by Sylvie Fox
It was time to see his wife. He didn’t have time for a shower, so he stood to watch the ten o’clock news, sweat cooling on his skin. If it weren’t for Jessie, he’d never have made it through a local newscast. The nightly coverage never changed from murder and mayhem. Didn’t matter which station he watched.
Tonight a homicide investigation topped her newscast. But with over two hundred fifty a year in L.A., that wasn’t news. Jessie stood next to Yolanda Salcedo, legs on display, while their seriously dour and three piece suited co-anchor Hector Garcia talked about crime and the effect it had on the residents of L.A.’s so called “Homicide Alley.”
Next up, Jessie threw it to a reporter interviewing teenagers on immigration reform. He didn’t need total fluency to understand the weather–cold on the coast, hot in the desert–same as it was every day. Or the traffic–bad.
He risked a five minute shower and was back after the last commercial for the close. Though he personally hated Jessie’s exploitation, he enjoyed watching her walk off set with her co-anchor and the geriatric Garcia. Tonight his wife was encased in a tight black skirt that ended just at her knees. He may not be able to touch her, but the image of her swaying butt should at least make for a fulfilling night of fantasies.
But Jessie didn’t stride off the set tonight. The camera zoomed in on her face as she spoke earnestly.
“Quiero agradecer a todos aquí en KESP por todo su apoyo durante mis diez años aquí. Aunque estoy triste por dejar…” He couldn’t keep up with her Spanish. Leaving. To go where?
He picked up his phone then put it down uselessly. Obviously he couldn’t call her while she was on the air. For the next five minutes he paced the tiny apartment. When the credits were done, he dialed Jessie.
It rang.
No answer.
He didn’t leave a message.
Pent up energy nearly choked the life out of him. Maybe he’d go for a run around North Hollywood Park. Resolved to running, he changed into a second pair of sweats, got his keys and wallet.
He was nearly out the door when he remembered. All parks closed at dusk. He’d swept hundreds of them in his day. Fuck it. If he encountered any cops, he’d badge his way out of trouble. Added his shield to his bulging pocket. Cam picked up his phone one last time, punching in Jessie’s number.
“Hello,” she answered, cool as a cucumber.
“You’re leaving KESP?”
Her sigh was long. “I’m at Mama’s house.”
Summoned, finally, he ran down to his car. Finding the right button on the fob, he got the door open and threw himself into the car, slamming the door. He resisted the urge to speed to South L.A. He needed to arrive in one piece.
The neighborhood was both eerily quiet and noisy all at the same time. There wasn’t a lick of activity on her street as the hour approached midnight. But high in the sky helicopters, night suns blazing, patrolled the neighborhoods, their rotors a distant whomp-whomp in the air.
Locking the car, he strode up the walk. Jessie stood behind the security door. Light from the house silhouetted her.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I moved in,” she said.
“To your mother’s house?”
“Our house.” She twisted the lock and pushed open the door, stepping back. “Mama and Dori don’t look like they’re leaving Mexico.”
Cam followed her in. He was taken aback. Original hardwood gleamed. The rooms were painted in muted colors. Gone was the pink Reina had loved so much. The butt ugly projection TV and squishy leather sofas had been replaced with Jessie’s tasteful furniture.
“I didn’t want to pay rent and a mortgage too. I’d been so depressed about losing out on my own condo. But I woke up a couple of weeks ago and realized I already owned a home of my own.”
He wanted to ask if she felt safe in South Los Angeles but thought better of it. If the LAPD couldn’t protect her, then his job wasn’t worth the badge he carried in his pocket.
“What about KESP?” The thing that had come between again and again.
“I had it out with Ernesto,” she started. “During the ten years I’ve worked there, the station went from community news to tabloid press. KESP wasn’t TMZ, but it was starting to feel that way.”
He sat on a kitchen stool while she poured two glasses of white wine. Cold chardonnay wasn’t his favorite, but he knew better than to protest. He stayed put and sipped at the cool liquid on the dining room side of the pass. She remained in the kitchen, not drinking, but twirling the wine stem between her fingers.
“Ernesto suggested I talk to a friend of his. It was more than a suggestion. The writing was on the wall after I walked away from the Hastings story. I updated my reel. He did me a good turn. His friend turned out to be an executive at Univision.”
Pride expanded in his chest. Had his Jessie finally reached her dream? “So?”
Her smile lit up the dimmed rooms. “I start in three weeks,” she said. “I’ll be working for Univision Investiga–their investigative news division.”
Happiness spread through his limbs. He made his way around the arch to the kitchen, picking her up in a bear hug.
“Cam?” she asked in surprise.
“So proud of you.” She’d finally be doing what she’d trained for all these years. Less exploitation and sensationalism. More hard news.
As he loosened his arms, she slid down his body, jolting him to awareness. Gently, but firmly, he pushed her away. He couldn’t let pride get mixed with lust.
“Three days…” he started.
“I was going to call you tomorrow morning, Cam,” she said, her face a picture of seriousness.
“What were you going to say?”
“Move in with me?”
Disappointment sucked out the buoyancy of pride and love that had filled him. “I want more than a roommate, Jessie.”
She shook her head slowly. “Don’t you want to try again? See if it works?”
He’d had no intention of doing this here, or doing this tonight, and not in LAPD issue sweats. But he grabbed her hand and went down on one knee before her. He closed his eyes, gathering all the resolve he’d need to walk away if she said “no.”
“Cásate conmigo. Marry me, Yesenia.”
Her face pinched in misunderstanding. “You’re learning Spanish? Cam–”
He shook his head, silencing her. “I’m not finished. Te quiero. I love you. I want to be with you from right this moment until the day I die. I don’t care where we live, or where you work. We’ll figure all of it out. I want us to figure it out together.
“Yesenia Guadalupe Morales, you are the first and only woman I’ve ever loved.” Cam sucked much needed air and courage into his lungs. “Cásate conmigo…de nuevo.”
She dropped her lids. When she opened her eyes, he knew he’d won. She nodded before she spoke. “Sí.”
Wrapping her in another hug, in her ear he whispered the words he’d said on their wedding day all those years before. “Once mine, always mine.”
“Once yours, always yours,” she whispered back.
Epilogue
“What are you doing in here?” Yesenia asked, knocking on open door, but not entering the room.
They’d turned Dolores’ old bedroom into a study. Cam liked her at home on the nights he wasn’t working. So they’d pulled up the carpet and installed a large desk. When she was developing a story, she made the phone calls and connections required to put on good television news.
Other nights, he was there by himself. Acknowledging the confidential nature of his investigations, she gave him space to do what he needed. They’d even agreed on a knock first policy.
Cam started, his concentration on the screen in front of him broken. “Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. You may as well come in.” Cam’s tone was resigned.
Dread fogged her brain. Everything had been going so well. They’d slipped back into married life without so much as a hiccough.
> “Jessie, don’t look like that. Just come here.”
Slowly, she made her way into the room. She let Cam pull her on to his lap. Things were starting to get a little better. Yesenia wiggled her bottom. Certain things certainly felt a little better. “What do you have in mind?”
“Not that.”
“Not that? I think your body says a little different.”
Cam shifted her toward his knees. Despite her usual self censoring, she looked at the papers on his desk. They looked like loose pages from a Spanish language workbook. Mirrors of what she’d studied in ESL classes.
“You’re studying Spanish? I don’t need you to speak my language,” she said. It was true. She’d finally gotten off her high horse about everyone in the L.A. basin learning Spanish.
“It’s not just for you. I have something else to tell you.”
Fear of their future returned. “What?” He flipped open the laptop. The screen flickered, then came into focus. “You’re on a airline website? Why?”
“We’d talked about what do with our vacation time this year.”
Yesenia’s “Sure,” was full of hesitation. They’d talked about trying for a baby during a week in Hawaii or Jamaica. She hoped he hadn’t changed his mind about that.
“I have a few minutes to click ‘buy,’ but I want your okay,” he said.
“Where do you think we should go?”
“Mexico City,” he said. “I talked to Reina and Dolores and they’d love for us to visit.”
“Seriously?” Yesenia’s eyes filled blurring the letters and numbers on the screen. “You’d spend your vacation with my family?”
“You need to see for yourself that they’re okay,” Cam said.
“What about the baby making?”
“We’ll stay in a hotel for the nights. I can get us a suite at this place.” He flicked to another window and a picture of a hotel room appeared complete with hot tub, and outdoor fire pit.
“Sí.” She cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Go. I can’t do this with you distracting me,” he said lifting her from his lap.
“I’ll get ready for bed. I’ll be waiting.”
“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be there as soon as I can click ‘buy’ and type in our credit card number.”
Yesenia put her hands to her heart, filled to nearly bursting with love. “Seriously, Cam. Thank you.”
“Anything for you, babe. Always remember that.” Cam turned back to the screen.
She made her way to their newly painted bedroom. Maybe they could get a head start on the baby making.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I write the kinds of books I love to read. Though I’m a native of Brooklyn, New York, I made the move to Los Angeles where I live with my husband, son, and a handful of rescued pets. When I’m not hanging out in Hollywood, I’m eating my way through Budapest. I love to connect with readers at www.sylviefox.com. I can always be found procrastinating on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.
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Thanks,
Sylvie
Also Available from Sylvie Fox
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