I started to sit up, shocked, but Claire held my body down on the bed. To keep me in place, she straddled me. “Does it hurt your neck if I sit here?” She leaned down to hear my answer, and I got a whiff of her perfume. All of a sudden, I had a desire to run through endless rows of rose bushes completely naked. Thorns and all. I wanted to feel everything.
“Not one bit.” I felt Claire’s warmth through her jeans, and it radiated through me.
“It’s getting warm in here.” Claire’s cardigan plummeted to the carpet. “Are you hot?”
“A little,” I admitted.
Claire’s T-shirt billowed to the floor. I was tempted to see if she was only in a bra, but opted to wait.
“I always wear too many layers.” Claire worked her way along my bare back, using both palms stroking downward.
“How many layers do you have left?” I asked with as much boldness as I could muster.
“Just one. Two, if you count my bra. I never leave home without one, but you can get away with it.”
True. Claire’s voluptuous breasts begged to be tamed by satin. I had used to try to convince Claire to go running with me, but she would always clutch at her breasts and say, “Not with these bazookas. I’d end up with black eyes.”
“Doesn’t seem fair. I’m half-naked, and you’re fully clothed.”
Claire slapped my back playfully.
My heart sank. The ploy didn’t work, and I had to admit to myself that it was a pathetic attempt and way too obvious. No wonder she didn’t fall for it.
Then I felt Claire’s weight shift, and another shirt tumbled to the ground.
Claire leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Is that better?” I felt the softness of her bra on my skin.
“You’re getting there.” I held my breath, waiting to see her response.
“If you want more layers off, you’ll have to take them off yourself.” Claire’s breath tickled my ear.
“Mine or yours?” I didn’t know why I was being cagey. After all these years I felt like an idiot for tempting fate.
“Both.”
I started to move.
“Not yet, I’m not done giving you a massage.”
Claire sat up and resumed on my lower back. “What happened?”
Confused by the sudden change in Claire’s tone, I asked, “When?”
“The tattoo … perseverance during adversity. What happened?”
I felt her fingers trace the outline of the tattoo. Did it take her this long to come up with the courage to ask about its meaning? Or had my other tattoo distracted her?
Claire’s fingers worked right above the waistline of my jeans. I felt her tug on the waistline of my boxer shorts, but I didn’t bother to explain why I was wearing them and she didn’t say anything.
I was too focused on her question. I knew I should be honest, but not completely honest. “Things … life got a little …” I didn’t know how to tell Claire. “I got the tattoo when I returned to New York City after a difficult … assignment.” I stumbled over the word assignment, and I wondered if she knew I was lying. “I … well, I was lucky to be alive. To have survived.”
I could sense Claire nodding her head. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”
“I did some things I shouldn’t have. I have a lot of regrets. A lot.”
“Me too,” whispered Claire. “Me too.” Silence flooded the room. “But I’m done having regrets. It’s not worth it.”
I expected her to get up, get dressed, and storm out of the room, muttering to herself that she was a fool to risk the life she had with Ian and his father. I waited for it to happen. For her to realize what she was about to do.
What I didn’t expect was for Claire to lie down on top of me and hold me. “I should have trusted you back then. I know that now.”
I felt Claire’s skin against my own. Never before had I been completely overwhelmed by the simple act of touching. I let the feeling overtake me before rolling over, so I was now on top of Claire, staring into her face. Tenderly, I brushed some hair off her cheek, leaving my hand there. The pain and stiffness in my neck vanished.
Claire started to speak, but I silenced her by putting a finger on her lips. I ran my free hand down her bare skin. I could see and feel goose bumps exploding over her body like fireworks. It was only a matter of moments now before we kissed, and I wanted to relish the final seconds before we crossed the line. Relish the anticipation for a moment longer.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” I said before I leaned down and brushed my lips against Claire’s neck, taking in her scent. “I have replayed that one night in my head a thousand times, and each time I run after you. God, Claire, that’s my biggest regret of all.”
Claire made the move. She kissed me with an all-consuming fervor. I opened my mouth, and her tongue explored softly but determined. The need to be closer grew with each second. Both of us ripped off the other’s remaining clothes. I couldn’t control myself anymore. I had to be inside Claire. To be as close as I possibly could be. I thrust my finger inside, and her wetness welcomed me while Claire pulled my face back to hers and kissed me with a desire that I had never experienced. Not even that first and only time we had made love so many years ago. As we kissed, I continued thrusting my finger in as deep as I could and sensed Claire was close to coming. It was fast, but there was no way to slow down the emotions. Not after this long. All the wanting. Desire. Twenty-five years was coming to fruition.
Claire’s body started to quiver, and I felt I was close to exploding myself. We came at the same moment, letting out a flood of pent up emotions. I collapsed onto Claire, breathing heavily. She ran her hand through my short hair.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come so fast,” said Claire.
I smiled. “Never apologize for that.”
“It’s just that … it’s been so long …”
“Since we made love?”
“Since I’ve been with anyone,” Claire confessed.
I propped my head up on my palm and traced a finger on Claire’s chest. “Me too.”
“How long?” she asked.
“Three years. You?”
“Longer.”
I couldn’t control my eyes from popping. I felt a sudden rush of cold air on them. “Longer? Really?” Had she and Ian’s father divorced? Was that what she’d been doing this morning, dropping Ian off at his dad’s? The question was on my lips, but I let it slip back inside. It wasn’t time to tug on that thread.
She nodded and then smiled mischievously. “Shall we go again, but slower this time?”
I answered with a delicate and leisurely kiss.
Hours later, the sun hung low in the sky, slowly waving good-bye for the night, but promising to return the next day. Claire was leaning against the headboard, and I rested my head on her lap. I could smell Claire’s juices, and the scent calmed me. It wasn’t a dream. We had made love repeatedly.
“How’s your neck?” asked Claire, and then she sniggered.
“Never felt better. Who knew this was the cure.”
“I did of course.”
“Is that why, then?” I teased.
“Maybe it was one of the reasons,” Claire said in all seriousness.
I sat up. Claire’s stern face slowly dissolved to show me she was pulling my chain.
“I’m starving.” She padded to the desk, naked. She rifled through some takeout menus. Turning to me she asked, “Chinese?”
I nodded, afraid to ask the question I wanted to. How long until Claire had to return home? To Ian? I was fairly certain a husband wasn’t in the picture anymore. Poor Claire. All she wanted was permanence, and it seemed that eluded her.
Claire sat on top of me before picking up the telephone on the bedside table. During the call, she flicked my nipple with a finger. When she hung up, I said, “Good Lord. You ordered enough food for an army.”
“Are you complaining?” She placed her f
inger into my mouth. “I’m not done with you yet.” To emphasize her point, she removed her finger and touched my clit before licking my juices off of her finger.
“Then you’re staying … the night, I mean.”
Claire nodded. “Ian doesn’t get back until tomorrow night.” A naughty smile broke across her face. “We have twenty minutes until the food arrives. Can you think of anything we can do for twenty minutes?”
“Jog in place.”
“Don’t try being cute. You’re much better using your mouth in other ways.”
* * *
Claire left the following evening. I stood at the window, staring at the foothills, confused by my emotions. Her scent still lingered in the room. Closing my eyes, I imagined holding Claire in my arms while in actuality I clutched a shirt she’d left behind. There was a nagging thought in the back of my mind. Yesterday morning, Claire expressed she was terrified of losing her job. Did she … no, that couldn’t be the reason. I blocked the thought from spoiling my memories of the weekend. I flipped open my laptop.
It was time for me to do what I did best. Plan. Tomorrow morning I had a meeting with all the heads of the departments to begin our last-ditch effort to save the paper. One thing was clear: circulation wasn’t the answer. From the numbers I saw, each month we lost subscribers, not gained. Advertising was stagnant. The paper was like a car running on fumes. I had to ignite a spark to keep the engine going full steam ahead.
I thought of one of my favorite Hearst quotes: Putting out a newspaper without promotion is like winking at a girl in the dark—well-intentioned, but ineffective.
Chapter Six
Everyone sat around the table, waiting for me to start the meeting. I looked each person in the eye, eleven in total, before stating the Hearst quote.
Everyone chuckled except for Darrell, the senior editor. I took in his appearance. He was fifty-three years old, according to his employment files. He wore a short-sleeve plaid shirt, tucked crisply into his khakis. It was apparent he took care of his body, but he didn’t attempt to avoid taming his nerdy appearance. The man sported black-framed glasses that had been all the rage in the fifties. Some people today could pull them off. Darrell wasn’t one of them.
I knew he would be the bane of my existence, resisting any and all change. I had to put my foot down immediately and make it clear to him and to the rest of the staff that I was in charge. Years earlier, Darrell had called all the shots. But then corporate had stepped in and demoted him back to news. Henry, the corporate guy before me, failed to get Darrell in line. I didn’t intend to let that happen twice. Firing him right off the bat wasn’t an option. What everyone in the room didn’t know was that Darrell’s time at the paper was almost up. I wanted the timing to be perfect, but right now he was a pawn. Harsh, yes, but necessary. My mentor taught me there was no such thing as being nice in this business. Go for the jugular, before the other person did.
This meeting was a way for me to let people know I was willing to listen to new ideas, but that my word was final. I was in charge. Not Darrell.
“What can you guys tell me about social media? What’s hot? What’s not? What are we using? What should we be using more effectively?”
I stared at a sea of blank faces. Claire’s face was supportive, and she was the only one who dared to make eye contact with me.
I let a few seconds tick by before I said, “Come on, don’t be shy. I don’t bite.”
This garnered a few chuckles.
“I know we have a Facebook page,” said Brenda, “but I don’t know if it’s helping or if we’re using it, really.”
I nodded.
“Twitter.” Claire resituated in her seat. Her soft voice and hypnotic eyes made me forget for a moment that I was in a meeting. She must have noticed, since she cleared her throat to pull me back into the game.
I looked to the senior editor to gauge his mood. He sat glumly in his chair, staring at the tabletop. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was not on board when it came to social media. George, the head of local news, looked to Darrell, and I wondered if he was determining whether or not he should jump into the fray or leave it alone. He must have decided it was best not to poke the bear since he started doodling on his notepad. This wasn’t good. I didn’t want people to turn to Darrell.
“Darrell, tell me, what do you know about Twitter?” I put him on the spot.
“Twitter,” scoffed Darrell. “Is that your plan? Twitter?” He crossed his arms defiantly, showing how often he worked out. His forearms bulged like Popeye’s, with all the salt and pepper hairs standing at attention. I would love to hire a cartoonist to draw him, and then I could have Avery post the photo in all the bathroom stalls.
“You didn’t answer my question. What do you know about Twitter?” I sat on the edge of the conference table by his side and stared down at the man.
Darrell waved a hand dismissively. “It’s a flash in the pan. Don’t waste your time, or ours.”
“Is just Twitter a flash in the pan? Or all social media?”
“All.” He let out an angry snort.
I suspected that would be his answer, and it showed me just how out of touch he was. It was hard to imagine social media ending abruptly. Platforms would change, but as a whole, it was here to stay. “Okay, but just for fun, tell me what you know about Twitter.” I waved my hand to get him to share.
“Like I said, this is a waste of time. We should be talking about the paper, not Twitter.”
“You’re wasting my time, Darrell. Just admit you don’t know anything.”
Several people gasped. No one, I assumed, spoke to Darrell that way.
Twitter wasn’t new. Many social media savvy companies had jumped on the bandwagon years before. This paper wasn’t one of those companies, and it was showing.
Darrell sucked in air, obviously irked by my tone. “Don’t tell me what I know and don’t know, boss.”
More people gasped.
“Most people call me JJ, Darrell, but you can call me Ms. Cavendish.” I winked at him in a commanding way.
Darrell smiled malevolently, but a flicker of fear showed in his countenance. I knew I had to push him further. “If you’re an expert, don’t be bashful. Tell me about Twitter. How are we using it compared to other media companies?”
He stared at me, flabbergasted.
I continued, “Such as, how often our competition is tweeting? Are they including links? Hashtags? Is it working for them? Are they able to gain subscribers and advertising?”
Darrell reddened.
“That’s what I thought. Last year, Twitter was one of the most visited websites.” I walked to the whiteboard and grabbed a marker.
“We do have a Twitter account, just in case you don’t know,” said Darrell.
I froze and locked eyes on the editor. No one in the room moved a muscle. I clicked the cap back onto the marker. “Yes, I know.” I motioned to Avery to start the presentation. The paper’s Twitter page was displayed. “Looks like we have thousands of followers. That’s not bad, but it could be better.”
“We have more actual subscribers,” countered Darrell.
He meant customers who wanted the paper delivered to their front door.
“Excellent, Darrell. I’m glad we’re on the same page. We need to jazz up our Tweets to pull in more followers online. In six months, I want to quadruple our Twitter followers. Not just here in Colorado, but from all over. Coloradoans who have moved away still want to stay connected to their home state. I want to be a part of that connection. To become a part of their social media family.”
“Twitter followers. JJ, you need to focus on subscribers. Not Twitter. This is madness.” Darrell threw his mechanical pencil down on the blank page of his notebook. I suspected he never planned on jotting anything down, but carried it out of habit.
“Please, call me Ms. Cavendish.” I gave him a look of disgust. After I counted to ten in my head, I
added, “Paper subscriptions are falling every month, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Paper will be dead soon. There’s no way around it.” I looked Darrell in the eye and then locked eyes briefly with everyone else. “But the company won’t be. We have to be innovative. We have to adapt. If we don’t, we’ll be closing the doors here and everyone will be out of a job, myself included.”
This was a lie. If the doors closed on this branch, I would have to tuck my tail between my legs, but I would be heading back to New York. However, I hated failing and had no intention of admitting defeat without doing absolutely everything in my power. And then some.
“What if Twitter is a fad and you’ve put all your faith in it?” sneered Darrell. “Are we going to pursue Tinder as well?” He cocked his head in triumph.
I was shocked he knew about the online dating service that was used mostly as a way to hook up for sex. “Oh, I didn’t know you were more familiar with Tinder. Care to fill the rest of us in about that? Any good hookups, I mean stories to share?”
Darrell turned three shades of red. Not out of embarrassment, but fury. “I would never use such a filthy app.”
“But you know about it.” I thought about winking again, but thought better of it. I didn’t need any run-ins with the HR department. “In all seriousness, though, I’m not putting all my faith in Twitter. Social media fads come and go. There’s no doubt about that. Everyone here probably remembers a company named Myspace. I won’t be putting all our eggs in one basket, as you say, Darrell. This is just the first step in a new direction. We have to buff up our presence on the web. We have to think outside the box. Make it sexier, easier to navigate, and more fun. Not just focus on paper.
“Last night, I researched the top companies who used Twitter effectively. We weren’t on that list. I don’t just mean our paper, but Beale Media as a whole. We need to compete. Even H&R Block was on the list.” I let that sink in. “Come on, we’re newspaper folks. We’re more exciting than tax people, aren’t we?
“We can’t keep thinking the same as when this paper first opened its doors. Times have changed. The news has changed. Media has changed. Our customers have changed.”
The Miracle Girl Page 7
