by Syrie James
She sat on the edge of her bed Thursday night, fresh from a shower, about to apply polish to the second to last toenail, when the phone rang. She jumped to her feet and grabbed the receiver, the nail-polish brush still in her hand.
“Hi, lover.” The deep vibrant voice never ceased to send delicious shivers up her spine.
She smiled radiantly into the receiver. “Hi. I miss you. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
“I miss you, too. And thanks for the stuffed lobster. Didn’t do a thing for my appetite, but he’s cute.” He paused. “Listen, Desiree. I’ve got bad news.”
Her stomach tensed. The radiant smile disappeared. “What’s wrong?”
“I expected these negotiations to wrap up today, or by noon tomorrow at the latest, in time for me to catch my flight. But there’s no way that’s going to happen. The client refuses to budge on his price, and I’m not going to give this thing away. We need at least three, maybe four more days. They’ve got a bunch of guys here from Cleveland who don’t want to fly home for the weekend and come right back. We’ve agreed to work Saturday and Sunday to get this thing done.”
“Oh.” She sank down onto the bed. A hot flash of disappointment coursed through her, touching every limb, every nerve. She tried to stab the nail-polish brush back into the mouth of the tiny bottle, missed, and stabbed again. The bottle tipped over and rolled off the nightstand, trailing Passion Pink along the hardwood floor into the bathroom. Tears of hurt and frustration burned behind her eyes.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. The last thing I wanted was to spend the weekend locked up in a conference room, haggling with a bunch of cigar-smoking men. But I have no choice. I’d like to turn it over to my negotiating team, but I’ve got two new people and I can’t afford any screw-ups. The deal’s too important. Please don’t be angry.”
“I’m not angry.” The words shot out sharply, like an expletive. Steve’s excuses for not coming to see her were always just as crucial, just as plausible, and always at the last minute. She believed him right up to the bitter end.
In the past week apart, did Kyle come to see the futility of their relationship? Was this his way of letting her down softly? No, her brain insisted. He was telling the truth. He had to be. Two tears spilled down her cheeks and she sniffed.
“Hey. Hey,” he said softly. “It’s only one weekend. I’ll be there next Friday, on the same flight I planned to take today. All right? You’ll meet me?”
“I’ll meet you.”
They were silent for a moment. She clutched at one last hope. “What about the manufacturing plant you were looking at down here?” At least if he buys it, she thought, he’ll have to fly down here once in a while. “What did you decide?”
“The prospects didn’t look good. I decided against it. I’m looking at a company in Tulsa, Oklahoma, instead. I have to fly out there next week.”
She stifled a gasp of disappointment. Tulsa. Would he meet another woman there, and spend the weekend the way he did with her? Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. He cares for you!
When he spoke again his voice was low, deep, rusty. “Desiree, I miss you. I can’t begin to tell you how much. I’m sorry I can’t be there tomorrow but I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
They said goodbye, and Desiree knelt down, retrieved the half-empty bottle of polish, and began to clean up the spill. I promise. How many times had she heard those two words from Steve? Promises were so easily made, and so easily broken….
She shook her head firmly, determined not to let such gloomy thoughts take over her mind. It was just one weekend, not the end of the world. This was Kyle, not Steve. They would get through this. Everything was going to be okay.
She found solace and pleasure in reading and working in her garden, pursuits she had always thoroughly enjoyed on her own before she met him. But somehow, they were no longer quite as enjoyable. Each time the phone rang she jumped to answer it, disappointment piercing through her with razor sharpness when it wasn’t Kyle.
You’ll see him Friday, she reminded herself. He will come.
She got through the next day at work, and the next. Her calm voice and brittle smile masked the lonely ache that wrenched at her heart. Wednesday night he still hadn’t called. She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, her mind full of vivid memories of their lovemaking. The room echoed with remembered laughter, electric touches, softly whispered endearments.
She blinked open her eyes, wishing she could make him magically appear in the doorway. But the doorway was empty.
From that moment at Catalina Island when she’d first acknowledged her burgeoning love for him, the feeling had grown and blossomed until every filament of her being seemed to shine with newly found sustenance from within. She felt as if he was her missing other half, a part of herself she hadn’t even known had been lacking. Could she ever again feel completely happy or whole without his warmth, his caring, his sharing? She doubted it.
Yet she still didn’t know if he loved her. She could see deep affection in his eyes every time he looked at her, feel it in his touch every time they made love. But he’d never said the words.
Did he love her? Could there be any kind of future for the two of them? Or would it always be like this...a few glorious weekends, with long stretches of lonely disappointment in between?
Why? Why? she asked herself silently as she covered her face with her hands. Why did I do this to myself again? Why did I let myself fall so deeply, so hopelessly in love with him, when I knew this would happen?
***
“When I said I wanted a hot and sizzling evening,” Desiree said into the mike, “I wasn’t referring to the temperature outside.” She mustered every ounce of vigor to spice up her voice. “Let’s hope the thermometer takes a nose dive in the next hour or so because this city is sweltering. Right now it’s ten minutes before six o’clock on this Thursday afternoon and I’m Desiree, getting ready to sign off. Coming up is Dave Hamilton and thirty minutes of non-stop music on KICK 102. Catch you tomorrow, same time, same place.”
Pulling off the headphones, she stood up and wearily shook out her long curls. She filled in the broadcast log with all the promos she’d played and did a little end-of-the-day housecleaning in the studio, then cued up an especially long, sentimental love song which matched her mood. Slumping on the stool, she toyed with the frayed white edge of her cutoffs and closed her eyes as the lyrical, feminine voice sang out softly, sadly:
“We’re on opposite shores, but lover I’m yours, Come take me away...I’m lost in your arms, fall prey to your charms, when you hold me that way...”
The studio door opened. “Hi,” he said softly.
“Kyle.” She realized she’d whispered his name aloud, heard agonized relief in her voice as she jumped off the stool and threw herself into his arms.
Desiree opened her eyes. The room was as empty and lifeless as before. She breathed in deeply and shut her eyes again, losing herself in the scene that unfolded in her imagination:
He took her in his embrace, capturing her mouth with his.
“I’ve thought of nothing but you since I left. I could hardly eat. Sleep.” He covered her face and neck with kisses. “I’ve missed you so much. I missed holding you, touching you. I couldn’t forget what you feel like. It tormented me, day and night.”
A delicious warmth penetrated her body. She hugged her arms to her chest as the soft, sweet words of the song swam around her, through her:
“I tremble like a child, a fire burning wild, you bring out the woman in me…”
His mouth feasted on hers. Their tongues met, skirmished. She tightened her arms around his neck and swayed against him. He reached down with two hands, undid the snap and zipper of her cutoffs. In a few swift movements, he removed the clothing between them and pulled her down to the floor with him. She gasped but made no move to protest. At his lightest touch she shuddered with desire.
“I want you so badly, I love you so madly, take me now and set
me free…”
The studio door flew open. “Move over, gorgeous, it’s my turn.”
Desiree blinked, refocusing glazed eyes as she struggled to return reluctantly to the present. Dave, the slightly balding deejay on the evening shift, towered above her.
“Were you asleep?” he asked.
“No. Just…daydreaming.”
“You’ve been off in a fog ever since the day that boyfriend of yours showed up in his fancy Maserati.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“No?” Dave peered at her, his forehead furrowed with apparent surprise and concern. “You didn’t break up, did you?”
“No.”
He shrugged, but seemed a bit confused. With a side glance at the promo log on the counter, he added, “Good thing you’ve been filling this thing in. Can’t afford any mistakes now.”
She slid off the stool, grabbed her purse, and leaned against the counter, her mind still in a daze. “Why? What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you hear? Old man Westler’s planning to put this place up for sale. Retire.”
She snapped back to reality now with full force. “For sale? When?”
“Don’t know. He hasn’t made any announcements yet. It’s just a rumor going around—but I’ve found that kind of rumor usually turns out to be true.”
A wave of fear flooded her body. Was the station going to be sold? New owners were notorious for doing major overhauls, firing everyone and starting over from scratch. She bit her lip. “I was miserable enough without hearing that kind of news, Dave.”
“Well, cheer up. It might not happen, and if it does, let’s hope we both get to stay. Right now it’s time for you to split, so git.” He sank onto the stool and picked up the headphones. Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, he added, “By the way, there’s something waiting for you in the parking lot.”
She stared at him blankly. “Something waiting for me? What?”
Dave waved an impatient arm, “Go see for yourself, woman!” He flashed her a knowing smile. “I’ll give you one little hint. It’s not a Maserati.”
Ten
Desiree punched open the studio door. What was waiting for her in the parking lot? If it wasn’t Kyle, then who or what could it be?
She raced down the hall and through the reception area, then threw open the double glass exterior doors. The dry heat seared her skin after the air-conditioned interior of the station, but she hardly noticed. She turned the corner of the building to the asphalt parking lot, then stopped dead in her tracks.
Parked across and in front of her car and three others, a sleek, white Cadillac stretch limousine gleamed in the late afternoon sun. A tall man in a dark suit stood beside it, his hand resting on the back door handle.
“Ohh!” she cried aloud. What did Kyle do? Send a limo to take her to the airport, so she’d fly up to see him? But…she couldn’t go. It was only Thursday. She had to work tomorrow.
She took a few tentative steps forward.
“Miss Germain?” the man asked.
She nodded. He opened the door, gestured for her to step inside.
The hell with it, she decided. Be spontaneous. Respond to the moment!
She flew to the door, bent down, and slid inside onto a soft, leather seat. Long arms immediately scooped her up, drawing her against a broad chest, and warm, familiar lips came down on hers.
Desiree’s eyes opened wide with surprise and met Kyle’s twinkling green ones. She let out a cry of pleasure as her arms came up around his neck. Vaguely she heard the car door shut, another door open, and the motor start as Kyle hooked a hand under her legs, lifted her across his lap, and settled her between his thighs.
“What are you doing here, you crazy man?” she whispered against his lips.
“I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” His mouth rained kisses across her cheeks. “I couldn’t stay away another day.”
They kissed long and deeply, holding each other tightly, drinking of each other as if dying of thirst. The car moved forward. She ran her hands across his wide shoulders, his back, his ribs, reacquainting herself with each hard, familiar muscle, bone, and sinew.
“I missed you,” she whispered when she was able. “God, I missed you. I thought I’d die.”
His hands roved her body, slipped under her snug-fitting T-shirt, to glide up the smooth, soft flesh of her back. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here last weekend. I’m sorry I haven’t called. I came straight from Tulsa. I’ve been there all week, negotiating a major contract. I barely had time to eat or sleep.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.” She hugged him. Hard. “I’m sorry if I sounded angry that night on the phone. I was just so disappointed. I wanted you so much.”
“I wanted you, too.” He kissed her again, then cuddled her against him.
“How long can you stay?”
“Only tonight.”
She tilted her head back, mouth opening in dismay. His reddish-brown hair was brushed back from his forehead in neat waves, and he looked even more handsome than she remembered. “You flew down here for just one night?”
He nodded. “I left the negotiations to the rest of the team this afternoon. Looks like things will wrap tomorrow in Tulsa, so I’m heading back to Seattle first thing in the morning.”
She sighed sadly, then leaned her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his chest. “I won’t think about it right now. I’m going to enjoy every precious minute we’ve got.”
She took a moment to glance about the interior of the car. Wide, leather seats faced each other across an expanse of dark grey carpet. A small television was built into the textured leather wall on one side, along with a stereo receiver. Above it, a tiny bar held a row of crystal glasses en-graved with the Cadillac logo. A phone hung on the opposite wall, beside a magazine rack. The green neck of a bottle poked out from an ice bucket at their feet.
“This is incredible,” she breathed, then turned to him. “You remembered what I said that night, didn’t you? About the limo?”
“I did.”
She glanced down at her denim cutoffs and the lavender T-shirt that hugged her curves, silk-screened with the KICK logo in black and silver. “I feel terribly underdressed. If I’d known I was going to ride in a limousine tonight, I would have worn my electric-blue silk dress.”
“You mean the one that’s—”
“Open in the back, cut just off the shoulder, terribly chic,” they sang out in unison. It had become a standing joke with them, and they laughed.
“Don’t worry. For what we’re about to do, you’re dressed perfectly.”
For the first time, she noticed he wasn’t wearing his usual three-piece suit. Instead, he’d dressed casually, in a cream-colored polo shirt and blue jeans that fit like old friends—snug across the hips, and whitewashed at the seams and pocket edges. His running shoes looked well-worn, white fading into gray.
Her eyes narrowed curiously. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. This night is for you.” He squeezed her hand. “You’re going to see all your fantasies come true.”
“All my fantasies?” she repeated in amusement.
He nodded, grinning. “First, a stop at your favorite restaurant.”
There were two or three elegant restaurants in the area that she was particularly fond of, but she didn’t remember specifying a favorite, and they were underdressed for any of them. Since he refused to elaborate, she sank back into the seat with a resigned sigh and enjoyed the ride. A few minutes later, the limousine pulled up to a McDonald’s and parked in front of the door.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” she squealed, nudging him in the ribs. “A limo to take us to McDonald’s?”
He just smiled with delight.
The driver stepped to her side of the car, opened the door, and helped her out. Once inside, Kyle ordered five Big Macs, three large orders of fries, and a chocolate shake.
“Someone’s joining us?” she asked.
“No, it
’s just the two of us. You did say these were your favorite?”
She nodded with helpless laughter. “I did.”
“I don’t want you to go hungry. Anything else?”
“No, thank you. This’ll do just fine.”
A pleasant-looking man with silvery hair stepped in through the door, accompanied by a woman of about the same age. They both looked over their shoulders. “Whose do you think it is?” the man whispered, gesturing toward the waiting limousine.
The woman searched the faces in the crowded room as they stepped behind Kyle and Desiree in line. “I don’t know. I don’t recognize anyone famous. Seems funny to see it here. Maybe—”
“Look no further.” Kyle put his arm around Desiree and faced the couple with a charming smile. “No famous faces here tonight, folks, just a famous voice. This is Desiree Germain from KICK-102 FM.”
Desiree felt her knees grow weak. Famous voice? She wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. But to her surprise, the man’s eyes widened with recognition and apparent admiration.
“No kidding? You’re Desiree?” The man clapped his hands together. “Well, what do you know. I listen to you all the time!”
“So do I,” said the woman at his side, who was now beaming with excitement. “And so does our son. He especially loves your show.”
Desiree’s face lit up with a heartfelt smile. Instinctively, she held out her hand. “Thank you. It’s so nice to meet you.”
The man shook her hand with enthusiasm and introduced himself and his wife. “I’m honored to meet you. Really honored. Wait until Ron hears about this!” He grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the counter and pulled a pen out of his pocket. “Would you autograph this for—for my son, please?”
