“You know, Jed, yes I do. I have a problem with the fact that I caught you having sex with Audra Downing in this very office, of which I own half. I have a problem with the fact that you fired her, without my consent, for breaking it off with you. I have a problem with the fact that Audra and Hannah are both dead and you don’t seem to care. I have a PROBLEM with all the late nights you and your new secretary—what’s her name—Candi have—”
“Ooh, Candi!” I chortle. “That’s a good stripper name. When Jed fires her she can—”
“Be quiet. Now I have to rewind,” Blake grumbles, rewinding the video for a few seconds. “Are you finished?”
“No. Candi—”
“Oh, you’re finished all right,” Blake says as he shoves a handful of popcorn into my mouth.
I try to call him a bad name but all that comes out of my popcorn-stuffed mouth is “Brgff grrgn.” Two can play at this game. I grab as much popcorn as I can in one hand and try to shove it into his mouth, but he’s too quick for me. He intercepts my arm and flings it back. I lose my grip on the popcorn, and it flies up into the air only to rain back down on both of our heads. Oh, it’s on now! Blake and I both begin pelting each other with popcorn. I see an opening to win this fight, and I take it. I snatch the bowl away from him and jump on top of him, ready to dump what’s left in the bowl on his head. Again, I am outmatched. He lifts me up off of him and in one move lays me gently down on my back on the couch.
His face only inches from mine, he murmurs, “You really should pick on someone your own size.”
“What are you going to do about it?” I ask breathlessly. I know it’s probably wrong, but I’m going to test Blake’s resolve to not start anything with me. And this time, no matter what, I’m not going to get my feelings hurt. This is only a test. I move my face a little closer to his.
For a moment, I think his face may have inched a little closer to mine as well, but then he sits back and sighs. “Nothing.”
I shake my head. “You’re the only man I’ve ever met who willfully cock-blocks himself.”
His jaw drops with surprise. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
The doorbell rings, and I check the clock. I can’t believe it’s six-thirty already. It must be Julia to pick me up for the party. I hop up off the couch, muttering under my breath, “I’ll tell you what I’d like to kiss with that mouth.” I open the door, and it’s Julia.
“Hey! Are you ready to…” She trails off, gawking at my hair. “Um, you got a little something…” She gently picks a piece of popcorn out of the disheveled mess my hair has become.
I reach up and feel around on my head, finding quite a few squashed popcorn pieces stuck in my hair. “Come in just a sec. I’m going to just go and fix this…” I explain, running for my bathroom.
When I take a look in the mirror, it’s not a pretty sight. I didn’t think we were playing that rough! I rake a wide-tooth comb through my hair, ripping out bits of popcorn as I go. A few pieces are tangled in and around my hair, causing me to let out a couple of yelps. There! Finally done, and my hair is decent again. I frown at my rumpled clothes. It is a party, so I might as well put on something a little cuter than the shorts and T-shirt I’m wearing, and since Julia has already had to wait on me, I’m sure she won’t mind another couple of seconds.
I rifle through my closet and find my white eyelet sundress, perfect for a hot summer evening. I’ve always thought it was super-cute, with its tied shoulder straps and slightly poofy but short skirt. Wearing it makes me feel like I’m a sexy farm girl—think Daisy Duke. And, I’m hoping I look good enough in it to make Blake regret not pouncing on me when he had the chance a couple of minutes ago. My finishing touch is a small white flower, clipped just behind my right ear. I have a sudden flash of fantasy in which Blake is removing the flower from my hair—with his teeth. Deep breaths, Lizzie. Deep breaths.
As I return to my living room, I overhear Blake and Julia’s conversation.
Julia is saying, “I’m glad you’re going to be staying here with her, but I feel like you two should get out of town or something, just until this all blows over.”
Blake answers quietly, “You know she’d never—” He stops when he sees me enter the room and gets a glazed look like the one he had when Becca dolled me up at the funeral home. He tries to continue his thought, “…go…for…” but can’t. I’m pleased to see that he can’t seem to form the rest of his sentence. Serves him right. He’s been doing that to me for months. Gotta love the Lizzie-vision.
“I’m ready,” I announce.
Julia asks, “So why is it exactly that you need me to take you to the party? Blake was just telling me he’s going to be taking care of driving you around for the time being.”
Blake is just beginning to get his bearings when I answer, “Oh, he can’t take me. He already has a date.” He gives me a dark “don’t go there” look, and I remind him, “It’s not like it’s a secret.”
Julia rolls her eyes. “You two. Why don’t you just sleep together and get it over with?”
“Whoa! Okay, time to go,” I interject loudly.
I usher Julia and Blake out of my house and lock the door. I feel a little apprehensive about this evening, as I have no idea what this party is going to be like, but I’m sure it will be nothing if not interesting.
CHAPTER TWENTY
When Julia, her husband Dillon, and I get to The Liberty Inn, we’re greeted warmly at the door by Mr. Mason and Sarah.
“Hey, you all, welcome to the party!” Sarah hands each of us two tickets.
“These are your drink vouchers,” explains Mr. Mason. “Just find a seat anywhere and dinner will be served shortly. Have a great time.”
I have to hand it to Mason and Sarah—their drink voucher idea is a good one. People will be a lot less likely to get stinking drunk if they have to pay for more drinks themselves. They probably saved this party from becoming a drunken brawl with this one act.
As we walk into the dining area, Hank and his wife, Renee, beckon us over to join them. A handful of other Chronicle employees and their spouses are already seated and happily talking and laughing, looking a lot less stressed than they have been all this week. Across the room, Bitsy Mason is already hard at work, trying to chat up Paul of all people. Good luck with that, lady! From the glazed appearance of her eyes, it’s clear she has already made use of her two drink tickets. Paul seems less than interested in her, which is no surprise. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that she’s not attractive at first glance, but up close she’s just so tanorexic and plastic-y looking it’s hard on your eyes to look at her for long periods of time. I’m amazed at how Mr. Mason doesn’t seem to care that his wife makes a complete jackass of herself at every Chronicle party. Everyone in town knows about their seemingly “open” marriage, except him.
“Hi, guys,” Renee greets us as we sit down at the table. “Hey, Lizzie, heard you had a blast last night at Blake’s.” I love Renee. She has the same quirky sense of humor that Hank has, making her fit in so easily with our little work group.
I smack my forehead with my palm. “Who doesn’t know about what happened?”
Not that I wouldn’t have told Hank and Renee, and not that I care if people know my car got bombed, but now it’s blatantly obvious to everyone that I was over at Blake’s house late last night. Restart the rumor mill. At least if we were having sex it would be rumor-worthy, but since we’re not, it’s just annoying and serves only to remind me that we’re not in fact having sex.
“Come on, Lizzie. We want it straight from the horse’s mouth. What the hell happened?” demands Hank.
“I was just about to leave when I heard this big boom outside. I ran out of the house and saw my car on fire. The fire department came and put it out, and the police questioned me. That’s about it.”
They don’t need to know that I was huffing out of the house after kissing (then fighting with) Blake. They also don’t need to know how I laid on the porch an
d watched my car go up in flames, being unable to move. And, they sure as hell don’t need to know that I lied to the police about who could have done this to me. So, I gave them just the facts.
Evidently “the facts” aren’t good enough, because Hank complains, “You have a real knack for not being able to tell stories, copy editor. Let’s get Blake over here and see if he can elaborate.” Hank spies Blake sitting at a table with Sarah and Mr. Mason. He hollers across the room, “Blake, come over here.”
Blake excuses himself and walks over to where we’re sitting. “What’s up, Abshire? Hi, Renee.” So he can call her “Renee” (Seriously? He barely knows her!) and I’m still “Hart.” Whatever.
“Blake, your friend Lizzie here has been trying to tell us what happened to her car last night in that gushy, romantical way she has,” Hank explains.
I glare at him from across the table. “What is it with you people and factual, to-the-point descriptions of events?”
Blake smiles directly at me. “You mean she went all copy editor on you again?”
“You could say that. Can you maybe, I don’t know, tell us a story that wouldn’t make us want to shove sharp objects in our ears?”
Blake is still smiling at me as he begins his story in a news anchor-y type of voice: “I’m out in my backyard when I hear the loudest, most earsplitting BOOM I’ve ever heard. Startled, I spin around in time to see a bright orange ball of flame through the windows. Alarmed that my house is on fire or that someone might be hurt and in need of my help, I dash in the direction of the blast. Stopping only to ascertain that Ms. Hart here is unhurt, I throw open my front door, only to be greeted by a fierce inferno of fire, smoke, and twisted metal. I consider putting out the blaze myself, but it is burning much too hard and fast. I rush back inside and calmly dial nine-one-one. I instruct them to send the police as well, because the whole scenario seems pretty suspicious to me. Upon my return outside, I find Ms. Hart lying in a crumpled heap on my front porch. I rush to her side to assess if she is injured, and, after a thorough examination, find her physically unhurt but in a seriously weakened mental state.”
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. He sounds like a self-important superhero telling the adoring townsfolk how he saved the day. And he so did not thoroughly examine me.
Blake continues, “After soothing Ms. Hart’s frazzled nerves, I go to consult with the police officers and firefighters who have arrived on the scene. I watch as the brave firefighters valiantly fight the raging flames, finally succeeding in containing and extinguishing the fire. However, they are too late. Ms. Hart’s vehicle is reduced to a lump of misshapen steel, broken glass, and charred bits and pieces no longer distinguishable. One of the police officers interviews Ms. Hart and me while the firefighters and other policeman sift through the rubble, investigating the cause of the explosion. Because of the horribly disturbing nature of this crime, I have to aid the emotionally fatigued Ms. Hart in her police questioning—”
I have heard enough. “You narcissistic jackass! If anything, you were holding my purse while I did all the talking!”
Hank shakes his finger at me. “You had your chance to tell the story. Don’t get your panties in a twist just because he’s doing a better job than you did.”
“I need a drink,” I snap, grabbing one of my drink tickets and flouncing away to the bar.
Aargh! Who does Blake think he is, telling everyone how scarred I was by all this? I wouldn’t have been half as upset about what happened to my car if my life hadn’t been such an emotional rollercoaster this week, BECAUSE OF HIM! He has deprived me of countless hours of sleep; created angst between me and Julia, me and my ex, and me and my boss; got me questioned by the police; and most devastatingly, turned me down after a week’s worth of pursuing me, complete with passionate kisses and romantic dates. I’m glad I’m not his date tonight, because I really don’t want to talk to him or hear him talk right now.
Once the bartender brings my Long Island Iced Tea, I suck down half of it in two gulps, searing my throat. There. It shouldn’t be too long before all the shots in there kick in. I decide to hang around the bar and pretend to watch TV until Blake is finished with his dissertation on my fractured emotional state.
Unfortunately, I’m accosted by Bethany, who I hadn’t even thought about seeing tonight. I was so tired last night, I didn’t think about the repercussions of giving her name to the police as a possible suspect in my car bombing. Bring the pain. This evening can’t get much worse.
She gets in my face, shouting, “What’s up with you getting me questioned by the police last night?” She punctuates her accusation by poking me in the shoulder.
“Don’t poke me, Bethany,” I warn as I poke her back.
“What were you even doing at Blake’s house last night? Some late-night stalking?”
“No, that would be more your style.”
She ignores my comment. “I can’t believe you’re so jealous of the fact that Blake likes me that you would go and lie to the police about me.”
“He likes…you…” She’s so crazy.
“Yeah.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Uh…yes.” Liar!
In a flash of brilliance, I say to her, “You know he and Sarah are dating, right?” If Bethany starts messing with Sarah like she’s messing with me, it could very well get her fired. And that means she’d be out of my hair for good.
“No…no they’re not,” Bethany says unsurely, her voice starting to shake.
“I heard they went out last night, and they’re here together tonight—look.” I gesture over to the table where Blake, Sarah, and Mr. Mason are sitting.
Blake is talking to Sarah, and she’s smiling up at him. I feel a little stab of jealousy, even though I think he likes me better than her. But she is so beautiful and confident. I get an uneasy feeling, realizing I’m not exactly sure why he would choose me over her.
Bethany lets out a wounded-sounding grunt. She reminds me a bit of a cornered animal—filled with both rage and fear at the same time, adrenaline kicking into overdrive as she decides whether to stand up and fight or run away crying. From the look of her clenched fists and jaw, it seems to me like she’s going to go pick a fight, which will be nothing short of awesome to watch.
She turns on me one last time and spits, “I hate you,” before stalking in the direction of Sarah and Blake.
I smile, raising my glass to her. “Back at you, babe.” I take a long drink.
It’s too far for me to hear what Bethany is saying to Sarah and Blake, but I can only imagine it’s pretty choice, because Sarah’s smiling face has darkened, Blake’s eyes are wide and astonished, and Mr. Mason is sitting there with a bewildered expression, mouth hanging open.
As I make my way back to the table, Blake catches my eye and glares at me. I snicker and keep on walking. My altercation with Bethany had almost made me forget about my earlier embarrassment—almost. I slip into my chair quietly, hoping no one will decide to bring up my little scene from before. Thankfully, our food is delivered as soon as I get settled, so everyone is occupied with eating rather than talking, at least for a while. Plus, I’m pretty sure people are still reeling from the fact that Mason ponied up for dinner and drinks for close to thirty people.
Once dinner is finished, everyone begins to mill around and talk to people at other tables. I notice Paul sitting alone. I bet he ate alone as well. Poor guy. I wander over to him, not really sure what I’m going to say to him after this afternoon.
“Hey, Paul,” I venture, sitting down across from him.
“Hi.”
“So…was your dinner good?”
“Yes.” Has this man absolutely no conversation skills whatsoever?
“Are you having a good time?”
He shrugs. Seriously?
“Um, did you talk to Sarah and Mr. Mason yet?” Maybe bluntness will work.
“No, I’ll do it later.” Wow. Five words. Progress.
“Did you h
ear that they brought in a sound system and we all get to play DJ tonight? Sounds kind of fun.”
“Yeah, I brought some CD’s to play.”
“Great. I can’t wait to hear what you have. Well, I’ll let you get back to…I mean, I’ll see you later.”
Whew! Could he have made that a little more difficult? He’s so anti-social. It’s sad, really. No one ever got to know him, and now he’s leaving. Maybe he never gave anyone a chance to get close. No one but Audra and Hannah, that is, and now they’re both dead. I don’t blame him for running away.
I make my way over to the bar for another drink, not that I really need one after that Long Island Iced Tea. It was plenty strong, but I have nothing better to do since I’m dateless. While I’m waiting for my next drink, Blake sidles up beside me. If he so much as touches me, I swear I’m going to deck him. I don’t even glance his way.
He says apprehensively, “So I take it you’re not speaking to me.”
“You got that right,” I seethe, staring straight ahead.
“Oh, come on. At least say something.”
I eye his empty beer bottle and the new shot of vodka the bartender has just put in front of him. “If you insist, I’ll say something.” I gesture at his drinks. “Beer before liquor, never sicker.”
“Thanks for the insight. Last time I heard that, I was at a frat party.”
“You wanted me to say something. I said something.”
“I’ve earned this shot,” he says as he knocks it back. “If you care, it wasn’t easy sitting and making dinner conversation with Sarah and Mason and his…bizarre wife. They’re all a little strange if you ask me. I’ve never had to talk to Mason that long before. He’s a real assclown.” In spite of being so angry with Blake, I let out an involuntary snicker. I don’t know why it is, but I have never been able to hear or say the word “assclown” without cracking up. Blake continues, “I finally got away from them when Mason’s wife threw a fit and left because he told her she was tanked and cut her off. Sarah and Mason went to settle up with the restaurant, and I’ve been hiding ever since. Oh, and thanks for siccing McCool on us.”
It's Just a Little Crush Page 18
