by Nic Tatano
“They never do, Harry.” Though honestly, promotions rarely requested me for any kind of personal appearance.
“Well, keep that in mind.” He flipped a yellow card at me like a Vegas blackjack dealer and I caught it. “Cancer Fund wants you for a fashion show.”
“They need an emcee?” I looked at the card.
“Nope. They want you as one of their models.” He flipped another card at me. “Apparently someone from the Mets front office spotted you at a game recently and wants you to throw out the first pitch in the future.”
I looked at the card. “Cool! And I get a jersey with either my name or Brass Cupcake above the number.”
Another card flew in my direction. “Beauty pageant wants you for a co-host.” Flip. “Makeover show wants you as a guest.” Flip. “Tree lighting at Rockefeller Center in November.” Flip. “Guest ring announcer for a fight in Atlantic City.” Flip. “Judge at the Coney Island hot dog eating contest.” He finally stopped flipping cards at me as I straightened them all into a stack. He folded his hands, dipped his head and looked at me over his glasses with what I call the serious dad look. “Young lady, I’m sorry if this reporting gig is going to play havoc with your promotional escapades.”
I couldn’t help but be flattered by all the requests, but tried my best not to smile. And I knew I’d better not, because when Harry starts a sentence with “young lady” you know he’s not kidding. “Escapades” he usually reserves for newsroom romances, most recently in the case in which two people were caught semi-nude in an editing booth after the late newscast. “C’mon, Harry, you know me better than that. And I’ll keep them to a minimum. Just the charity stuff. And the Mets game because I go there anyway. But that’s it.”
He nodded slightly. “Very well. But see what you started?”
“Again with the see what you started? Have my stories been of the kick-ass variety since my makeover?”
“They have.”
“Then why are you worrying so much about my makeover?”
“Because I’ve seen the fame thing go to people’s heads before, and I don’t want it to happen to you.”
“I’ve been well known in this town for a long time, Harry. I’m already famous.”
“Not for your looks. This is different.”
“What, you want me to change back into frumpy girl?”
“That barn door has sailed.” That’s Harry’s metaphor combination of “locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen” and “that ship has sailed.” He shook his head again and flipped me a large sheet of paper which I recognized as the overnight ratings. “Every time your stories run the numbers go up. Besides, if you suddenly reverted back to, as you call her, frumpy girl, I’d have to add two extra people to handle the complaints.”
I looked at the overnights and saw a definite spike in the shows I was on, particularly in the fifteen-minute segments in which I had appeared. “As you said, I’ve had some great stories lately. That’s all this is.”
“That’s not it, and you know it. You could have found Jimmy Hoffa or an alien from Area 51 with your old look and not gotten numbers like these.” He stood up and started pacing behind his desk, then looked at the floor. “Dammit, Cupcake, why’d you have to turn out so pretty?”
I had to admit, I got a kick out of Harry’s indirect compliments. “You don’t like the higher ratings?”
He shrugged and looked away. “I like ‘em fine, and corporate is over the moon about you. It’s just … well, you’ve always been special to me. I never had a daughter, you know. And I feel like I’ve lost you.”
I actually got misty at that one. It was the first time I’d ever seen Harry get sentimental about anything. I stood up and tossed the index cards back on his desk. “You’ll never lose me, Harry. In fact, now I’ve got even more to prove.”
He turned to face me. “How’s that?”
“I have to keep showing people that I’m not just eye candy.”
“I know that won’t be a problem.”
I moved around the desk so I was closer to him. “Harry, why is this bothering you so much?”
“Because you remind me of a reporter from a long time ago.”
“Really? Who?
“Me.”
And they say there’s no crying in news.
***
Scott handed the menu back to the waitress and then his eyes grew wide.
“Oh, hell! I can’t believe I forgot to call him back.”
“Someone important?”
“Big client.” He looked at his watch. “Yeah, but thankfully he’s in California so it’s still business hours out there.”
He began to fidget in his seat and I could tell he wanted to make the call but was too polite to interrupt our date. I sensed he was waiting for permission so I gave it. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Give him a holler.”
“You don’t mind?”
I waved my hand as if shooing a fly. “Nah, go ahead.” I picked up my wine glass. “But I’m getting a head start.”
“Okay,” he said, pulling out his cell. “It’ll just take five minutes.” He started to get up. “I hate people who talk in restaurants, so I’ll go outside.”
“No problem, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’d better not find another guy in my seat when I get back.”
“You have nothing to worry about.”
He looked at his phone and his face dropped. “Oh, you gotta be kidding. My cell’s dead.”
“Relax, you can borrow mine,” I said, as I fished it out of my purse and handed it to him.
“You’re a life saver. Five minutes, no more, and I’ll be back.”
I sipped the wine as he headed for the door. Amazingly, my three friends approved my bringing Scott back to my apartment after dinner and a movie with the stipulation I ask for his input on Councilman Jagger’s tip. (Who knew the Inhuman Resources troll would actually provide me with a way to move the relationship along?) They actually liked my idea of asking him to help out with my story, so that will be my “excuse” to invite him in.
Though as Roxanne dutifully noted, vampires have to be invited in before they bite their victims.
I personally thought it was a great idea and wouldn’t put too much pressure on the guy, though after that kiss last week he probably wouldn’t mind a more private and lengthier session. I had also gotten pinky swears from each of the girls promising they wouldn’t be camped out in my lobby or use the Hubble telescope to do their “preventive surveillance.” (However, knowing Roxanne’s “connections” in the Sicilian world, I’m considering having my apartment swept for bugs.) But they insisted that breakfast with the guy is off the table. I must say that the sensible girl in me agreed that sex after two dates is rushing things a bit. Though my body has been arguing with sensible girl, reminding her she’s been the equivalent of a sexual camel for several years and has basic human needs.
An hour and a half later the conversation had gone well; easy and not at all forced. He chose a place somewhere between casual and fancy, comfortable with good food. I was fat and happy as I daintily dabbed my red lips with a napkin and placed it on the table. Our movie would start at nine and it was eight-thirty, so I decided to drop my little hint and ask for his assistance.
“I meant to ask you,” I said. “About your financial expertise. I need a little help.”
“You need me to look at your 401k or something?”
“No, that’s doing well. I’ve been working on this story that’s hit a dead end. Someone is possibly cooking the books with the city’s pension fund, and the person at the station who’s great at finding stuff like that came up empty. She said I needed someone like a financial advisor to take a look. So, I was wondering … ”
He smiled. “You want my help on one of your stories?”
“If you wouldn’t mind taking a look. I don’t want to impose.”
“I’d be happy to.” Suddenly his eyes filled with worry. “I don’t have to be
on camera or anything, do I?”
“No, not at all. I just need someone who knows the recipe for cooking books and can find the ingredients.”
His face relaxed. “That’s cute. Recipe for cooking the books. Dash of corruption, pinch of greed.”
“I love that! I’ll use it in the story if it pans out. Anyway, I brought my work home with me, so … would you mind taking a look after the movie?”
“Sure, not a problem.” He checked his watch. “Speaking of which, we need to get going.”
He asked the waitress for the check and I couldn’t wait for the movie to end even before it had begun.
***
I placed two glasses of chilled white wine on the coffee table as Scott whipped through page after page of economic information on my laptop.
“Anything jump out at you?” I asked, as I sat close to him on the couch, presumably to get a look over his shoulder at the laptop. But when I inhaled his Polo cologne I wasn’t thinking of balance sheets but satin ones. (And yes, I hired a maid so the bedroom does not look as though looters have rummaged through it.)
“Everything looks very professional, and I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. For the amount of money you’re talking about I would expect to see something blatantly obvious. But honestly, at first glance it looks like everything is legit.”
“Hmmm. Is there anything else I might look for?”
He shook his head. “I know this would be a great scandal, and I would love to be part of one of your stories, but I don’t think there’s anything here. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. If there’s no story then there’s no story. The Councilman wasn’t sure of anything either.” I snapped the laptop shut, placed it on the coffee table, grabbed the wine glasses, and handed one to him. “Meanwhile … ” I held up my glass for a toast. “To … new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings.” He clinked my glass and we each took a sip. “Mmmm. Great wine.”
“Thought you’d like it.”
“Any other financial statements you need me to look at?”
“Nope.”
He turned his body a bit so that he was facing me. “Want me to balance your checkbook? Roll your loose change?”
I shook my head and smiled as my heart rate kicked up a notch. “You’re off the clock, Mister. You are free to do with your leisure time as you wish.”
“Good.” He took my glass from me, placed both on the coffee table, then turned back and pulled me onto his lap.
***
Roxanne leaned forward and studied my face closely as I slung my purse over the barstool.
“Whaaaat?” I asked as I sat down. “Did I screw up my makeup?”
She turned to Ariel and Serena. “She’s okay.”
“I’m glad you approve, but okay with what?”
“You didn’t have sex,” she said.
“What, you got a camera in my apartment now?”
“No, you don’t have that glow.”
“Glow?”
“Hard to explain,” said Roxanne. “But I know it when I see it, so don’t try to sneak it past me.”
“So, how’d it go?” asked Ariel. “Scale of one to ten.”
“Eleven,” I said, with a huge smile.
“Eleven with no sex,” said Serena. “I can only image what a five must be like. His-and-her oil changes followed by an evening watching C-Span.”
I wrinkled my nose at her. “You’ll all be happy to know he wants to take things slowly.”
“So, you brought him home … ” said Roxanne, leaving her words hanging in the air like a question mark.
“He checked out the documents from my story, we had some wine, and made out like teenagers for about two hours.”
“Fully clothed?” asked Roxanne.
“No, I dressed up as a nun and he wore a suit of armor. Left me with a damn rash, so I bought him a Zorro costume for our next date.”
“So how did the night end?” asked Ariel.
“Well, he had to go out of town this morning and had an early flight, so we just called it quits around one.”
Serena nodded. “And he’ll see you again … when?”
“Two weeks. He travels a lot.”
“Terrific,” said Roxanne, suddenly more upbeat. “That’ll free you up for some catch ‘n’ release.”
“Seriously guys, do we really need to do this? I’ve found a nice man and it’s going well—”
“And you have nothing to compare him to,” said Serena. “Let me explain this to you from a chocoholic point of view, since you may actually understand that. If you’d never had chocolate and I gave you a Hershey bar, you’d say it was terrific, and there’s no reason to try anything else. But if you ate Hershey bars for a while and I gave you a Cadbury, all of a sudden you’d realize there were lots of choices out there. And you needed to find the best one by trying them all.”
“Are you saying Scott is a Hershey bar?” I asked.
Ariel reached across the table and patted my hand. “She’s saying he may or may not be your Cadbury. But you’ll never know unless you visit the candy store. He could be a Cadbury, or he could be stale Halloween candy.”
“So,” I said, “if I can keep all this straight, I need to make sure Scott is a Cadbury bar Will and not a trick-or-treat Vincent.”
“We got too many friggin’ metaphors in this project,” said Roxanne.
“I’m just glad you didn’t use M&Ms and their melts in your mouth, not in your hand slogan.”
They all cracked up at that one.
And just when I was about to present my closing arguments against the catch and release program, we got interrupted by what may have been the total package.
***
The total package’s name was Todd, and he turned out to be nice enough to get the “all clear” from the three amigos via the Will code. Honestly, I think they were all drooling so much they could barely concentrate.
Of course I’d been thinking of Scott the whole time I was talking to … what’s his name? Oh yeah, Todd.
The guy looked like he was computer generated. Six-four, built like Superman, short dark hair, deep-blue eyes. A lean, rugged face with a slight five o’clock shadow. Maybe thirty-five.
We went dancing after we left the bar, and he cut the rug pretty well, though our height difference was a bit of a problem. I like guys under six feet, as I don’t care to get a stiff neck when I kiss someone. With this guy I was looking into his chest and needed to crane my neck to make eye contact.
The dance club was just a few blocks from my building and it was a nice night so Todd decided to walk me home.
He got a lot of looks on the dance floor and is probably every woman’s dream, but I didn’t feel anything. He was polite, funny, smart … yet there was no “it” factor as we say in television. With Scott, I felt it. This guy? Nothing. If he were working in my newsroom, he’d be known as a Ken-doll.
As we approached my building I knew I wasn’t going to invite him in. And I was trying to figure out a polite way of not giving out my phone number. (I actually considered giving him the direct line to the Inhuman Resources troll because a conversation with her would be like a cold shower to the tenth power.)
We crossed the street and arrived at my front door. I turned to face him. “Well, this is it. I’d invite you in but I’ve got an early story tomorrow.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Wow, that was easy.
Suddenly he bent down, wrapped one arm around my waist, and effortlessly lifted me into the air so we were eye to eye. His lips moved toward mine but I leaned back. “Hey!”
“What?”
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you a good night kiss. Or trying to.”
I looked down and saw my feet dangling a foot off the ground. “Put me down.”
“C’mon, Belinda.”
I tried to wriggle free by pushing his shoulders but it was like shoving a stone wall. “Put me down or I’ll scream. An
d my doorman will kick your ass.”
He dropped me instantly. “Geez, what a frigid bitch.” He turned on a dime and walked away.
Just like that.
I straightened my dress and headed quickly to the door.
I wished Scott would get back quickly.
Because I had decided that tomorrow I was going to tell my friends the catch and release season was over.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Every year Roxanne invites me to her family’s Fourth of July picnic. And every year I seemed to be tied up with something, hanging with my brothers, or out of town.
But this year I promised her I’d accompany her to Brooklyn for what she calls “a real Sicilian Fourth.” Not sure what that means, but I know the food will be good. Besides, she’s done so much for me lately (despite the spying) I figured I owed her one.
Her family compound (her description, not mine) was a large brick Georgian home on the shore with a big back yard that had a terrific view of Manhattan. A cluster of huge maple trees surrounded the house like a natural canopy. Her extended family is what I expected: big, loud and full of hugs. As the lone redhead in a sea of raven-haired paisans, I certainly stuck out, but they were making me feel like an honored guest. Though I needed an interpreter for all the Italian slang and hand signals.
I took a bite of grilled Italian sausage, which certainly had a kick to it in the spice department and may have been the best I’d ever tasted. Throw in homemade red wine, a giant antipasto, three kinds of pasta and tomato basil salad, and it beat the hell out of hot dogs and burgers.
I leaned back in my chair under one of the maples, taking a break before getting seconds. The weather was perfect for the fourth, a sunny, cloudless day in the mid eighties. A light offshore breeze sent the smell of salt water my way. I’d worn a pale-blue cotton dress that was perfect for an afternoon at the shore.
Roxanne plopped down in the chair next to me and noticed my plate was empty. “Get enough to eat?”
“Yeah, and I’m taking a break before I go in for round two. This is wonderful. I’m sorry I’ve missed it all these years.”
“Well, clear your calendar in the future because you’re always welcome here.”
