by Elsa Kurt
***
Oh, is she for real? She wants to do this, huh? Okay then. It’s on.
Mitch watched the shift in Katharine’s posturing and realized she intended on knocking him off the pedestal. Jackson Day began his segment introduction, but Mitch barely registered him. He was too busy preparing for battle.
“Alright, you two. Are you ready?” asked Jackson.
They both gave him a curt nod.
“Uh oh, guys, this looks like it’s going to be epic! Okay, wait for the bell—and fight!”
As present as Mitch was for the insanity that was currently taking place, it was like he was having an out-of-body experience, watching the whole scene from above. This was not the direction he anticipated his career going. Yet there he was, on a nationally broadcast show, about to have a-a jousting match with a petite, angry woman who he may or may not be slightly or very in love with.
He was well aware he could knock Katharine clear off the pedestal with one swipe, but the maniacal look on her face told him she was not mindful of such an undeniable fact. Part of him was almost inclined to let her win, but there was also part of Mitch that was ticked off at her for ignoring his attempts to talk. It would feel kind of satisfying to take her down a peg or two, instead of continually being on the receiving end of her abuse.
Mitch jabbed his pugil stick at Katharine’s arm, she dodged it. Katharine swung hers and connected with Mitch’s hip. It barely phased him. “Ha! Is that all you’ve got, Evans?”
She swung again, aiming for his head. He ducked and laughed again.
Aiming for the head again, are we? Two can play that game. Mitch had enough sense to not swing at Katharine’s head. He intended to give her helmet-covered forehead a good boop and knock her off her wobbly pedestal and end the silly farce. However, Katharine Evans was once again full of surprises.
***
Katharine watched Mitch with a feline slyness. She may have failed to mention she had every Billy Blanks Tae-Bo DVD ever made and had been practicing with them for quite some time. She had quick reflexes, excellent core strength, and lean muscles. Her size made her easy to underestimate, and that was about to work to her advantage.
She knew what Mitch Ford was going to attempt even before his stick came up, so when it did, Katharine was ready. Like a scene from the Matrix, Katharine arched backward, then grabbed the pugil stick that was thrust at her and pulled it toward her. Mitch, caught surprised by the sudden pull, lost his balance and tottered forward, arms flailing. Katharine took the opportunity to whop him on the shoulder. It was enough to finish him off.
In what looked like slow motion, Mitch fell inelegantly onto the padded mat. Jackson Day entered the ring to the wild applause of the audience and handed Katharine down from her pedestal. He took her hand in his and raised it high.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, your champion! Alright, we’re going to take a break, and when we come back, we’ll have young Robert Irwin here to show us some cool animals.”
A flood of staffers rushed the stage area and began disassembling the ring, removing their protective gear from their heads, and escorted Katharine and a disgruntled Mitch out of it.
“Hey, I can’t thank you two enough. Great job, really great job. Katharine, so nice meeting you, hope to have you back again.”
Jackson Day shook Katharine’s hand and kissed her cheek, then turned to Mitch. “Mitch, buddy! Awesome seeing you again. See you at the golf tourney next month?”
“Yeah, sure, Jack. Sure thing. So, whose idea was this again? Just so I know whose head to put on a platter.”
“Not me, pal,” Jackson put his hands up, “ask your boy Justin. I think they’re all in the green room with the kid and his animals. Okay, well, gotta get ready for the next round of madness. Take care!”
Jackson Day dashed back over to his desk and Katharine and Mitch were ushered to the green room, where Tori and Justin were no doubt coordinating their stories. Or maybe playing ‘rock, paper, scissors’ to see which one of them would be the fall guy for the inevitable wrath of their clients. Together Mitch and Katharine marched down the cloistered hall to the green room, united in their mission to kill their publicists. However, Katharine couldn’t stop herself from throwing a verbal shot at Mitch.
“You went for a headshot? Nice.”
“Oh, excuse me, Miss I’m a Secret Ninja. Oh, no. You don’t get to be the angry one, here. I do. I’m the one who got blown off. Not to mention ambushed.”
“Um, no. We both got ambushed, Mr. Ford. I just happened to win, is all.”
“Well, at least you don’t deny blowing me off. And let’s be clear—I let you—”
“Don’t you even say it! You did not let me win, I won fair and square, thank you,” said Katharine.
“Cheater,” said Mitch.
“Poor sport.”
They walked into the green room bickering.
“I am not a poor—”
Katharine ignored him. Her jaw dropped, and she blinked hard at the sight before her.
“Is that—oh, my God. Is that a sloth? That is a sloth. I’m dying.”
She swatted Mitch in the gut, he oofed. Then she grabbed his arm and shook it in barely contained excitement. All her anger dissipated, at least for that moment. Tori, followed by Justin, approached them like two wary lion tamers.
“That’s right, honey,” cajoled Tori, “it is a sloth. And this nice boy said you can hold it if you want.” She glanced over her shoulder at the peaches and cream complexioned boy. “Isn’t that what you said, Richard?”
“Ah, right. It’s Robert, by the way. Here you go, Miss Evans. This is Valentino, and he’s a real sweetheart.”
“I can touch him?”
“You can do better than that. Here, put your arms out.” Katharine did as she was told. “There you go. He’s a love, isn’t he? That’s why we call him Valentino.”
Katharine was in heaven. If someone had told her a year ago she’d be in the green room of a late-night television show, holding a sloth, she’d have never believed it. But here she was. Mitch came up behind her, equally awed by the furry, slow-moving creature.
“Hey there, fella.”
Mitch’s hand was on Katharine’s shoulder, his face close to her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat and she found herself not wanting to move. She was also hyper-aware of everyone else in the room staring at them, so she made what she hoped was a great show of nonchalance. The more she tried to act normal, the more her face flushed. Then, an unbidden and slightly ridiculous image came to mind with startling clarity.
It was of them, standing as they were at that moment—Mitch slightly behind her, his hand on her shoulder, smiling down. But in the vision, it wasn’t a sloth. It was a baby. Their baby on her hip as he gazed at his little family. She pictured someone taking their photograph, calling them to look up at the camera.
“Miss? Miss—” said the sloth handler.
“Um, Katharine? You have to give him back now,” said Mitch.
He said it softly. His deep voice vibrated against her skin, and his breath tickled her ear. She looked around the room, realizing where she was. Her eyes welled, and she quickly blinked the tears back. When Katharine’s eyes met Tori’s, it was with an unspoken plea. Tori nodded once, then brusquely took charge of the room.
“Alright, then. That was fun! Thanks, kid.” She helped remove the sloth from Katharine’s reluctant hands and put an arm around her. “Let’s get you on your way, hmm? Mitch, great seeing you. Justin, send me your pics, and I’ll send you mine. Bye, all!”
In a flash, they were out of the green room and walking briskly down the hall, leaving a trail of Tori’s floral perfume in their wake. Technically, Tori walked briskly while Katharine shuffled alongside her, dazed. She barely registered Tori handing over her purse or being shuttled to the waiting car or even the one-sided conversation Tori carried. Tori’s eyes were on her. Katharine’s stare stayed locked on the slowly passing scenery. Taxis and tall buildings. Hotdo
g carts and street artists. A homeless man shouting toothlessly at a fire hydrant. A skinny chestnut mare harnessed to a carriage. The car stopped, and Katharine watched as the horse impatiently hoofed the ground and shook her silky-maned head as the driver tried to entice a young couple for a ride. At last, she spoke.
“I’m fine, Tori.”
Tori tilted her head and pursed her lips.
“Really. It’s just—” Katharine began.
“That you’re in love with the guy and you refuse to act on it?”
“It’s not that simple. It’ll never work. We’re too different.”
“You’re kidding, right? You two are like peas in a pod, Katharine. You’re a lot more alike than you think, you know.”
“Well, we have totally different lifestyles. He travels the country, I stay home. He loves the limelight, I hate it. I mean, there is no chance of a conventional life. He—”
Tori raised a graceful, brown-skinned hand to her eyes and threw her head back. Katharine went to say something more, but Tori held up one long, manicured finger and dropped her head back down to look at Katharine.
“Uh-uh. Nope. Do you even hear yourself? Girl, this is the twenty-first century. There’s no such thing as conventional.” Tori shook her head and muttered the word conventional again as if it tasted terrible in her mouth. Then she sighed loudly. “Katharine, I get it. But you’d have to be out of your mind not to give this man a chance. Give yourself a chance, honey.”
Katharine dropped her gaze to her lap. Tori was right, she supposed. She’d had the same argument with herself for days. Every time she resolved to talk to Mitch about her feelings for him, the old Katharine voice snuck up and whispered in her ear. ‘You’ll get hurt,’ it said. ‘It’ll never work,’ it insisted. Time and again, it stopped her in her tracks.
“I know,” Katharine sighed. “I—it’s like, whenever he’s around I turn into—”
“A lunatic?”
“Okay, wow. I was going to go with a hot mess, but thanks.”
Tori and Katharine laughed good-naturedly. These were things friends could say to each other, Katharine discovered.
“Lunatic, hot mess, lovestruck puppy—they all fit. Promise me, you’ll talk to him?”
“Yes. I will. I’m going to march next door tomorrow and,” Katharine took a deep breath, “tell him how I feel.”
“You’re not going to yell it at him, though. Right?”
Tori gave Katharine’s knee a gentle shove when she said this, and they both laughed again. Then Katharine gave Tori the death stare. “Now, how about you tell me whose bright idea was the jousting thing? And why was I not consulted beforehand?”
Tori put her hands up and said, “Okay, okay. Easy, now. For the record, it was Justin. Sorry. When that boy comes up with an idea…I don’t know. It sounded like great press, and…” she trailed off at Katharine’s unamused scowl.
Katharine let her squirm for a moment longer, then said, “Fine, but don’t do it again. Remember what they say about payback, right?” She pushed Tori’s knee and smiled, and Tori visibly relaxed again.
Once Katharine had finished scolding Tori for her role in blindsiding her with that ludicrous jousting nonsense, she was able to see the humor in it all. As long as it wasn’t going to be repeated, that is. The rest of the ride was spent discussing the hilarity of their appearance on the Up All-Night Show. As they did, Tori posted, commented and shared across Katharine’s social media accounts. She was ‘striking while the iron was hot.’
SIXTEEN
AVOIDANCE
The next morning, Mitch—as per his habit—entered a quaint coffee shop named ECO in the center of town. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with warm bread and bacon, and he breathed it all in deeply as the door closed behind him. Then he ordered his coffee from a black-aproned barista behind an immaculate counter. Soft music—Norah Jones, he recognized—drifted out of a speaker. The whir of an espresso machine was the only break in the tranquil quiet of an early morning. Mitch loved this time of day. It was the calm before the craziness.
Soon, the regular customers—the work crowd—would be bustling in. After that, the mommies pushing strollers and dressed for jogging or the gym. But, for that brief time before it all began, the place was his alone. He didn’t care so much if it boasted an organic menu—Mitch was a coffee, regular kind of guy—nor did he pay much attention to the variety of items for sale artfully displayed here and there, impressive though they were. No, for Mitch, it was all about atmosphere, and the charming little coffee shop had plenty of it.
The young woman behind the counter treated him like he was a beloved regular customer, not someone relatively famous. In fact, the first morning he walked into the shop, he was greeted with a warm, ‘Hey, Mitch. What can I get ya?’ It made him smile and chuckle a bit. She smiled guilelessly back at him, and when he said—after reading her nametag— “Mornin’ Lisa. How about a regular coffee,” she only asked if it was ‘for here’ or ‘to go.’ He intended on taking it to go, but when he looked around, he spotted a cozy looking leather sofa facing the window. It gave a people-watchers view of the street, which was quiet but for occasional jogger, dog walker, and a few cars at that time of day. Since then, it had become his routine.
On this morning, just as it was on the several before it, the morning sun was beginning to brighten the day. The town was still in a sleepy hush and the shop in a soft glow. This time—after handing him his coffee—Lisa the Barista pushed a white plate across the counter toward him. On it was a flaky, warm chocolate croissant. When he looked up at her, she shrugged.
“You look like you could use some comfort food.”
“Hmm,” he tilted his head and squinted at her, “let me guess, you saw the show?”
Lisa blushed a little and raised her shoulders again, then admitted, “Yeah, I kinda saw part of it. Okay, well, all of it. Is that stuff—I mean, was it, like, scripted, or something?”
“I can assure you, it was not.”
Lisa winced in sympathetic pain.
At least one person was taking pity on me. Mitch thanked her as he paid. He tipped the bill of his cap at the barista, and Mitch took his steaming mug, along with the local paper, to the sofa and made himself at home. The moment he sat down, he sighed with contentment. He needed this quiet kind of start. Catching the sunrise, greeting the day peacefully. No urgent phone calls, no social media, no noise or chaos. That would all begin soon enough. But for that first hour of post-dawn, the morning was his alone. He looked down at the paper folded neatly in his lap. The headlines were of the usual sort—doom, gloom, tragedy, and turmoil—and with more than a little disgust, he tossed it aside. His slight grin returned as he brought the mug of heavenly smelling java to his lips. It hovered there, little tendrils of steam dancing beneath his nostrils, as a familiar figure passed by the long window.
No, say it isn’t her. It was Katharine, jogging. Or rather, stopping her jog directly in front of the window of the coffee shop. Mitch watched her as she curled her lean body forward and placed her palms on her knees. He could see, by the rise and fall of her back, that she was breathing heavily. Her long hair was in a pony-tail, and when she’d bent over, it swooped over her shoulder and blocked her face from his view. Katharine stayed like that for only a few moments. When she stood upright again, she flicked her hair back, giving him her profile. She smiled and put her hand on her hips as she spoke to someone out of sight. The sun had risen enough to cast a golden hue across her face, and the highlights in her hair shone with the same shade of gold as the sun.
Mitch was frozen in place—his mug still poised against his lower lip, the steam curling beneath his nose, and his eyes transfixed on the perplexing beauty outside the coffeehouse window. His heart was doing that—that thing it did whenever she was around. It was squeezing and bursting all at the same time. It was terrible and wonderful all at once. The first time he’d ever experienced a sensation like that was when he was sixteen, and Rebecca
Lynn Hollister walked into his second period social studies class for the first time.
She was the new girl, shy and delicate—until you got to know her, that was. She had long blonde hair, swept up into a ponytail, and when she leaned forward to hand the teacher her pass, it fell over her shoulder. She straightened, and with a quick flip of her head, the ponytail swung back. She glanced around the room, and their eyes met, then lingered. There was a mischievous glint in those grey eyes of hers and the small smirk that pulled at the corner of her bow-shaped mouth. As it turned out, she was as wild as the day was long. Her father was the new chief of police in town, and she was determined to rebel against him.
From that day on, Mitch followed her around like a lovesick puppy. Thanks to her, he found himself in a heck of a lot of hot water that year. They got into the kind of antics that would’ve landed him in a juvenile detention home, had the instigator not been the daughter of the chief of police.
Mitch never forgot the dressing down he’d gotten from Chief Ned Hollister after what would be their last act of foolishness. They’d driven out to the new home construction site off RT 9 because Mitch hoped to see the latest developments. His Dad had been a builder before his accident, and Mitch had always loved visiting the construction sites. Somehow, Rebecca had convinced him to borrow a skid-steer loader.
“It’s just sitting there, Mitch. C’mon. I want to drive it. No one will ever know,” she said.
Well, all she had to do was give him that pout some girls are born knowing how to do, and he was putty. The next thing he knew, she’d driven it into a steep ditch. As Mitch was helping Rebecca out of the cab, a patrol unit pulled up alongside them.
“What the h—oh. Rebecca? Is that you?”
“Hi, Jerry. Are you gonna tell my Dad?” Rebecca started to plead her case and throw herself on his mercy, but the officer already had dispatch on the two-way radio.
“Yeah, it’s Jerry. Send the Chief on over to the Andover property on RT 9.”
