Channel 20 Something

by Amy Patrick

  My phone rang as I got out of the shower. Tucking my towel around me, I crossed my tiny one-room apartment to look at the screen. It was Hale.

  “Hi. Is everything okay?” My tone spelled out my confusion at his calling.

  He, on the other hand, sounded like nothing had changed. “Hi honey. Just calling to say hello. What’re you up to?”

  I hesitated. “I’m getting ready to go out.”

  “Out? Where are you going? Who’re you going with?” Not accusatory, only curious, but his voice sounded forced, like he was trying too hard to be casual.

  “Hale—we’re on a break. I thought we weren’t going to call each other.”

  “I know, but I just wanted to check on you. I miss you.”

  Silence filled the space where I was supposed to say, “I miss you, too.” I did miss him, but I didn’t want to tell him that.

  The break had been my idea. If he detected any hint of caving, he’d be here within the hour, uncorking an expensive bottle of wine, offering a back rub, turning the conversation to our future and that Golden Time when we’d inevitably be married. Maybe I should’ve wanted all that, but somehow I didn’t quite, and I needed to figure out why. In the meantime, I had to stay strong.

  I kept my voice carefully neutral. “Well, it’s nice of you to call and check on me, but I’m fine.”

  The triple-beep from my microwave sounded behind me, reminding me I’d set it to cook for six minutes at least fifteen minutes ago. Hopefully my five-for-ten-dollars glazed chicken meal hadn’t gotten cold already.

  “Is that the microwave?” Hale said. “I hope you’re not having one of those frozen diet dinners again. Listen, I stir-fried venison tonight. Why don’t I drop some by for you? You need better nutrition than a piece of Franken-chicken the size of a quarter and a tablespoon of white rice.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “You know I’d rather have my frozen Frankenstein meal than eat Bambi. And my dietary well-being is not your concern. Thanks anyway. I’ve got to finish getting ready now—my friends will be waiting for me.”

  “Well… all right then. You be safe. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “Okay, bye—wait—did my parents invite you to dinner tomorrow?”

  “Well, your dad said he had some new lures he wanted me to take a look at. He asked me to come over… he might have mentioned you’d be there.” I could hear his sheepish smile as he replied.

  “Hale.”

  “What? Are you really going to come between a man and his fishing lures?”

  “Do we need to go over the concept of ‘taking a break’ again?”

  He sighed audibly. “No. I understand you need some time to focus on your career and think about what that means for us. That’s fine. I already said I’d wait for you. But I promised your parents I’d stop by tomorrow, and I can’t go back on my word to Gordon and Melinda. Tell you what—when I get there, your dad and I will talk lures for a bit, then I’ll tell them something came up and I can’t stay for dinner after all. Deal?”

  I hesitated, my earlier irritation soothed by Hale’s gentleness and predictably sensible manner. I pictured him there alone in his big house, his sweet brown eyes, the baby soft hair that was usually falling over his forehead by this time of night.

  “No. Just stay. Of course you can stay. See you tomorrow night, Hale.”

  Chapter Three

  Dance with the Devil

  Three weeks later

  “The himbo hunt is on, ladies,” Mara announced, glancing around the crowded bar with a predatory grin on her hot pink lips.

  “Whoo!” Kenley threw back her third shot and whooped, having left her normally demure personality somewhere between work and the Rock Bottom.

  I would be holding someone’s hair back tonight, for sure.

  She picked up another full shot glass.

  “Okay there, sister, slow it down,” I said, taking the glass from her hand, sloshing the clear liquid over my fingers in the process.

  “But it’s my good-bye party. I can drink if I want to.” Kenley laughed loudly, looking to Mara for encouragement. “That should be a song, right?”

  Mara and I made eye contact, and I subtly shook my head. In complete agreement, she hugged Kenley and offered a high-five, distracting her while I slid the tray of still-full shot glasses out of Kenley’s sight and motioned for our cocktail waitress.

  She leaned down to hear me over the loud music blaring through the bar.

  “Can you please do something with these? We didn’t order them, and we definitely don’t need any more here. And could we get some waters? Thanks.”

  The waitress took the tray and disappeared into the crowd. Friday was eighties night at the Rock Bottom, which explained the proliferation of fortysomethings filling the club. It also explained the inordinate number of complimentary drinks being sent to our table.

  Nothing brought out the generosity of unattached male bar patrons like the sight of a leggy blonde under twenty-five (not me), loudly celebrating with her raven-haired, olive-skinned and curvaceous best friend (also not me), and their… designated driver. That’s me. Good old Heidi, raised to be a Southern lady and still living in the same area code where I was born. In fact, if I studied the faces in here closely enough, I’d probably recognize more than a few from my parents’ high school yearbook. Between being on TV and living so close to home, I had to be conscious all the time of how my behavior might reflect on my family and on my employer.

  Kenley no longer had to worry about WPLM’s behavior policy. A few weeks ago when she’d teased us with the prospect of big news, we’d met here after work, and she’d announced her engagement to her long-time hometown honey, Mark. She’d also told us she’d be resigning her weekend anchor job at the station to move back to Atlanta to be with him. Now, less than a month later, we were saying goodbye.

  “I love y’all. I really love y’all, you know that?” Oh boy. Kenley was getting teary. If she hadn’t been so smashed, I might have gotten emotional, too. As it was, the moment was more comical than bittersweet. “You’re gonna be my best maid,” she said to me, slapping my back, “and you’re gonna be—wait, is it best? Maid of honor, that’s it. And you’re gonna be my other maid of honor.” She threw a floppy arm around Mara.

  “Okay, Bride-arita, sounds great. Maybe we should head out…” Mara looked at me, questioning.

  “Noooooo. It’s early, and I’m having fun,” Kenley protested. “And the guys said they were coming by after the ten. We can’t leave—I haven’t seen everybody yet. And we have to dance.”

  Almost everyone from the dayside crew had come by after the six p.m. show to wish Kenley well. Everyone but Colleen. No one would miss her, though—none of the girls, anyway. She was a reporter and one of those women who didn’t seem to have (or want) any female friends. She’d actually thrown a birthday party for herself recently and invited only the guys. They went, too. With her pageant-girl looks, she never lacked for male attention.

  I checked my watch. Another hour to go before the ten o’clock news ended and the nightside folks arrived. I hoped Kenley would still be coherent by then. “Okay, girlie, let’s look at this menu. You’ve gotta eat something and start drinking some water, or you’ll be saying your goodbyes to your friends’ shoelaces. And the only dancing you’ll be doing is a Tango with your toilet bowl.”

  When the late news crew arrived, Kenley was actually still conscious, having made an amazing comeback thanks to several glasses of water, a Coke Zero, and a large order of Rock Bottom’s Famous Cheesy Bacon Fries. Nothing like a little grease to coat the stomach.

  Late show reporters Brad and Ce Ce were there, along with Tony, one of our few full-time photogs, and Allison, the ten p.m. producer. Even Dan and Janet came by for a few minutes. They told us the weather and sports guys were on their way. It was fun to see everyone together. Kenley jumped up, screaming with delight and passing out hugs as each person drifted in and pulled up a chair to our corner table.
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  Our gathering of local “celebrities” was drawing the notice of the other bar patrons. The staring turned up several notches when our sports director Dennis came in, his large, muscular frame weaving through the crowd. He’d been a high school football hero in a nearby town and gone on to play college ball before getting into sportscasting. That was the equivalent of a full knighthood here in the South.

  “Dennis!” As he made his way to our corner, several men stood up to greet him and do a buddy-hug or back slap. He finally reached us and leaned over to hug Kenley. That’s when I saw the guy standing behind him. Aric Serrano.

  Everything stopped, as if someone had hit a giant pause button. No synthetic eighties pop tune blaring, no friends’ voices, no loud male banter from the surrounding tables. No air left in the room. It wasn’t love at first sight, because that didn’t exist. But it was definitely… something.

  I’d never experienced such a strong reaction to anyone before. I went from hours-at-the-bar-mellow to hyper-alert instantly. My insides vibrated like a cell phone set on silent. From my seated position at the end of the table, the DJ’s colored light setup framed Aric’s blond hair, giving him a sort of retro-Disco halo, like a 1970’s album cover you’d find in a vintage records store. My God, if that was a good look for him, what wouldn’t be?

  Dennis took a few steps away to greet a viewer who’d come to shake his hand. Aric stood alone, the tips of his fingers in his jeans pockets, glancing over our group with raised brows and tightly pressed lips. His eyes followed Dennis like he was a life preserver that had floated just out of reach.

  Then Aric’s gaze fell to me, and he gave me an uncertain smile. Oh sugar. He was even better-looking in three-D than he’d been on screen. So… I could leave the poor guy hanging, or I could act like a rational human being and introduce myself.

  “Hi.” I stood and extended a hand toward him. “Are you the new sports guy? I’m Heidi. I work at the station.”

  He towered over me, looking down with a lifted brow and half-smile on his face as if he’d expected there to be more of me when I stood up. His large hand enclosed mine, sending a surge of warmth all the way to my toes.

  He leaned down, bringing his face closer to mine to avoid shouting over the eighties’ loudest hits. “I’m Aric. I got into town tonight, and Dennis told me to come by the station for a tour. Hope it’s okay I’m crashing your party.”

  Oh God, there was the voice again, but this time in living, breathing, surround sound. Hearing it, I literally shivered in the overheated nightclub.

  I gathered my senses enough to answer, “Of course. I mean, it’s not my party. It’s for Kenley.” I pointed at her. “Today was her last day at the station. She’s moving to Atlanta. And that’s Mara. She’s a dayside reporter. Mare,” I yelled to her over my shoulder.

  She turned toward my voice then popped out of her seat with wide eyes and two arms raised in the air, forming a celebratory V. “The Man Candy!”

  Aric looked at me quizzically.

  I shrugged, turning back to him. “She’s been drinking for several hours.”

  Janet noticed Aric and hurried over. She raised her voice to address the table. “Everyone. Hey—everybody, can I get your attention for a minute? I want you to meet our new weekend sports anchor, Aric Serrano.”

  “Hi Aric,” several people chimed in together, dragging out the words as if we were in some kind of Addicts Anonymous meeting.

  Brad cupped his hands around his mouth and faked a disaster-movie warning shout. “Stay away. Save yourself.”

  Everyone laughed, and I reclaimed my seat while people took turns introducing themselves to Aric. The conversation around the table bounced from his long drive from Minnesota, to Southern food and college sports, back to Kenley’s move and wedding plans.

  Aric had pulled up a chair next to me. He leaned forward and slightly across my body to address a question to Kenley. He didn’t smell like a guy who’d been driving all day—must’ve showered before coming over. Okay, let’s stop imagining our new co-worker wet and naked, shall we? I detected some kind of cologne or manly soap-scent that reminded me of beach vacations and fresh, green, growing things. When was the last time I’d noticed how a guy smelled?

  His thick hair looked even more touchable up close in person than it had on his reel, light golden brown with strands of lighter gold shimmering through it. I had the craziest urge to lean a few inches forward and press my face into it. Get a grip, Heidi.

  “So, you’ll be working at a station in Atlanta?” he asked Kenley.

  “Oh, gosh no,” she answered. “I’m getting out of this screwy business. The hours, the terrible pay, being so far from home. I’m going to move in with my parents until my wedding day and look for something in P-R. I think.”

  Kenley was pulling the give-it-all-up-for-true-love move, which neither Mara nor I had recommended. She was good at her job and always seemed so passionate about doing news. But she said her relationship with Mark couldn’t withstand the long-distance thing any longer, and she was determined to go. I really hoped she didn’t regret it later.

  “You were the weekend anchor, right?” Aric asked her. “I recognize you from the sample newscast they sent me.”

  “Yep. Too bad you won’t get to work with me.” She sighed dramatically. “You’ll have to settle for Heidi.” Kenley put an arm around me and lay her head on my shoulder.

  Aric’s brows lifted. He shifted back and turned his attention on me. “You’re the new weekend anchor?”

  “For now. But my contract’s up in four months.”

  “Oh, are you looking?”

  “Sort of. I subscribed to Medialine, but I’m still working on my reel. It’s not ready.”

  “So you haven’t sent anything out yet.” He leaned in, using a conspiratorial tone, “Well, I’m looking forward to working with you… for however long I get to have you.”

  The dip in his voice and his sexy smile sent my stomach into teacup-ride-swirls that were all out of proportion to the actual words he’d said. What the heck was going on with me? He hadn’t meant anything by it.

  Mara’s excited shriek broke the tension. “Michael Jackson, you guys. All P-Y-T’s report to the dance floor.” She jumped up from her chair and tugged at Kenley and me. Kenley went willingly. Allison and Ce Ce followed them out onto the colorfully-lit wooden floor.

  “Heidi—get your ass over here.” Mara gave me a fierce Top Model look then spun around and wiggled her hips to the music.

  I looked over at Aric. “I think I’m going to be forced to dance.”

  “Great. I’ll go, too.” He stood and pulled my chair back as I rose.

  “Okay…” My response sounded like a question. Guys never danced, or at least Hale never did. Unless you counted the feet-in-one-place-knees-barely-bending thing he’d done on the rare occasions he’d given in to my begging at frat parties.

  Aric apparently had no inhibitions about dancing. As we reached the dance floor and joined the others, he began moving with the beat. And could he ever move. Lord, help me. He was really good. Not in a Justin Timberlake choreographed way, but more subtle, all rhythmic and sexy. He wasn’t showing off, just letting go and having fun. Still, his body knew what it was doing.

  After a minute I realized I’d been watching his hips. I dragged my eyes up to his face. He smiled at me, and a flash of heat sparked low in my body. I had to look away. I turned toward my friends, who were singing loudly and dancing with their arms in the air. Better.

  Back at the table, Dan-n-Janet stood and said their good-byes. They waved in our direction. Brad, Tony, and Dennis watched all of us, grinning and shaking their heads. No doubt they were enjoying the show as well as the free access to the now-unattended beer pitchers we’d ordered. Part of me wanted to retreat and join them, talk shop, watch from a safe distance. But part of me was starting to have fun. I hadn’t really danced in so long.

  The song segued into another Michael Jackson hit—the DJ must’ve
been encouraged by the sudden influx of dancers to the floor and didn’t want to take a chance on losing the mojo. Mara jostled me with a hip-bump, and I laughed, beginning to move to the music more fluidly, relaxing, enjoying myself more than I had in a long time.

  The girls from the station were spinning and showing off, thrilled to find a guy who would actually dance, and Aric served as a sort of group-partner for us all. Though we were all together, every time I glanced up at Aric’s face, he was watching me. He studied how my body moved, responding to my motions, matching them with moves of his own. We didn’t touch at all, but it felt like we were… connected somehow.

  After another song or two, I grew used to the feel of his eyes on me, grew to like it. And the focused attention made me brave. I sang along with a song I knew, closing my eyes and moving to the hypnotic beat, as Michael advised me to let the madness and the music get to me.

  “It’s fun to watch you dance.”

  The nearness of Aric’s voice jolted me out of the moment. My eyes opened, and I took a step back, the seductive warmth of his breath still caressing my ear. “Um… you too. You’re good.”

  He leaned in close again to be heard over the pounding music, his fingers gripping my shoulder lightly. “No. I mean I really like watching you.”

  I stopped cold, right there on the dance floor. Literally feeling cold, as if someone had poured a post-game Gatorade bucket over my head.

  “I’m—going to the ladies room.” I spun around and headed for the lighted sign in the back of the club as if the hounds of hell were at my back.

  I’d recognized him. Not him, of course. But I knew what kind of guy he was—I’d met his breed before. The elite players, the sexual Heisman candidates, genetic freaks who produced bionic pheromones capable of turning even the smartest girl stupid, at least temporarily.

  How could I not have seen it right away? The beautiful face, the enticing scent, the self-assured way he walked and talked and danced. If I could’ve left the club right then, I would have. But I’d promised to drive Kenley and Mara home. I couldn’t strand them. I fled to the restroom and gave myself a narrow-eyed look in the mirror. Not going there, girlfriend. I did not return to the dance floor.