Fireworks

by Sarina Bowen

  Wowzers. Benito in a green dress uniform is not to be missed. Since I saw him last, he’s had a haircut and a clean shave. Suddenly my poor little heart is conflicted. Was Benito hotter with his mountain-man scruff and too-long hair? Or is he hotter like this—with the strong line of his jaw that I remember so well contrasting with the crisp white shirt. The deep-green wool of the uniform makes his skin glow.

  The effect is dazzling—like looking into the sun. “Those are shiny buttons,” I say stupidly.

  “Damn,” Lane Barker sighs from somewhere nearby. “He can shine my buttons any day.”

  “Is there a problem here?” Benito asks. The hard edge in his voice is unmistakable.

  “No problem at all.” McCracken laughs uneasily. “This is just a little joke, officer. She’s holding my story hostage.”

  This man will never learn. “I am not your little joke. And it is not your story. It’s never going to be your story. And I’m never working a day for you ever again.”

  “This is your boss?” Benito snorts. “Great management skills, apparently. Listen, I’m going up on that dais.” He points at the podium. “If I see you touch her or even speak to her again, I will interrupt the press conference to personally come down here and kick your ass.”

  “Uh. Okay,” McCracken says. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Then find somewhere else to stand,” Benito says through clenched teeth.

  Finally, McCracken begins to back away from me.

  “My god,” Jordy breathes. “Your boyfriend is hot when he’s angry.”

  It’s true. But he’s hot all the time. And he is my boyfriend. I’ve never had one of those in my whole life. Not really.

  “Are you okay?” Benito asks.

  “Just fine,” I squeak.

  He pecks me on the cheek and then walks away, while a hundred pairs of eyes watch him.

  “Did you really just quit your job?” Jordy asks.

  “Yep.” My heart is thumping inside my chest. But it’s true. Enough’s enough.

  He offers me the microphone.

  “What’s that for?”

  “The follow up. You can cover it. It’s not moonlighting anymore.”

  I’m speechless. “But it’s yours now.”

  “Nah.” He shakes his head. “She who scoops it, hoops it.”

  “That is not a saying,” Lane Barker snorts. “But it should be. Go ahead, Skye. It’s okay.”

  I close my hand around the microphone just as the commissioner takes the stage. “Last night between the hours of seven and eleven p.m., two dozen of Vermont’s finest arrested four men during a drug transfer…”

  My eyes scan the podium, landing on Benito as he stands beside his boss with the other officers. He’s the most handsome out of all of them.

  I’ve just quit my job. I’m going live on-air in a matter of minutes. But all I can think about is skimming my lips across Benito’s clean-shaven jaw. And taking him back to bed.

  For the first time in my life, it’s a struggle to get my mind out of the gutter.

  So this is how the other half lives.

  Forty-Two

  Skylar

  Three weeks later I’m in my happy place. Well, one of them anyway.

  It’s a Sephora store. One at a time I’m opening and testing each new lipstick shade. The back of my hand is beginning to look like I have a peculiar rash. But this is what I do when I need a bit of soothing.

  I’ve just come from a job interview at a small-time cable sports network in lower Manhattan. I hated it on sight. It’s another version of New York News and Sports, only with worse ratings and bigger assholes in charge.

  Even worse—I think they’re going to offer me a job. And I don’t have any idea what I’ll say.

  When Benito put me on the train to New York last week, I’d just finished a round of interviews in Vermont. Aunt Jenny—who’s visiting the city at the moment—had FedExed me my best suit and heels. I’d printed a fresh batch of résumés and passed them around Burlington like seeds in the wind.

  But so far I don’t have an offer. I had some great conversations, but it’s a really small news market. Nobody has an opening right now. That’s why I deigned to visit the sports network today, and why I’m taking two more New York interviews tomorrow.

  It’s nice to get interviews. After breaking the drug-bust story in Vermont (and after my penis episode—I guess I’ll never know which was more influential) it was suddenly easier to attract the attention of producers and editors.

  But. I was really hoping to be offered a Vermont job. Benito wants me to be there with him. And I want that, too. But I need to work. If not in Vermont, then here.

  The problem is money. I’ve helped Rayanne hire a lawyer to defend her against the charge of leaving the scene of an accident. It’s possible that the charges will be dropped, or that she’ll be able to plead down the sentence to community service.

  But her lawyer costs more than three hundred bucks an hour. And I also helped with her bail money.

  It’s not a good time to be jobless. And—let’s face it—producers will only remember my big scoop (and my penis) for about ten seconds. If I don’t get a job now, I’ll fade into obscurity again.

  Obscurity is lovely, but not when you’re poor.

  After uncapping another lipstick shade (pretty petal!), I test it on my hand. I won’t be buying anything today. Or anytime soon. But Sephora is where I go when I need to think bright, happy thoughts. To paraphrase Audrey Hepburn, nothing ever goes wrong at Sephora.

  Here’s a fun fact—there is only one Sephora in the whole state of Vermont. And it’s inside a J.C. Penney. That’s what Benito is asking of me if I move up there.

  And I’ll do it. I really will. I’m just not sure when.

  My rent is due in nine days, which further complicates the decision. Even though my apartment is a bargain for New York, it’s still a wad of cash. If I pay another month’s rent, it will drain my savings account.

  I need a plan. Fast. I can either pack up my life and teleport myself to Vermont, where I have no income, or I can try to get a job here until something closer to Benito comes along.

  “Is there anything I can help you with? Do you have any questions?”

  I look up to find a stunning young African American woman addressing me. Her makeup is perfectly applied, and she wears an apron sporting about thirty makeup brushes in various sizes and textures.

  Part of me wants to ask if they’re hiring.

  “No thanks,” I say with a smile. “I love your lashes, though.” They sparkle subtly in a dark blue color.

  “Thanks! The shade is called Midnight Sensation.”

  “I’ll check it out.”

  I won’t, though. And when she moves off to help someone else, I snag a tissue and wipe off my hand. It’s time to meet Aunt Jenny for some pricey sushi that I can’t really afford. But it was her idea. And she might insist on treating because she’s going back to Florida tonight.

  It’s odd that she picked sushi, though. Not exactly Jenny’s favorite.

  I leave the store and maneuver my way across the street and through Union Square park. It’s super crowded. Wall to wall bodies. I could really live without these crowds. A month ago I thought of Vermont as a hell on earth. But now it’s growing on me. Nobody jostles you in Vermont.

  The sushi restaurant is on a quiet street, though. I step inside and scan the tables for Jenny’s silver hair. But she isn’t in here.

  “Can I help you?” asks the hostess.

  “Table for two for Copeland?”

  “Right this way.” She gives me a smile, and beckons for me to follow her from one sleek room into the next. Wow, Jenny picked a cool restaurant. If only I weren’t broke, I might really enjoy it.

  I walk past a teak wall carved with modernist fishes and scan the diners’ heads. Jenny’s silver hair does not pop into view. But then a man turns around in his seat, and my stomach flips.

  Benito. He’s here
?

  He rises, smiling. “Hi honey. Thank you for meeting me for lunch.”

  “How…?” I’m speechless. “Jenny…?”

  He grins. “She was in on it. I called your house phone last night and she picked up.”

  “Oh!” is all I manage to say before he steps closer to me and kisses me. “Ahh,” is all I can say after that. Benito. He smells like pine trees even in New York. And he looks even better. His scruff is grown out again.

  And I never could resist that smile.

  “Sit,” he says, guiding me into my chair. The hostess leaves us with menus. “How was the interview?”

  “Fine.” I wrinkle my nose, because the interview is the least interesting thing in the world if Benito is sitting across from me. “How are you. Is Speakeasy opening on time? Did they get the liquor license sorted out?” I’ve become very invested in the Rossi family events. We finally had dinner with Benny’s mom—twice. And we also went out to eat with May and Alec at the Worthy Burger. The pickles were just as good as promised.

  Benito doesn’t answer. He picks up my hand from where it lays on the table, and kisses my palm. “I miss you. So much.”

  “Me too.” That’s just a given. “Did you catch any bad guys this week?”

  “Mm-hmm,” he says, kissing my palm again, his scruff tickling me. “But let’s talk about your job.”

  “What job? That’s the whole problem.”

  He holds my hand between both of mine. “I know you think so. But I’m not so worried. Let’s order some fancy sushi and talk about that. Have you eaten here before?”

  I shake my head. “It looks lovely. But I should probably be eating a food-truck falafel instead.”

  “I came all the way to New York to tell you not to worry about money. Well—that’s not really true. I came all the way to New York because I haven’t kissed you in over a week. And to tell you not to worry about money.”

  “Why? Money is a pretty big problem right now.”

  “Yes and no.” He releases my hand and picks up his menu. “Tell me what to try. I want everything.”

  We each order different dishes, so we can taste each other’s. And then Benito asks me again how the interview went.

  “It went fine, okay? I think they’re going to offer me a job. Which means I have to find a different job quickly so I don’t have to say yes.”

  “You didn’t like them?”

  “Not even a little. It’s a total bro atmosphere. My interviewer wore a backward baseball cap and a baseball T-shirt reading ‘Frat Boy.’ And his assistant offered to pose for me if I wanted to draw his penis.”

  Benito closes his eyes. They remain closed for a long beat, as if he’s summoning the will not to turn into the Hulk and smash things.

  “I’m not going to take it,” I say with a sigh. “Even though I could really use the paycheck. Maybe one of my interviews tomorrow will work out. I know you don’t want me to take a job in New York.”

  He props his chin in his hand. “See, I do want you to. But only if it’s your dream job. If you told me right now that you have an amazing opportunity in Manhattan, I’d be really happy for you.”

  “Oh.” That’s the most generous thing anyone has ever said to me.

  “But—and I really am begging, here—please don’t take a job you really don’t want. You and I have been kept apart before. By a horrible man, and by shitty luck. I came here to tell you that I don’t want money to be one more thing that keeps us apart. I don’t care about money.”

  “I don’t really either.” This is mostly true. I do have a weakness for fine cosmetics. “But I’m ready to go into debt if Rayanne needs me to. And I need a job to make sure it’s not all a huge disaster.”

  Benito nods. “Okay, let me ask you a question. If you weren’t worried about paying Rayanne’s lawyer, what would you be doing right now?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. I’d be feeding you a super-quick lunch in your apartment so we could have a nooner.” And my neck heats only a little after this confession falls from my mouth.

  He blinks once. “Honey, I’m still not used to you saying things like that. But I strongly approve.”

  I smile at him, feeling pleased with myself. I’ve become a lot less shy with Benito. It’s easier than I thought, because every time I surprise him in bed, his look of gratitude is so swift that it makes me want to take those risks.

  “Okay.” He clears his throat. “We’re definitely revisiting that idea later. But right now I’m talking about work. If you didn’t feel so much pressure to find a job, how would you be viewing the whole thing?”

  “Oh.” That’s a fun question. “I’d probably be in Vermont, pitching some freelance stories to New England magazines while I wait for a full-time job to open up. And I’d be begging the TV stations to put me on their sub lists, so I could get a foot in the door.”

  “So why not do that?” he asks. “We can live cheaply if you don’t have to carry a New York apartment.”

  “Freelance is really unpredictable. I could make three thousand dollars one month, and three hundred the next. That’s just too much uncertainty.”

  “We won’t starve,” he argues. “I wouldn’t ever let that happen.”

  “I know that,” I say a little too sharply. “But I don’t always want to be the girl whose problems you have to solve. It’s like high school all over again.”

  “Not even a little.” He leans forward in his chair, his dark eyes boring into me. “You missed something very important.”

  “What?” It’s hard to miss my pathetic bank balance.

  “That I need you, too.”

  “Oh, but—”

  He holds up a hand to silence me. “I need you near me. I need to come home to you every night, eat dinner in my kitchen, and hear about your day. I want you in my bed, and in my life.”

  Well. If he puts it that way…

  “If you have a really excellent, life-changing reason why that can’t happen in Vermont, I’ll listen. I’ll relocate. But a short term cash-flow problem isn’t a good enough reason, Skye.”

  “I see.” And as I’m sitting here in a sushi restaurant I’m learning something important about myself. It’s actually harder for me to open up to that kind of love than it is to get naked with him.

  But I want to try.

  Forty-Three

  Benito

  Skye is looking at me across the table with soft eyes. I want to kiss her so badly, but I’m just going to have to wait. I am very patient—but only up to a point.

  “I could take out a mortgage,” I offer. “If Rayanne’s legal battle gets really expensive.”

  “You don’t have a mortgage?”

  “It’s small. I only borrowed a little to put in that kitchen, and that fancy shower stall.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her, because we’ve had an awful lot of fun in that shower.

  She smiles. “That was a great investment. But I don’t want to you to mortgage your home for Rayanne.”

  “Well, I don’t want you to mortgage your life for her, either. Would she do the same for you?”

  “Ben.” Her face falls.

  And I realize I’m being unfair. Love isn’t always logical. “I retract the question. It doesn’t matter. I admire your generosity. But I’m greedy for my share of you.” I extend my legs under the table and capture her feet between mine. “Please think about it. When you go to those interviews tomorrow, take it all in. Ask yourself where you want to spend your days, and with who.”

  “I will,” she promises.

  That’s when a waiter appears to set down several plates full of decadence in front of us. And he brings me a Japanese beer and a glass of wine for Skye.

  “Wow,” she says, admiring the food on her plate. She has a dish made from raw salmon and avocado. It’s shaped like an elaborate flower. “So beautiful.”

  “We’re celebrating,” I tell her.

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “We’re celebrating the fact that we’re
sitting in the same place having lunch together. It’s something I plan to celebrate as often as I can.”

  “Me too,” she says, lifting her chopsticks. “I like the way you’re thinking.”

  I give her feet a squeeze under the table and then dig in.

  It’s a great meal. There aren’t a surplus of stellar sushi restaurants in Vermont. But I don’t tell Skye. I’m still working on selling her on the place.

  A young waiter comes to refill our water glasses and check on us. “Is everything to your liking?” he asks.

  “It’s wonderful,” Skye says, giving me a smile.

  “Lovely,” he says. And then, “Nice penis, by the way.”

  “Thank you,” she and I both say at once.

  The guy shakes his head and walks away smiling, but the couple at the next table gives us really strange looks.

  “Do you think people will ever stop saying that?” I ask my date.

  “Nope,” she says, pinching a bit of mango between her chopsticks. “It’s just that I don’t care anymore.”

  “That’s my girl.” I take a sip of my beer. And my cop senses tell me that the couple sitting beside us is still eavesdropping. “Are you ever going to show me your penis?” I ask Skye. “I mean, everyone else has seen it.”

  “Well, sure,” she says, licking her lips. Her eyes dart to the side. It’s just a flicker, but I can tell that she knows exactly who I’m baiting. “I’ll show it to you tonight. If you ask real nice.”

  I make a comical growling sound, and Skye cracks up.

  In my peripheral vision, I see the freaked-out faces of the couple at the next table.

  Five hours later we’re lying in her bed, our sweat cooling from the first of what I plan to be many rounds of loving tonight. I have to go back to Vermont in the morning, so every minute counts.

  I met Aunt Jenny after lunch. She’s a fun lady, and only half as pushy as my own mom. But now she’s off to JFK for her flight home. I swear our clothes came off before her taxi even made it onto the Triborough Bridge.