Packing Heat

by Zuri Day

  Jan was taken aback. “You think I sound like a gospel singer?”

  Starr looked at her. “I’m not saying that. I’m agreeing with you that there are a lot of people who can blow. But I’m looking for more than a good singer. I’m looking for somebody to represent my name, to represent the show’s name—Starr Power. That someone has to have the total package: looks, personality, drive, swagger, that ‘it’ factor that you can’t define but”—he paused, distracted by someone behind them—“you know it when you see it.”

  Jan turned in the direction where Starr was looking and forced her shoulders not to sag. Clearly, he wasn’t going to hear anything else she was saying right about now. Hopefully he’d hear her on the stage and call her name as the next pick. Rising, she portrayed bravado she didn’t feel by saying, “Nick Starr, I’ve always admired your talent. Like me, you can really sing. You’re not just hype. And I know that there’s a certain look that the music industry has decided as the perfect pop look. I might not fit that mold exactly, but that total package you say you’re looking for? You’re talking to her.”

  Starr’s gaze slid back to her, his smile sincere. “All right, then, total package. I like that confidence. Keep on bringing it as you work that stage tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  He winked. She smiled, then turned to leave and realized that wink was not for her. The woman who’d caught his eye was now talking to the show coordinator. She epitomized the music industry’s standard of beauty, and probably Starr’s personal standard, too. Tall, slender, long legs, smooth tanned skin, bone-straight hair nearing her waist, and perfectly proportioned T and A. She was stunning, no doubt, and more beautiful than Jan. Later when each took the stage, Jan’s singing was better hands down. She sang better than anybody else in there tonight. The crowd appreciated it. Rome was all smiles. But when Starr announced the next talent who would be joining his cable show, it wasn’t Jan. It was Ms. Perfect T and A, just in from London, who took slot number three for the reality TV show.

  Jan walked to her car, feeling defeated. Why was she out there busting her butt trying to break into an industry that clearly didn’t want her? Why couldn’t she do as her cousin had suggested and give it up, move on, let the dream go?

  “Maybe Crystal’s right,” Jan murmured to herself. She started the car and headed toward the freeway. Maybe my time to shine has come and gone.

  Her phone rang. Either Mom or Crystal, Jan assumed. She tapped the phone icon on her steering wheel. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Jan. It’s Doug.”

  “Doug?” Her face bore a frown even as the sound of his voice sped up her heartbeat. “How’d you get my number?”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I looked it up in our personnel files. I didn’t think you’d call me and seeing Melissa sweating you earlier had me concerned. I wanted to check on you, and make sure you’re okay. As a friend.”

  “Well, put that way, I guess I can’t be mad. Friend.”

  He laughed, low and sexy. It caused a pulsation in places lower than her heart.

  “You could be mad, friend,” he chuckled again. “But that wouldn’t be very nice. So, how are you?”

  “Honestly, I’ve been better.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Jan told him what had just happened. “I probably sound like a hater, but I’m not. She’s an okay singer and will be great for ratings. So I get it. I just think that at the end of the day a talent show should be about talent.”

  “Have you ever auditioned for any of the other shows, like American Idol or The Voice?”

  “I tried out for American Idol. Stood in line for nine hours and made it through preliminaries. But I didn’t get a callback for the TV rounds.”

  “Who was judging? A deaf person?”

  Jan laughed. “No, they heard me.”

  “Then they were fools. A woman with your kind of talent should be on the radio and at the top of the charts.”

  “Thank you, Doug. I appreciate that.”

  She really did. Thoughts of her dreams were mostly kept to herself. It felt good to share, and be validated.

  “I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re a triple threat, girl. You’re smart. You can sing your butt off. And you clean up pretty good.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You don’t come to work looking like you did onstage Friday night, okay? So you’re welcome.”

  “What I wear onstage doesn’t define me. Neither do the clothes I wear to work. I bought that stuff because of the PO dress code. My style is more that of a bohemian funky, casual kind of chick.”

  “You’ve still got it going on. That’s why Melissa is acting out. She’s jealous.”

  “As pretty as she is? I doubt that. She did think we had something going on, though.”

  “Is that why she followed you out?”

  “Sounded like it. Maybe now that I’ve put her mind at ease, she’ll leave me alone and back out of my business.”

  “She most definitely needs to back out of mine. But she was right about one thing.”

  “What?”

  “You were working it on that stage, baby. You owned it. So I don’t care who they put on these shows or promote on TV. Ain’t nobody as bad as you.”

  13

  They talked until Jan was safely in her house, something upon which Doug insisted before he’d hang up. The forty-five-minute drive seemed to go by in five. She was surprised they’d talked that long. She’d enjoyed learning about his family and believed his questions about Lionel’s health and quality of life were from genuine concern. His seeming protectiveness toward her and belief in her talent made Jan aware of how long it had been since she’d felt that from a man. Conversation had flowed easily, with no awkward pauses. No drama and no tired, overt flirting from Doug.

  He had flirted a little bit, though. And she’d liked it.

  The next afternoon she walked into work not knowing what to expect but ready for anything. Joey’s overt flirting. Messy Mel’s blatant digs. She’d have to brace herself a little to handle Doug’s sexy smile, but she was ready for that, too.

  She barely had one foot in the room before Joey spoke. “Good afternoon, superstar.”

  Smiling, she answered, “Good afternoon, Joey.” Pat crossed from the break room to her locker. “Hello, Pat.” She greeted a couple nearby coworkers on the way to her locker.

  Melissa looked on from two tables down. “Are you out of good mornings?”

  Jan turned. “Oh, hi, Melissa. How are you?”

  “I’m amazing, thanks for asking. Had my parts overhauled last night by the tune-up man.”

  “A little too much information,” Pat said on her way to the counter. Jan was right behind her.

  “I’m up for hearing details,” one of the male coworkers responded.

  “I’m up for seeing them,” Joey chimed in. Those who heard it laughed.

  Doug walked out of the supervisor’s office. “What’d I miss?”

  “Nothing that I can’t show you later,” Melissa cooed.

  “Naw, I’m good,” Doug threw over his shoulder on the way to the front.

  He walked in as Pat asked Jan, “Do you sing at Breeze every weekend?”

  Jan shook her head. “The second Friday of most months, unless an out-of-town band gets booked. Otherwise there are four local bands playing different genres who rotate the calendar. Frank likes the diversity because it enlarges his crowd.”

  “Who’s Frank?” Doug asked.

  “The manager at Breeze.”

  “What music do the other bands play?” Pat asked. “I like all kinds.”

  “The first Friday is a combination of blues and more old-school soul music. Third Friday is jazz and neo soul, and the fourth is hip-hop and alternative. There’s more info on their Web site.”

  Doug checked his watch and went to unlock the door from the thirty-minute lunch shutdown. Pat continued organizing her drawer and work area. “I haven’t been to that place
in years, at least ten. Started going there years ago, back in the seventies, before I was legally allowed. It was called The Connection back then, and on the weekends, baby, it was the spot! My girlfriends and I would fix ourselves to look as grown as possible and hold our breath until they handed back our fake IDs.” She laughed, her eyes looking beyond the building’s walls and into her history. “Then we’d hit the dance floor and party till dawn!”

  “Sounds like a good time,” Jan said.

  “The best. It’s where I met my first husband. In the eighties it got bought by some dude who tried to take it disco. That didn’t work. It closed for a while. Last time I was there, it was to see a group that one of my coworker’s husband managed. They were good, too, a little old school. Don’t know what happened to them. That’s the last time I was there.”

  “I’ve been singing there for about a year and honestly hadn’t heard about it until I got with this band.”

  “So where are you singing next?”

  Jan glanced at Doug, who was all ears. “I’m not booked for another show until next month, back at Breeze.”

  “Will you remind me? I really want to come and support you.”

  The day passed. Jan was grateful for Pat. She was a genuinely nice woman who made Jan’s day more bearable and balanced out Melissa’s toxic vibe. Once six o’clock came and the counter closed, processing the mail and preparing the bags for the next day’s routes made the remaining three hours fly by.

  “Feeling better?” Doug asked as he and Jan walked to the car after locking up.

  “Yes, Pat is very encouraging. I like her.”

  “I love Pat. She’s like a second mom.” He passed his bike and kept walking.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m walking you to your cage.”

  “My what?”

  “Cage. It’s what we bikers call those enclosed traps that cagers—what we call people who drive the cages—seem to love so much.”

  “I see. So you’re walking me to the cage that’s only ten feet away from your bike?” Jan chuckled. “I think I’ll be fine.”

  “Man, you twenty-first-century women kill me. You say you want a gentleman, and to be taken care of, but you’re so independent that if we try and fill that role, we get that.”

  “What?”

  “A smart mouth.”

  They reached her car. “Thank you, friend, for making sure I reached my car safely.”

  “You’re welcome, friend. Although I could get diabetes from all of that sugary sarcasm.”

  They both laughed. Doug walked to his bike, donned his helmet, and within a minute was out of the parking lot.

  Jan turned the key as she watched him speed out of the parking lot. Her car engaged but didn’t turn over. She knew the problem immediately. No gas. She’d meant to stop on her way home from open mike night, but once Doug called the errand had totally slipped her mind.

  With an exasperated sigh, she reached for her phone and then opened the glove compartment for her roadside assistance contact card. “I can’t believe I forgot,” she mumbled, angry that this minor slip would cost her a couple hours sleep. She was grateful that help was just a phone call away, but in the few times she’d had to use them the wait had never been less than ninety minutes. Tonight, she believed, would be no different.

  And then a sight caught her eye. Doug, hopping the curb and roaring to a stop within a foot of her door. Too relieved to be angry, she lowered the window. “Hello, Doug, my gentleman friend.”

  “Uh-huh.” He turned off the motorcycle and got off. “Something’s wrong, just as I figured.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you’re being nice.”

  “How’d you know there was something wrong?”

  “I kept looking in the mirror, waiting to see you pull out. When I went through the light and still didn’t see your car I pulled to the side, waited a minute, and then came back.”

  “That’s really sweet of you, thanks. You’re right. I’m out of gas.”

  “How did that happen? You didn’t see the indicator light saying you were near empty?”

  “Of course I did. But last night I got sidetracked by a telephone call and totally forgot to stop.” She looked at him pointedly.

  “Are you saying it’s my fault?”

  She nodded, answered with total conviction. “I am.”

  He shook his head. “Women.” He walked to his bike, pulled a second helmet from the trunk, and motioned to her. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get you some gas!”

  “Oh no. I don’t do motorcycles. I’ll just call roadside.”

  “And wait two hours? There’s a gas station right down the street. And I don’t want to leave you alone with a broken-down car.”

  “I’m not getting on that thing.”

  He let out an exasperated breath. “Then get out of the car.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Man, I sure couldn’t date you because you ask too many datgum questions!”

  “And I wouldn’t want to date you because you’re so demanding. Come here. Go there. I’m a grown woman.”

  “Yeah, a grown woman who forgot something as simple as putting gas in her car.” He shifted his weight, changed his tone. “Would you please come with me as I unlock the door to the post office so you can wait inside while I go get gas for your car?”

  “It’s really okay, Doug. I don’t want to put you out.”

  Two steps and he was opening her car door. “On the bike or in the building. Those are your choices.”

  She looked at him, her expression contemplative. “I’ll wait inside.”

  They walked toward the door. “Now, was that so hard?”

  “Truly painful.”

  “Ha!”

  “No, seriously, I appreciate your helping me. I’m so used to doing things on my own that I guess it is hard for me to step back and be assisted. Something that happens automatically, that I didn’t realize until now.”

  After seeing her securely inside, Doug went to the gas station. Less than ten minutes later, her problem was handled.

  He relocked the post office door. They reached her car. “Here,” she said, pulling out her wallet. “Let me give you something.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “But you helped me out. Just a show of appreciation.”

  “Tell you what. You can pay me by not being so resistant when I’m trying to help you. And with a hug.”

  “Fine.” She stretched her arms to his shoulders, leaving two feet between them, and squeezed.

  “What the hell was that?” Which he didn’t really have to say because his look already said it loudly and clearly.

  “Ha! You should see your face! You’ve never heard of a church hug? That’s what’s taught to the singles so that there is no temptation between single men and women who socialize together.”

  “Damn. No wonder so many women in church are still single. That’s a jacked-up hug. Come here.”

  Without waiting or warning, he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. Her arms automatically tightened, bringing them closer still. The energy shifted. The atmosphere changed. Though he wasn’t holding her tightly, Jan couldn’t breathe. It was the feel of her breasts crushed against his chest, the heat from his breath on her ear, the nearness of him. Something deep inside her that had been sleeping came alive. She stepped back and took a gulp of fresh air.

  “You all right?”

  “Yes, just . . .” She stepped around him, got into her car, and started it almost in the same motion. “Thanks again, Doug. I really appreciate your help.”

  “Anytime. Drive safe.”

  Jan pulled off without looking back. One look, she knew, and any hope of not falling head over heels for her “gentleman friend” would be gone.

  14

  Sleep was a wonderful thing, but last night Doug hadn’t gotten much. At work for less than an hour, he was al
ready in a mood. An unruly customer had threatened him with a lawsuit because of what she claimed was a lost package. After going through Pat and the coworker handling the special notice window, she had demanded to speak to a supervisor. Lucky him. Usually the Carter charm was the ultimate anger annihilator. Not today. This woman didn’t want anything except her mail. At the same time he was dealing with Ms. Congeniality, one of the processors jammed. He thought this was enough to happen before he’d gone through one can of caffeine, but no. He had to get a call from his supervisor about some rules and regulation/ protocol nonsense. He had a mind to channel his mama, Liz Carter, and tell his super that today was not the day to use his back to climb the employment ladder, but he stopped himself, let the venting slide off said back, and hung up the phone with his job still intact.

  When his message indicator beeped, he thought it was another fire. It was, but not the kind he had in mind.

  Do you have plans for lunch? I’m buying.

  Jan. The woman who more and more was igniting his passion. And costing him sleep. With one sentence, his day began to look up.

  He picked up his phone and texted back.

  Sure. What do you have in mind?

  Doesn’t matter. Something quick.

  That’ll work. But I’ll buy mine.

  No. This is for helping me last night.

  Okay, if it will make you feel better.

  I’ma let you have this one. We’ll talk later.

  And they did. Within seconds of getting into Jan’s car, Doug made it clear that payment for his chivalry would not be a chicken sandwich.

  “What about a burger?”

  “I did the job. I set the pay, which was a hug. Last night was only partial payment.”

  “How do you figure and how is that fair? There were no choices in what you got for me. My car needed gas. You bought gas. There was no choice as to whether it would be that or lemonade.”

  Doug paused for a minute, gave her a look. “Dang, that’s a pretty good argument,” he finally conceded. “I think women are born with an argument gene.”