Hotshot

by Jo Leigh

  “There’s a kind of guy?”

  “Sure. You know that. You see them going to work every day, picking up milk at the store. They’re the guys at the baseball fields in the summer, watching their kids learn to hit the ball. They’re in it for the long haul.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Silence once again, but Jamie didn’t care this time. She had heard all she needed to. His confession had made something very evident—she’d wanted him to want her and not just for sex. Even though she hadn’t been aware of her desire, her disappointment underscored how deeply she’d felt.

  “I don’t stick around,” Chase said, “not for anyone.”

  “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to end up old and alone?”

  “No,” he said, and there was something about his voice that made her strain to hear the next words. “I’m not afraid of that at all.”

  CHASE SLUMPED in the elevator, wrung out from the night. Somehow he’d managed to finish Jamie’s show. But that wasn’t what had him in knots.

  Damn that Fred Holt. The show had never gone off the air. Cujo had given the signal, but Fred had put the kibosh on the plan, and no one had bothered to tell Chase. So all that seduction, all that intimate talk had gone out to a little over a million homes. Great.

  If only she’d answered her phone, called him back. He never would have cooked up this crazy scheme.

  It had all gone to hell in a handbasket. Instead of the playful teasing he’d hoped would make her realize he had no intention of blowing the whistle on her, things had spun completely out of control.

  For a man with a huge ego, he sure did seem to have a talent for public humiliation. Not Jamie’s. His own. Shit, how was he going to convince her that he’d never meant that stuff to be on the air? And that he would never tell anyone her secret.

  He had to figure out a way to lose the bet without making himself the laughingstock of New York. If he couldn’t, then he deserved what he got.

  All he wanted in the immediate future, however, was to go to bed and sleep for about fifteen hours. Damn, but he could almost feel the cool, crisp hotel sheets calling him.

  The elevator came to a stop on the ground floor, and the doors slid open. He walked across the lobby, nodding to the night watchman. The heat outside hit him hard. He hated summers in Manhattan. Better to be on the West Coast this time of year—San Diego or San Francisco.

  He stopped short when he saw Rupert Davidson leaning against a spit-shined Cadillac. This wasn’t good. Rupert was never up this late.

  Chase headed toward his manager, his heart beating fast.

  “Chase.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You have a minute?”

  “Rupert, what is it? Is my mother all right?”

  The older man nodded. “Yes. No one’s ill. I just want to talk to you.”

  “Fine.”

  Rupert opened the passenger door, and Chase got in. Once Rupert was inside, the driver took off, not asking where they were going. He already must have known.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I heard your radio show tonight.” “Yeah?”

  “All of it.”

  Chase’s defenses went up immediately, although he stopped himself from justifying his actions. He wanted to hear this through.

  After a few moments of stony silence, Rupert nodded, cleared his throat and went on. “Your mother heard it, too. She called me. Chase, she was crying.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she hates what you’re doing with your life. She feels like she failed you.”

  “Hey, it was a joke. I wasn’t really going to have sex on the air.”

  “That’s not the part that bothered her, although she wasn’t thrilled.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said some things tonight about not caring, about never sticking around.”

  “So?”

  “So, she wept bitter tears that she’d raised a son with such a narrow vision of life.”

  Chase inched closer to the door. “You know, of all the people in the world who should understand—”

  “Understand what?”

  “Why I won’t let myself care. Jeez, she was a basket case for years after Dad died. She could hardly function.” “So?”

  “Why would I want to do that to someone?”

  Rupert sighed. “You’re not going to die at thirty-five, Chase.”

  “How the hell do you know?”

  “I just do.” Rupert looked him over, then shook his head. “I suppose I should tell you. I’ve asked your mother to marry me. She’s graciously agreed.”

  The news hit him like a slap. Rupert had finally proposed. Why should it surprise him? He’d been suggesting the very thing for years now. Only, somehow, he never expected… “That’s great, Rupert. I mean it. You two should be together.”

  “Chase, let me ask you something.”

  “What?” He turned to the window.

  “What if—and don’t jump all over me—what if you didn’t know you were going to die? What would you do differently?”

  Chase stared at a billboard with a semi-naked woman swooning over eye shadow. What would he do differently? “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He did. He just didn’t want to think about it. Because then he’d have to think about everything he’d missed for all these years. Everything he was missing now. Jamie. Loving her. Not fighting his feelings. Watching the seasons go by with her by his side. Children. Dammit, he’d do it all differently—but the fact was, he had no future. Sure, he could care about her and be glad of every day. But what about her, after he was gone? What kind of a schmuck would he be to let her love him when he had so little time left?

  “I can’t tell you what to do,” Rupert said, his voice low, tired. “But you don’t have to wait until thirty-five to die. You’re already dead. By your own hand. You’ve kept yourself apart from everyone, made yourself an island. That’s not what God intended for us, Chase. You have a right to live fully. To love. To care.”

  Chase leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Pull over.”

  The driver looked up and checked with Rupert, who nodded. Then they were at the curb, and Chase finally faced his friend. “I miss my father every day,” he said.

  “Would it be better never to have known him?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then, I’m sorry for you.”

  Chase stepped out on the street. He watched the black car disappear into traffic. Rupert had meant well. He just didn’t understand. Neither did his mother, which was harder to accept. How many times had she told him that his father was a bastard for dying? That she hated him for leaving?

  Chase had learned a lot from his father’s death. He understood where his responsibilities lay. But, for the first time ever, he wished things were different. He wished he didn’t have to go. He wished he could be like all the other slobs out there, not having a clue when the end was going to come. It was the not knowing that made it possible to love. That underlying awareness of mortality.

  But Chase knew what was in store. The goal was to leave with the fewest people getting hurt.

  He turned toward home and walked into the shadows of the night.

  JAMIE LISTENED TO MARCY’S message twice, but there was no hint that Chase had told her secret. She felt relieved, but not much better. The ache in her chest, planted last night by Chase’s brutal admissions, had ruined her sleep.

  It wasn’t his fault, but her own. She was the one who’d been acting like a fool, who’d taken a stupid publicity stunt and twisted it into something it wasn’t. He owed her nothing. She had no business wanting him.

  But she did.

  And that was about the saddest thing she could think of. Never before had she let herself care about a man. Oh, sure, there was family love, but this was something completely different. This was the kind of romantic
attraction she’d read about in her beloved books, from Pride and Prejudice to Gone with the Wind. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to compare it to a Stephen King novel.

  She might still be a virgin, but she was well and truly screwed.

  The most horrible part was that Chase had been her last thought before sleep, and her first thought upon awaking. He’d made her dreams wicked and hot, and her body so sensitive that she’d been constantly aroused.

  One good thing, if she survived this, was that she understood so much more now. While she didn’t regret the basic advice she’d given her listeners in college or more recently, she would have worded things differently. Couched her phrases with more compassion, tried to be more sympathetic.

  She’d always known there was such a thing as intuitive knowledge that had very little to do with intellectual knowledge. But she’d always believed that the intellectual was stronger. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Despite knowing the truth about her nonexistent relationship with Chase, she continued to want him, to dream of him.

  So what did that say about seduction? Was it possible seduction was just the intuitive brain taking over? Was it really not weakness or a wish to give up responsibility?

  If that was the case, then she had a lot of apologizing to do. She wasn’t quite ready to take a stand one way or the other. All she knew was that last night she’d wanted to make love to Chase, but that she’d stopped before things had gone beyond the point of no return. It had taken all her strength, but she’d done it.

  Would she have been able to do the same if they’d been alone? Who knows? Maybe not. And if she had succumbed, would she have been strong enough to accept her own responsibility in the matter?

  Sighing heavily, she poured herself another cup of coffee, then sat down at the dining room table. It was her day off, and aside from the nap she so desperately needed, she also had some errands to run. Groceries. The dry cleaner. And perhaps a trip to her favorite secondhand store.

  Keeping busy was a good idea. Now, all she had to do was build up enough energy to get dressed.

  Another sip, and she was on her feet. But she didn’t make it to her bedroom. A knock on the door jump-started her pulse, and she spilled her coffee all over the floor.

  She moved slowly toward the door, not at all sure what to do. Let him in? Tell him to leave? Cry? She rose on tiptoe and peeked through the little hole. It wasn’t Chase. It was worse.

  She unlocked the door and swung it open. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Jamie.”

  Her mother, dressed in her usual impeccable suit—blue with a white, starched blouse, navy flats, and a handbag to match—walked past her into the apartment. Jamie knew this confrontation was inevitable, but she’d hoped to have it over the phone.

  She shut the door behind her. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, so is your father. Although this radio—”

  “Want some coffee?” Jamie asked, cutting her off. She wasn’t ready yet.

  Her mother looked her up and down, and she wished she’d put on her robe. Her nightgown had a tear on the shoulder. “Sit down, Jamie. We need to talk.”

  She obeyed. Because she always obeyed. She didn’t want to talk to her mother. Didn’t want to hear the lecture, to see the look of disappointment on her face. It wasn’t as if Jamie didn’t know she was making a spectacle of herself.

  “Your father and I are concerned over this radio business.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you also know that you’re becoming a laughingstock? That my friends have started to makes jokes about you?”

  “It’s my job, Mother.”

  “It’s not a job. It’s a disgrace. You’re a PhD, Jamie, and you’re throwing your education down the drain. How do you expect to be an equal among your peers? I see you on the side of buses, on billboards, along with that horrible man. What’s gotten into you? I thought we’d raised you better than this.”

  Jamie’s gut clenched, and an anger she’d rarely felt bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. “Mother, how old am I?”

  “You’re twenty-six. What kind of a question is—”

  “And when you were twenty-six, you had already married Dad and you were pregnant with Kyle.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I’m a grown woman and what I do is none of your business.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. People know I’m your mother. People assume it’s your upbringing that’s led you to these ridiculous stunts. How do you think that makes me feel?”

  “You know what?” She stood. “I don’t care. You’ll just have to find a way to cope. If I embarrass you so much, just lie. Tell people that I’ve gone mad, that I’m adopted—whatever you like.”

  “Jamie—”

  “I’m in the middle of the worst crisis of my life, and all you can think about is your reputation. I’ve always done what you said. Until you wanted me to give up the one thing that’s totally mine. I love my show, and I love being on the radio. And if I have to do this stupid stunt to keep my show, then I’m willing. This is mine, Mother, all mine. And nothing you can say will change that.”

  “I see.” Her mother rose and picked up her purse. “I was going to make you an offer. Your father and I had wanted you to join us in our practice. But I can see we were once again being too generous. You don’t want our help.”

  “I just want your love, unconditionally. Whether you think I’m being a damn fool or not.”

  “Love is earned, Jamie.”

  “No, it’s not. Respect is earned. Love is given, freely, no strings.”

  “Do you respect him? When he lifted your dress up while you were on the air, was it respect you felt?” “It’s complicated.”

  Her mother nodded. “Think about what you’re doing. What this escapade is going to mean to your future. Don’t throw it all away, Jamie. You’re bright. You can have a great practice. But you can’t have it all. Either you’re a disk jockey or you’re a doctor.”

  Jamie nodded, even though she disagreed. Nothing she was going to say would change her mother. And if she expected unconditional love from her mother, wasn’t it only just that she give the same thing? That she accept her mother for all she was, the good and the bad?

  “Mom,” she said, as they walked to the door. “I know you want the best for me. And I appreciate that.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.” She kissed the pale cheek, and the scent of lilacs spun her into childhood for a moment. Her mother had always smelled like lilacs. “I love you.”

  Her mother shook her head, then looked her straight in the eye. “I love you, too, even though you seem to delight in making that difficult.”

  “Say hi to Dad, okay?”

  A wan smile, and then Jamie closed the door. She had no desire to hurt her parents. But she was way past living the life they wanted for her.

  This was her crisis, dammit, all of her own making. And it signaled, in a very large way, that she had finally become a woman. She’d slipped out from under her parents’ control. How ironic.

  13

  MARCY HEARD TED’SVOICE, but she wasn’t certain where he was. Probably behind the big file cabinet, just out of her line of sight. She touched her hair, moistened her lips. Tonight was dinner, their first real date. She couldn’t have been more excited. In fact, it was only after she’d been at the station for about an hour that she noticed she’d worn one black pump and one navy. Lucky for her, she’d been able to scoot home and change before anyone else had seen.

  Laughter. Ted’s rich baritone. And she heard Cal, the morning commute DJ and the biggest gossip since Hedda Hopper. Why Cal was here this time of night, Marcy couldn’t fathom, but who could figure out radio personalities. They were all nuts—except Ted, of course. He was perfect.

  She listened as she headed around the cabinet, trying to determine if the conversation was private or if she could butt in.

  “…a good kid,” Ted said.

  “Yeah. But betwe
en you, me and the lamppost, if I wasn’t already married…”

  “You old scoundrel.”

  “That’s about the nicest thing anyone’s ever called me. What I don’t get is why you’re not all over her.”

  “I don’t know how smart it is to get involved with someone at work.”

  Marcy froze. She shouldn’t be hearing this. Were they talking about her? Was she the “good kid”? Or maybe it was Jamie. Please let it be about Jamie.

  “With those long legs? Are you kidding me? Besides, I heard a rumor that she’s been checking you out.”

  “That’s probably because we’re going to dinner tonight. But it’s not a date, just a friendly meal.”

  “Friendly meals can sometimes turn into something better.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Ted said. “I’m not interested in her in that way.”

  Marcy leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. She was such a dope. How could she ever have thought Ted would be interested in her. She was so much older. He could have anyone he wanted. Dammit, why had she asked him out?

  “I’m going to get some coffee,” Ted said. “You want some?”

  “Nope. I’m going home. Get myself something decent to drink.”

  Marcy darted down the hallway and ducked into the first door she saw. It was, unfortunately, the storage closet, and in order to shut the door behind her she had to squash herself between a cleaning cart and several cases of computer paper. Once safely hidden in the dark space, she had plenty of time to think about her folly. She should have known better. Why did she always have to do this to herself? She wasn’t unhappy. So what if she was single? This was the twenty-first century, for heaven’s sake. Who said she had to be married?

  Of course, she didn’t honestly think one date with Ted would automatically lead to marriage. Although, dammit, she’d entertained the notion. It would have been nice, really nice. Ted was a decent guy, one of the nicest men she’d ever met. He’d just proved himself by not talking about her lasciviously with Cal when the opportunity presented itself. She should be grateful about that.

  But she didn’t feel grateful. All she felt was exhausted. She wanted to go home. To crawl into bed and stay there for about two weeks. Instead, she had to go man the phones. If the ratings stayed consistent, tonight should be a killer.