitchen table.

  By Wednesday, I’m drowning. It feels like Gail just keeps showing up at my cubicle with requests from Roland. His surgery went well, but being stuck in the hospital for recovery has somehow made him more demanding.

  Thank goodness for Will-breathing, as I’ve come to call it. That and the fact that I don’t have the energy to get nervous has made standing up at morning meetings a breeze. Maybe the fact that Roland isn’t in the back judging my performance makes it easier too.

  My phone buzzes and as I reach for it, my elbow knocks over a pile of 10Ks for the technology companies I’m suddenly responsible for. “Shit.” I’ve done ad hoc research on them in the past year, but now Roland needs me to cover meetings with execs. Tucking the receiver between my ear and shoulder, I push the button with the blinking light. “Hello?”

  “You sound worse than I do.”

  “Oh, good morning, Roland. Sorry, I just dropped something on my foot. Hope that means you’re feeling better.”

  “I am, mostly, but they’ve still got me chained to this damned bed. Are you all set for your meetings at Lotus and DEC?”

  Grabbing the piles of reports on the Cambridge software company and the mini-computer manufacturer located somewhere west of Boston, I say, “I will be.”

  “Excellent. I’m particularly concerned with how DEC will stay relevant with companies in Japan entering the microcomputer market. And I’ve heard that Lotus is adding daycare to its benefits. I’m not convinced that’s a good investment.”

  Sounds like a brilliant idea to me, but only numbers will convince Roland. “I will check into those, as well as the lawsuits Lotus is embroiled in.”

  “Good idea. Now, where are we with Chase Mills?”

  Ugh. I wasn’t prepared for this. I have to scramble to find my notes, buried somewhere under the printouts sprouting like Tribbles on my desk. “Um, their projections all look great on paper, but honestly, I’m concerned about what’ll happen to the town when they move all these jobs overseas.”

  “What has that got to do with their bottom line?”

  “Well, directly, nothing. It’s just that I feel bad recommending⁠—”

  “Katherine. You cannot let sentimentality creep into your analyses. Ever. This is the way the world is headed. Our responsibility is to stockholders, not to every sad sack who can’t manage to pull himself up by his own bootstraps when the ground shifts from under him. If you don’t make this recommendation, someone else will. And I mean someone else from our offices. Do I make myself clear?”

  I power through the rest of the call with Roland. By the end of the day, I have my notes ready recommending Chase Mills as a strong buy for tomorrow’s morning meeting. But the whole thing literally makes me sick to my stomach.

  And it makes me wish I could go home and complain to Will about it. He’d understand my point of view, though he might not be happy that I followed orders like a good little soldier instead of going rogue and doing what’s right.

  The next day when I return from a late-morning meeting with the CFO of Lotus, there’s a While You Were Out message resting on my phone asking me to call Gail. When I do, she says she’ll meet me at my cubicle in ten minutes. As usual, no hints from her. I could’ve won the lottery or I could be fired, and she’d deliver the news in the same monotone.

  She shows up exactly ten minutes later and tells me to gather all my personal items and follow her. I cannot believe it. I did what Roland wanted. I recommended Chase Mills even though it felt like I sold a little chunk of my soul in the process, and now I’m getting the boot?

  Following her blindly, willing the tears to stay inside my eyeballs, I almost run into her when she stops abruptly to unlock a door. When she steps back and gestures inside the office, I just stare at her.

  She holds up the key.

  I stare at it.

  “Kate.” She reaches in to turn on the lights. “This is your new office.”

  “My… what?”

  She points to the nameplate next to the door, which reads Katherine Bishop ~ Associate Equity Analyst.

  “I’m not a junior anymore?”

  Gail coughs out what might be considered a laugh if it were anyone else. “No, you’re not a junior anymore. I’ll have someone move the rest of your things shortly.” She looks at her watch. “I have a messenger scheduled to make a delivery to Roland at noon. Will you have your notes from the Lotus meeting ready to go by then?”

  I’m still trying to catch up, but I nod before stumbling into the office.

  My office.

  Once I’ve plopped into the chair—a real office chair that swivels and everything—I pick up the phone and dial the number I now have memorized. Today is my lucky day in more ways than one because instead of the mechanized answering machine voice, the man I’m looking for actually answers the phone.

  “Guess where I’m calling you from?”

  “Um, work?”

  “Well, yeah, duh. But where at work?”

  “I don’t know. The bathroom?”

  “No, silly. How would I get a phone into the bathroom? I am calling from my very own office.”

  “Wow. Congratulations. That’s pretty sweet.”

  “Thank you. I can’t believe it.” I turn in a circle, taking in the empty bookshelves and the view. Of another office building. “I mean, it’s tiny, but I even have a window.”

  “Does it have a door, too?”

  “Yes, it has a door, too.”

  “Hmm. If it locks, we could have phone sex.”

  “Will!”

  “Sorry. Can’t help it. I know it’s only been a few days, but I miss seeing you.”

  “Me too.” My heart pounds as I contemplate the suggestion I want to make. It’s so forward, but I want to celebrate with Will. Tonight. “So, what’s on your docket today?”

  “I have an audition in an hour and then rehearsal. Till ten.”

  “I’ll be working late, too.” Taking an extra deep Will-breath, I say, “You still have my key, so why don’t you just come over when you’re done? And we can have better than phone sex.” I whisper the last part because even though I have a door, it’s open and my phone cord is too short for me to close it.

  “That sounds like an excellent idea,” he whispers back, a smile in his voice.

  The moment I hang up with Will, a custodian shows up with a dolly stacked high with file boxes. While he unloads, I turn on the Selectric already on the desk and type up the notes to send to Roland. The rest of the day is a whirlwind, but I’m fueled by the prospect of seeing Will and by the little burst of energy I get every time I walk by the nameplate announcing to the world that Katherine Bishop is an Associate Equity Analyst.

  I may not love everything about this job—the inevitable fallout from the Chase Mills rec still nags at me, even though it’s not like I can do anything to stop it from happening or help those workers—but I am proud that I’ve made it another step up the corporate ladder.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BEEP. Thursday, 1:30 p.m.

  Will! Thank you for the cupcake you left on my desk. It was very sweet of you. No pun intended. Anyway, I’m sorry I wasn’t here—I had to go meet with Roland at the hospital. I’ll try and stop by the bar later.

  BEEP. Thursday, 10:00 p.m.

  Kate! Sorry I’m yelling again. Just wanted to say I’m sorry I couldn’t really talk when you came by. Who knew there was an actuarial conference in town? And who knew actuaries could be so raucous? Or that they were such big Cheers fans? Anyway, I think you said I should come over again tonight even though it’ll be late? I hate to wake you up. But I really can’t wait to wake you up. Oh—gotta go.

  BEEP. Friday, 11:30 a.m.

  Hi Kate, it’s me. Just wanted to say that you are sexy and beautiful even at one a.m. and I’m sorry if you’re tired at work today. Come
by the bar if you can, otherwise I’ll see you later?

  BEEP. Friday, 4:00 p.m.

  Hi, it’s me. Calling from work, where I will be for the next five or six hours at least. So, just come over whenever you can. You don’t have to ask. I don’t think I’ll make it to the bar, but I’ll be home before you’re done there, I’m sure. You did tire me out, by the way, but my nether regions are not complaining one little bit. ’K. Bye.

  WILL

  My rehearsal call Saturday morning is way too early. Lots of middle-of-the-night sex with Kate means I’m running on little sleep, but I’m fueled by a different kind of energy—a squirrelly happiness, like I can do no wrong.

  So when a wacky idea pops into my head during the group vocal warmup, I don’t just decide it’s too far out in left field. Instead, I go for it.

  We’re working on Act II this morning. Before we start, I whisper to Randall, “I have an idea.” When I explain it to him, he raises a brow but says he’s game so when we’re up, we play through the scene with it in mind. When we’re done, Dave jumps out of his chair.

  “Why didn’t I think of this? So, Bertram and Parolles are lovers?”

  Randall bows to me. “This is his idea. I’ll let him explain.”

  I’m buzzing with the possibilities for this choice so I dive in. “Yeah, but not exactly. It just hit me how Parolles calls Bertram ‘sweet-heart’ twice at the end of scene three, so I thought, what if they either are having a secret affair, or want to, but it’s forbidden in this society? Maybe like a thing that happens between soldiers off at war, but nobody admits it?”

  Dave nods. “Yeah, I mean it obviously fuels his panic at being married off to Helena.” He goes back to the table to flip through his script. “We could also let it play into the ‘outing’ of Parolles later—like maybe the Lords see Bertram and Parolles together, and Bertram has to push Parolles away to prove he’s not gay.” He looks over at me and grins. “Maybe you’ll get to choreograph more of a fight in that scene than we’d thought.”

  He looks over at Randall. “You’re good with this?”

  Randall shrugs. “If it works, it works.”

  And it does. Forbidden desire is such a great driving force to add to a relationship, and the two lords jump in with some frat boy homophobia to make it even more complex. Some of the language in these scenes is so archaic that it helps to have strong actions to play so that the audience will get what we’re doing, even if they don’t quite understand the words we’re saying.

  By the end of rehearsal, I’m flying. It’s like a part of my brain got cracked open and I can access ideas I never would’ve considered before.

  I don’t know if taking risks in my personal life with Kate is what’s opened me up, but I do know that she’s the one I want to share this with. Even though heading over to her place after my shift at the bar tonight will mean little rest for both of us.

  Whatever. I can sleep when I’m dead.

  The following Wednesday evening, when I finally make it to BU’s astronomy building to meet Kate for Open Observatory Night—the only actual date either of us has had time for this week—there’s already a long line of people waiting. She must’ve been here on time because I find her at the front of the line. “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

  When she turns around, her smile is genuine as she holds up one of the industry journals she’s always got her nose in. “No problem. More time for me to catch up on reading.” She pulls me in for a lingering kiss before whispering, “Somebody keeps distracting me, so I’m behind.”

  “Mm. Who could that be, I wonder?” Wrapping my arms around her for a hug, the tension from the last-minute production meeting I just attended quickly drains away.

  When I let out an enormous sigh, she leans back to study my face. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s just⁠—” The appearance of the observatory docent has me lowering my voice. “I’ll tell you later.” I jut my chin toward the front of the line. “Time to go look at the stars.”

  Something I love about Kate? Her childlike sense of wonder. I’m pretty good at digging up cool things to do that don’t cost money, but she’s the one that makes our cheap dates special. Right now, hand clasped tight in mine, she’s bopping around like a little kid. Excited about getting to be on top of a building, about watching the sunset over the city, and especially about checking out the universe through the telescopes they have set up for us.

  “Wow. I can’t believe I’m looking at a trillion stars.” Ever the rule follower, she carefully pulls back from the telescope. We’ve been reminded several times not to touch anything.

  I lean in for my turn. “Huh. It looks like a stretched-out cotton ball to me.”

  When I straighten up, she whacks my arm. “Way to take the magic out of it. Come on, I want to see the Orion Nebula before they kick us out.”

  I let her pull me along to the next telescope where I enjoy watching her as much as I do the cluster of fuzzy blue dots that make up the nebulae.

  “Were you checking out my butt?” she asks when she straightens to let me have a turn.

  “Best view I’ve seen all night.” I say before pulling her in for a kiss. I used to be against PDAs, but I can’t seem to get enough of this woman.

  Ten minutes later, the docents are herding us out again. Kate squeezes my hand as we head down the stairs. “That was so cool.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad I got here in time. They don’t let you in if you’re late.”

  “Good thing I gave you my pager number so you could let me know.”

  “Jay wants me to get one. He says sometimes auditions happen last minute. I just don’t like the idea of always being on call.”

  “Yeah, it does kind of suck that Roland can get me to call him whenever and wherever, but if you had one too, we could send each other coded messages.”

  “Like, ‘I’m running late’?”

  “Or just ‘I’m thinking about you.’”

  “We might need that with how crazy my schedule’s going to get. The reason I was late was because of an emergency production meeting.” I hold the door for her, and we head outside. “Did you take the T over?”

  “Yep. Did you ride your bike?” The hopeful smile on her face is adorable. She loves my bike more than I do.

  “Would you like a ride?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  “Your place?”

  “Works for me. So, what was the emergency?”

  “Oliver—the guy who was playing Romeo—got hit by a car.” I wince just thinking about it.

  “Oh my gosh, is he okay?”

  “Yeah, thankfully, but his leg’s broken so he won’t be able to do the show. The director’s bringing in some college friend of hers to replace him. Thing is, we’ve been working on the fights for weeks already. Now I have to scramble to teach this new guy everything—on top of ten out of twelve rehearsals coming up this weekend.” I squeeze her hand. “We may not see each other for a while.”

  We’ve reached my bike, and I let go of her hand to unlock the helmets. When I give her one, she shrugs. “I’m traveling a lot over the next week, so I won’t be around much either.”

  I trace a finger over her brow, trying to figure out if she’s angry. That mask has gone up. “Everything okay?”

  She takes a breath, blows it out, fiddles with the helmet strap. “So, are we, like, dating?”

  I don’t like the tension that just crept in between us, but I also don’t want to say something just because I think she’ll want to hear it. I’m also not sure where the question came from. “Well, I have no interest in seeing anybody else, so I guess you can say we’re exclusive. Is that what you mean?”

  She meets my gaze. “Neither of us has time to date anyone else. But I guess I do want to know where this is going.”

  There’s a buzz behind my solar plexus. Anxiety. Am I afraid to lose her? Or afraid what’ll happen if I say I want to be with her? Shifting my own helmet to my hip, I take her hand a
nd rub a thumb over her knuckles, needing the connection. “What do you want?”

  Her face clouds, but she clears her throat and it seems to clear her expression as well. “I really like you.” She gestures back down the street. “I like that you get me out in the world, off of my little hamster wheel of work.” Squeezing my hand, she says, “I guess I just want to know if you’re as into making this work as I am.”

  I pull her hand to my chest and press it there. “If you’re willing to deal with my crazy schedule and my priorities, I want to be with you. And see where it goes.” I take a deep breath. “Career comes first for me right now. But you’re next in line. I hope that’s okay?”

  She nods slowly and then goes on tiptoe for a kiss. “That is completely okay.”

  I can’t read her subtext exactly. I hope she means what she said.

  What I know for sure? When she climbs on my bike behind me, wraps her arms around my waist and snuggles in close, we’re two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.

  The next day, I stop by the house to change between rehearsal and my shift at the bar. When I shut the back door, Deb’s voice carries clearly from the kitchen.

  “Will?”

  “No, axe murderer.”

  “Ha ha. Listen, does Kate know we hear these messages she leaves for you? I mean, they’re getting more… specific.”

  “Why are you listening to them?” I yell from the mudroom.

  “Since we share a phone, we can’t really avoid it,” Pam calls back.

  I enter the kitchen and bend down to give Rufus a quick scratch under his chin. “Maybe I should get my own line.”

  Deb shrugs. “How ’bout you just tell her that you share a phone?”