by Carmen Green
“I’m here. On time. That’s all that matters.”
“That mouth is going to be your downfall.”
Tia used a technique she’d learned while reading her homework chapter and didn’t respond.
“Nothing to say?”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to prepare for the broadcast.”
Chance’s smile bloomed. “Reassignment. Alison is sitting in as backup anchor for Ben.”
The ever-present simmer in Tia’s stomach began to boil. “What? Why?”
“We need an experienced, mature person in line, should anything happen to Ben.”
“She’s an intern! Alison can’t even pronounce cumulus. She says cunnilingus. How inappropriate is that? Doesn’t that concern you?”
“What an exaggerator you are.” Chance laughed, looking cool and pasty. “But at this point, you’d say anything to get your butt out of trouble. As for Alison, this is Georgia. If she ever gets on the air, it’s highly unlikely she’ll ever have to use the word. You’re reassigned. You’re proofreading copy for the Web site.”
That’s what Alison does, Tia wanted to say but didn’t.
Interns did the grunt work. That was a universal rule of life. But this was Chance’s opportunity to try to force her to quit so her friend’s niece could take her job. Tia hated it, but her twelve-hundred-dollar mortgage kept her from ripping Chance’s head off, thus saving the evil woman’s life.
“Fine. I’ll read copy.”
“Very good.” Chance clapped her milky hands, looking annoyed and frustrated.
Tia put on her best innocent face. “You should get something for that rash.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your wrists,” she whispered loudly. “Hydrocortisone cream should knock it right out. Unless it’s fungal.”
Chance looked as if she’d gulped down a bucket of razors. “Don’t concern yourself with me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Sister, you’re two shakes away from being on the outside, looking in at all of us employed people.”
“Don’t threaten me.” Tia’s control slipped. Heat grew under her butt, and she inched to the end of her chair.
“I don’t threaten. That’s a promise.”
Chance stomped away in impossibly high-heeled boots. She suffered from the female version of the Napoleon syndrome. She thought she was a dictator, when she was just a mini Fred Flintstone.
Tia rushed to the bathroom, stinging from the informal demotion. What would everyone think? She’d come to WKTR Television six months before Ben. And while he’d been promoted several times and was now the on-air anchor, she’d been shoved into research and now proofreading.
Tia stared at her face in the mirror and tried to think pleasant thoughts.
Less than a minute in, she gave up. What a load of crap. She was getting screwed! How could Chance have chosen Alison? The girl was a nymphomaniac.
Well, there was always a chance that Chuck would get food poisoning and Alison would commit a sex act on the air.
A little giggle bubbled up from her chest, and Tia finally felt some relief. Maybe she should fight anger with laughter.
She’d have to ask Fred to talk about it in class, the little runt.
Another laugh bubbled up, and Tia threw the damp paper towels she’d put on her neck in the trash and headed back to her desk.
She’d found a new way to fight her fiery emotions. She’d laugh the rest of her life away.
By three o’clock, Tia thought she’d strangle the next person who stopped by to check on her. Laughing had given her a headache and had caused more than one person to offer to pray for her.
Ronnie/Rhonda drove up as Ronnie today. “Hey, sista girl. I hear you’re pulling a Jack Nicholson on everybody with all that laughing.”
Tia didn’t feel like being bothered, but Ronnie had always been nice to her. She sighed. “What?”
“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” he said and laughed. “You’d have been better off saying, ‘Hello, Clarice.’” He did a perfect imitation of Anthony Hopkins. “At least then they’d know what the hell they’re dealing with.”
Tia rested her hand under her chin and grinned. “You’re crazy. You know that?”
“Yep, and that’s why these devils leave me alone. I’ll go straight nutso/whacko on their asses, and this whole place would get turned upside down. Welp, I’d better tootle. The dragon just left her den. Here.” He handed her a white bag.
“What’s this?” she whispered.
“I like my women with a little ass, and you, my dear, won’t have one if you don’t eat. Ciao.”
Tia’s eyes widened, and she couldn’t move. Ronnie/Rhonda was a real dude inside?
Tia stopped her careening thoughts. Nine out of ten days Ronnie/Rhonda was a girl. If there was a man in that body, he sure wouldn’t be tricked out in red ruffles every Monday, with his hair pinned up.
Unless he was Prince.
There were exceptions to every rule.
“Thank you,” she stage-whispered outside of her cube.
“Da nada, baby,” Ronnie said, before gliding into the elevator with his mail cart.
Tia wasn’t sure how he’d heard her, but that didn’t matter. He’d done a good deed and fed the hungry.
She opened the turkey and lettuce wrap and thanked God for Ronnie/Rhonda’s sweet soul. It was Atkins friendly.
Tia closed her burning eyes, savoring her unexpected lunch. Ronnie/Rhonda didn’t know that he’d saved her from a humiliation worse than dying in your ex’s chimney.
She had thirty dollars in the bank until payday, and that was three days away. Buying dinner wasn’t an option. She racked her brain for food possibilities.
Happy hour.
Tia warmed inside.
She bit into the last piece of her wrap, logged onto the Internet and accessed a map of downtown Atlanta. There were thirty hotels between here and the interstate. She checked off the ones that had three stars or lower, had suites in the title, and were more than a fifteen-minute drive away.
Ten remained. She printed the list, then hurried to get it, glancing over her shoulder every step of the way. She chided herself for being careless.
If she weren’t on an action plan, making a personal copy wouldn’t have been a problem, but now her every move was under the microscope.
Back in her cube, Tia was reviewing the list when her phone buzzed. She could see from the caller ID that it was Rachel. She worked her jaw before answering.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Didn’t see you this morning.”
“That’s because you and Kyle were ... involved.”
“We’re in love, Tia. I’d hoped you could understand that.”
“What is it, Rachel? I’ve got to get going.”
“I just got a disturbing call from Sonny.”
“What did he want?”
“Apparently Megan’s been stalking him.”
“Why would you believe that?”
“Because she traded in her car and took a leave of absence from work. She was at the airport today, when he and his wife got home from their honeymoon.”
“There could be a perfectly good reason for her being at the airport. It is the largest airport in the world.”
“Lot C, section B. That’s where he was parked. She was in lot C, section C, sitting there, he said, crying.”
“That’s a little spooky, but before I take his word for anything, I’d like to hear from Megan.”
“Good. I thought we could perform an intervention tonight at her house.”
Megan wasn’t known for having food. “Uh, why not at the Hilton at six-thirty? That way nobody can cause a scene and tell somebody to get out.”
“True,” Rachel agreed.
“I’m kind of short on cash, so I can’t treat.”
“Don’t worry. It’s on me.”
Tia regretted the terrible things she’d thought about Rachel and Kyle at two-thirty thi
s morning. “See you then.”
Tia filled her appetizer plate with stuffed mushrooms, shrimp with cocktail sauce, and a beef kabob. Cold vegetables were always the last to go, so she planned to make her return trip to the buffet after she’d taken the edge off her hunger.
At the round table, with her two best friends, Tia waited as they chatted with a good-looking brother from the next table.
The first thing Tia noticed was how clean-cut he was, with his navy suit and white shirt. He’d lost the tie and opened the top collar button, which gave him an air of relaxation in the after-five atmosphere. His hair was neatly edged, and he wore a nice Tag Hauer watch. Tia didn’t see a cellular, and she appreciated that. She hated the way Dante worshipped his cell phone. Even when it hadn’t rung, he’d looked at it.
Well, that was no longer her worry. His phone had been cut off a few weeks ago, and although she’d given him the money, he’d obviously made another choice. Like finding a new sugar mama.
The stuffed mushrooms in her stomach unstuffed.
“Tia, this is Kirk Giles,” Rachel said, with a million-dollar smile. “He’s new to Atlanta, from Greenville.”
“Welcome,” Tia said, realizing Megan’s faraway look didn’t inspire conversation. “How long have you been here?”
“Six weeks. I’m in broadcasting.”
Tia smiled at the unsolicited information. “What type? TV?”
“No, radio. The company I’m with is looking to expand into this market. Your friends mentioned you were in television.”
She shrugged. “Weather.”
“Maybe we could get together and talk shop sometime.”
“Maybe.” Tia gave her friends a curious glare, then returned to eating her dinner.
“Can we exchange cards?” he asked, offering his.
Tia hesitated, then gave him her personal card. The last thing she needed was to receive personal calls at work.
“Thanks,” she said, having no intention of calling him. He didn’t look like her next relationship train wreck, but she hadn’t expected to be the lead joke on the evening news either. Life was unexpectedly cruel.
“Have a good evening, ladies,” Kirk said as he rose to leave.
With Kirk gone, the trio was left alone.
“He was nice,” Megan commented. “You should get with him, Tia.”
“At least he has a job,” Rachel said, but somehow, coming from her, it sounded insulting.
Tia bit into her last mushroom and chewed, thinking of Fred’s rule that when you’re really concentrating, nothing can make you angry. She chewed and counted. Did a mental anger check and chewed until she ground her teeth, and there was no more food in her mouth.
Rachel had called this little soirée but didn’t seem to want to get the party started. Her lips were wrapped around the mouth of her second Heineken.
Tia visited the buffet again, ate, then looked Megan in the eye. “Are you crazy?”
Unexpected tears flooded Megan’s eyes. “I think so. When I saw his truck, I got to thinking about how many times we’d lain in the bed of the F-150 and dreamed about our future. A space opened up across from his, and before I knew it, I was parked. I didn’t expect to see them.”
“Why didn’t you just leave?” Rachel asked, digging on her plate for a chicken wing.
“I was too shocked. She’s got huge boobs. I mean, they’re like boulders. Maybe that’s why—”
Tia elbowed Megan until she looked at her. “That’s not it. Boobs are just ...” She wanted to say “things” but recalled all too clearly that any time Queen Latifah came on TV, Dante would turn to stone. “They’re nothing but big mammary glands that eventually become misshapen and resemble cow teats.”
All three cracked up.
“I know it’s wrong,” Megan admitted. “I shouldn’t have been there.”
“How’d you find his car, anyway?”
“I just spotted it,” Megan said vaguely.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “There are ten thousand parking spaces at the damned airport. If you just happened to luck upon his car, then write down tomorrow’s Mega Millions numbers, ’cause you’s a lucky bitch.”
Tia didn’t believe Megan, either. She looked a little off. Her hair was normally pinned up, her make-up Fashion Fair perfect. But today Tia could see her acne scars. And that wasn’t Megan.
“Take Megan’s hand, Rachel. Promise you won’t go near Sonny or his wife again,” said Tia.
“He was mine.” Megan cried like somebody had died. Or something. Her love for Sonny.
Tia understood. Maybe this was the wake-up call she needed. They’d all dealt with heartbreak differently. She and Dante still had unfinished business, and Rachel had started new business with Kyle.
At the moment, Tia felt like the healthiest of the three, and that wasn’t saying much. She’d paid a grand to have her say.
“Look, don’t call me when he has you picked up for stalking him,” Rachel said, then released Megan’s hand and finished her beer.
Megan’s head bobbed as she cried softly. “I understand.”
“Bullshit,” Tia told Rachel. “We’re in this together. She’s trying to deal with her issues, unlike you, who’s spread-eagle and unable to make a sound decision besides blazing blue or neon green condoms.”
Rachel’s mouth hung open. “No, you didn’t! After I took you in.”
“Rachel, please. You won’t even give me a key,” Tia scoffed. “I feel like I’m in boarding school.”
Coming around long enough to referee, Megan perked up. “Okay now. Here,” Megan said, pouring some of her Heineken into Rachel’s bottle. She sopped up what didn’t make it into the bottle with her napkin. “Shh, don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“Find somewhere else to board, wench!”
Tia glared at Rachel and twisted her head. “Fine. I will. I’ve got options.” She got off the stool and wobbled a bit. “I’ll get my stuff tonight, after I go to the bathroom.”
Weaving through the crowd, Tia rejected acknowledging the logical part of her brain that demanded an explanation.
What options?
Yeah. Front seat or back.
She passed through a throng of men watching a basketball game when she saw Chance, embroiled in an argument with a woman dressed in an expensive Donna Karan suit. What made the woman stand out was the severe way her hair was pulled off her face and her skillfully applied but dark make-up. Tia was about to go the other way when the woman slapped Chance so hard, her face snapped left, then right.
Stunned, Tia didn’t move.
Neither did Chance. She didn’t fight or cry or anything. She just stood there.
People around them reacted, but the woman didn’t so much as blink at them. She said a few parting words to Chance and left.
Morbid curiosity made Tia watch to see what her bully boss would do, but her bladder begged for relief.
Tia hurried into the ladies’ room, and when she got back, Chance was gone.
Megan was at the table by herself when Tia returned.
“This lady just slapped the crap out of Chance.”
“Get out.”
Adrenaline coursed through Tia. Chance deserved to get clocked, but without knowing why, Tia felt a little cheated. Maybe she was the disappointed lady whose niece Chance hadn’t hired yet.
“Where?”
“Over by the bathroom,” Tia said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but if I find out who she is, I’ll put her on my Christmas card list. Where’d Rachel go?”
“Home. She said your things will be on the front porch.”
“Well, that’s just perfect!” People around them turned to stare, and Tia glared back.
“Tia, you’re welcome to stay with me, but no, I’ve got renovations going on.”
Tia patted her friend’s hand. “Thanks, sweetie, but that’s okay. I know what I’ve got to do. Dante is moving out. Tonight.”
Chapter Twelve
Byron rolled into the station parking lot at 6:50 a.m. and parked his cruiser. He was tired, bone weary, as his mother used to say. Too tired to spit.
Before he joined the force, he used to think that working nights was easier than days, but now he knew better, and last night had proven that point.
He’d gotten into a brawl with a pimp when he’d tried to arrest his number one hooker.
The man had been small but quick and had gotten in a couple of good hits. Byron touched his cheek gingerly as he walked into the station.
“Way to go, Rivers. You’re sweeping the streets clean single-handedly,” one of his fellow officers teased.
Another pointed to his cheek. “Duck next time.”
“Funny,” Byron responded, taking it in stride. What could he say? He should have ducked.
He flopped down at his desk to sign off on his paperwork before heading home. Lynn wanted to come over to cook, and Byron wanted a good meal but not the pressure that came along with it.
He had too much thinking to do. After the class the other night, he’d tried to figure out why he hadn’t made his presence known to the judge at Tia’s hearing. He could have interrupted the dismissal, and she’d have had to answer for escaping from custody.
But poor judgment and sympathy had overridden common sense, and now real concerns about his objectivity plagued him.
After five years on the force and an unblemished record, for the sake of one civilian, he’d jeopardized his job. Could he be objective?
Unable to find a quick resolution, Byron eased into the bustle of ongoing police business and decided that a proactive rather than reactive approach to his career would be best.
“Byron, can you come by my desk, please?” the squad secretary asked.
He waved and started toward Heather, but he was sidetracked by two of the biggest mistakes law enforcement had ever made: Officers Blaire McNult and Joey Rand.
“What’s up?” Byron looked for a way to avoid a conversation with them, but no criminals jumped out at him.
“You sure have a way with the women.”
McNult, the slightly brighter of the two, demonstrated a level of dimness that surprised Byron and bit off a hangnail, then yelped.
