by Mimi Strong
My heart isn’t blue.
It plays a third time. My heart isn’t blue.
And then it switches to him singing again.
Hearing his voice brings us into a secret place together, where his tattooed arms are always reaching for me, lifting me up, holding me. All is good, and I am safe. I’ll never be alone, and my heart won’t be blue.
Maggie snaps the laptop shut with a crisp clack.
“And then you know the rest.” Her hand waves between us.
I stammer, “I only heard the song once.”
“I’ve seen the video a few times. He sings about your shoes while you stand there looking all innocent. You’re like a baby deer lost in the woods, with your big, brown eyes all dewy and captivated. When the man with the hood covering his face darts in and tries to take your wallet, your expression is utterly priceless. Your acting is superb, my dear. In fact, I almost believed it. Almost.”
My jaw drops open. I reach up with one hand and wipe at the skin-colored makeup covering the bruise around my eye. “I really was mugged,” I say. “Look. Someone hit me, right in the eye, and knocked me down.”
Her expression tightens. Her lips pinch together in a rosebud as she stares directly into me. For such a petite woman, she has a tiger and a half’s worth of attitude.
“But the mugger didn’t hurt you,” she says. “It’s the woman tourist who was standing next to you. She struck you with her elbow. Your black eye wasn’t part of the plan at all.”
“What plan?”
“To go viral with this video, of course. You and your friend. Your sexy friend who’s going to make an international audience of women scream and swoon and fantasize about cheating on their husbands and boyfriends.”
My mouth opens and closes.
She keeps going, getting excited. “The way he swoops in and lifts you up is perfect. And the look on your face when he hands you his guitar! That pathetic old thing no self-respecting musician would bother to put in a case.” She makes a sound of disgust. “And then he runs down the street like a superhero, into unknown danger, to get your wallet back. Perfect. They should make a movie, with a full album tie-in. The 360 deal on this would be groundbreaking.”
As her words wash over me, I take a look around at the big plants with their green leaves. Maggie’s wearing a taupe skirt and a cardigan sweater covered in leopard spots. She wants to look like a jungle cat. She wants to scare me. Just like the bully who gets his way to the top of the hay bale pyramid through intimidation rather than a fair race.
I’m not taking another word of someone calling me a liar. I’m not afraid of a little hard work, but even my dream job isn’t worth being treated like a liar.
I uncross my legs and rise up from the chair.
“What happened to me yesterday was a terrible thing,” I say slowly. “On my first full day in this city, I was robbed and pushed down. It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me, but I wouldn’t have chosen it. And I certainly wouldn’t come into your office and lie to you, Ms. Clark. I have nothing but respect for you. However, I can’t be of any use to you if you don’t feel the same way.”
“SIT!” she yells.
My knees buckle, and I’m sitting again.
She’s still got me under her control
But something is different now. I walked into the tiger’s lair, but she didn’t scare me.
Now the air crackles with a different kind of electricity. Push me and I’ll push back.
“I believe you,” she says. “I choose to believe you. For now.”
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask, “Is that video trending? Can they really do that without my permission?”
“That depends.”
“But what’s the legality?”
She scoffs. “It doesn’t depend on legality quite so much as on the size of your team of lawyers. And Morris Music is not the small firm it once was.” She points her finger at me. “If you belong to us, and he doesn’t know, we have an advantage. And judging by the way he was pressing you against the wall at the end of the video, close enough to smell your pretty brown hair, I’d say he likes you.”
“But who is he?”
“He’s your new boyfriend. You’ll meet him again, and you’ll use your womanly charms.” She waves her hand, pointing her finger up and down the length of me. It’s absolutely clear she’s talking about my body.
“I don’t understand. Why do you want me to do that? If you want to get this guy a record deal, why not just offer?”
She blinks a few times, the pupils of her pale blue eyes becoming as small as poppy seeds before widening again.
“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin,” she says.
That word, virgin, hangs in the air between us.
I don’t say anything at all. Is this meeting actually happening, or am I still in bed, having a nightmare? And why is there no oxygen in this office? With all these green trees, you’d think it would be easier to breathe.
She prompts me, “Can you at least be a kinda-sexy virgin? Unbutton the top of your shirt. Stephanie can help you, but she can’t turn you into something you’re not.”
I fumble with the button, unsure if this is something I should say yes to, or no.
What would Nick do? That idea doesn’t help much. Nick doesn’t have breasts.
Crap. What am I doing? My heart is beating so fast, my pulse rushing so hard, my ears feel like they’re underwater.
The cheap sewing on my blouse lets me down, because the button pops right off, followed by the next one, and the next. I gasp, then remember the blouse has snaps, not buttons.
My blouse is now completely open down the front, exposing my bra. My white, cotton bra.
Maggie Clark frowns and shakes her head.
I’ve just stripped for the vice president of Morris Music and all she does is shake her head?
“That’s a shame,” she says. “You’re not going to be the one to seduce Dylan Wolf.”
“Who?”
She jumps up, tucking the folded laptop under her arm. “Forget his name, and forget this meeting happened. I know I will.” She strides over to the big desk, her petite legs looking almost long in their high, stiletto heels.
She takes a seat on the other side of the desk and opens the laptop again.
Peering over the top of the screen, she says to me, “Well? What are you waiting for. Back to the basement you go.” Her lips twist up in a cruel grin. “Tell darling Nick I send my love, will you?”
Chapter 8
Nick is hanging up the phone when I return to our workstation in the dusty archives.
“Don’t feel too bad,” he says.
“You already know what happened? Nick, I caught an elevator straight down. It’s barely been a minute since I left Maggie Clark’s office. How the hell do you already know? Who told you? It was that receptionist, wasn’t it?”
He shrugs. “What do you think?”
“Damn! It was the receptionist. She seemed so nice, but she was listening at the door. I hope she’s got someone watching her back now, because I’m on to her.”
Nick tilts his head back and says, “Hah!” It sounds like a laugh, but doesn’t look like one. His mouth glints, revealing another piercing through his tongue.
I take a seat at my station and growl, “Nobody’s laughing with you, Nick. Just because Maggie Clark doesn’t think I can seduce some singer guy, that doesn’t mean I even care.”
He leans back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “Who needs corporate spies when you’re an open book? You came out of the elevator looking like someone took away all your dreams. I made a guess. Then you opened your mouth and told me the rest yourself.”
“Oh.” I glower at my computer screen.
“Hang in there, kid,” he says cheerfully. “I’m sure Maggie will give you another chance. In a year or two. Maybe three.”
“Thanks a lot,” I say flatly.
“Jess, admit you love the archive floor.
I’m usually drunk by lunch time, but with you here for my entertainment, I’ve barely cracked open my flask. We’re going to have a fun year or two together.”
I grunt and put another disk into the drive in front of me. A spider climbs out of the slot and onto my finger. I don’t even have the energy to shake it off.
This day is not going how I hoped.
After a few minutes of watching the spider drop down from my finger and walk around the surface of the table, my mood picks up.
At least I can hear the mysterious musician sing again.
I know his name.
Dylan Wolf.
I shake at the anticipation of looking him up. I pull out my cell phone, only to find the basement gets no reception.
But I do have a computer. Nick isn’t watching, and my screen faces away from him. I pull up a browser to do a search. The browser opens, but the page goes to an internal network, and won’t go to Google.
“We’re locked down,” Nick says.
“Are you psychic?”
I stare at Nick in disbelief. How does he know what I’m trying to do?
He answers, “You just smiled for the first time since you returned from the tenth floor, and you’ve got a sneaky look on your face. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out you want to check Facebook.”
“How do we get internet access down here? If we’re on the local network, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“How? You get down on your knees and blow someone in IT. That’s how.”
My cheeks are too tired from all the blushing to even make an effort. I stare down at the new streaks of dust on my blazer.
“Blow someone,” I sigh.
“That’s how everything gets done,” Nick says.
I cough and give him a dirty look. “Not everything in this world is about sex, you know.”
The piercing in his lower lip wiggles as he thinks. “True. Some things are about power, or money, both of which can be exchanged for sex. Forget silver and gold. Sex really is the ultimate currency.”
“I’d rather work in the archives forever.”
“Careful what you wish for.”
I stare at my computer screen. No internet? Am I in Hell?
“Do you know anyone in IT?” I ask.
“What kind of guy is your type? Do you prefer pale and sickly, or maybe doughy?”
“Don’t be mean.” I snort and change the computer disks. “Maybe we could bribe someone. And not with sex.”
“Who was it? Who did Maggie have in mind for you?”
“Just a guy. Dylan Wolf. He’s got some videos up, but that’s all I know. I guess you could say he’s cute.”
“Dylan Wolf,” he muses, stroking his chin like he has a beard. “You know, I think I have seen that guy on the internet. You’re crazy to turn down Maggie.”
“I’m not a hooker.”
“Neither am I. But if I had the chance to sleep with Dylan Wolf, plus get out of this basement, you’d have a hard time stopping me.”
“That would make you a hooker.”
“A hooker with a heart of gold,” he says. “So, what’s the main reason you won’t play Maggie’s game?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine.” He opens a box that’s been sitting on the floor the whole time and pulls out a silver flask. “Let’s start drinking.”
“Nick, you are a wild man.”
He shakes the silver flask. “This should help you loosen up so we can get to the bottom of your issue.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Hmm.” He tilts back the container and takes a sip. “You know, Jess, whenever you think you don’t have any options, that means the best choice is right in front of you.”
“There’s nothing in front of me but a box of dusty files.”
“Close your eyes. What’s in front of you now?”
I close my eyes, and I see a gorgeous face. He’s singing a song, just for me.
I can hear Nick shuffling things around on his table, getting back to work. I don’t want to open my eyes yet.
This daydream is too precious to lose.
I can still feel his dark eyes on me, his arms stretching out on either side of my head. Trapped by him, I had nowhere to go, no option but to stare up into those eyes. His song lingered in the air, wrapping around us, like his scent on the jacket he left behind.
Last night, I was homesick again. I folded up his jacket and clutched it to my chest, the way a toddler would hug a stuffed animal.
I still have his jacket, and now I also have his name.
Dylan Wolf.
He’s all I think about for the next several hours. I get through half a dozen boxes, which Nick says is good.
Five o’clock comes, and we escape the basement.
I don’t mind hanging out with Nick, but it’s a relief to step outside of the building.
My arms are sore from lifting boxes.
My hands feel dry from touching so much dusty cardboard.
The sun is low on the horizon, almost setting. The grass and trees around me are so green. It’s still hard to believe it’s technically winter here in California.
I put one of my EarPods into my ear and start up a favorite playlist for the walk to the bus.
After a minute, I have to skip past the song, because it’s making me homesick. The next song makes me feel the same way.
Finally, I switch over to some random songs I don’t know very well. At least these don’t make me feel homesick.
I ride the bus without incident, and return home to an empty house. Amanda will probably be working until late.
Alone in the kitchen, I twirl around, dancing while I make a simple pasta dinner. I take my food with me into my bedroom, and I open the beat-up laptop I brought to LA in my suitcase. This thing is actually held together with duct tape.
After jiggling the power supply a couple of times, I get the laptop to power up. The password for the wireless is a bunch of swear words. Obviously Amanda’s choice.
Now I’ve got to watch this video of me getting mugged.
I don’t want to see it happening, but I need to see everything.
My palms are sweaty. My heart starts to pound as soon as I type in Dylan Wolf’s name and click the search button.
Not very much stuff comes up.
The top result is the video Maggie must have played. It’s called Blue Shoes.
My heart is pounding like a jackhammer in my chest.
I press the play button and watch the video. This video has been put together using footage from several people.
Everything is how I remember, except Dylan seems different. He’s still as gorgeous as his raspy voice, but I notice something I didn’t see yesterday.
There’s a sadness to him.
Even though he’s grinning and teasing me in the video, as soon as he looks away, his smile fades. He looks lonely.
I replay the video at full size, and press pause during a close-up. He’s looking at the camera lens in this frame, so his face on my screen seems to be looking right at me.
My heart is still racing.
Just seeing the guy on my computer makes me feel like a giddy teenager. If I ever do meet him again, will I even be able to talk to him?
I start talking to myself.
“Hello, Dylan. I’m Jess. Remember me?” I give my computer screen a flirty wave. “I’ve been sent here by Maggie Clark to see you. She wants me to…”
My throat closes up.
Maggie Clark wants me to seduce you. Probably as part of a recording contract, or… maybe just for her own amusement. I really don’t know.
I try again. “Hey. I’m Jess. Do you wanna get a drink sometime?” His frozen face stares back at me, his dark eyes so mysterious and haunted. “We could go back to your place.”
My finger accidentally clicks the spacebar, restarting the video. Dylan blinks at me, as if he just heard what I said.
I shriek and
cover my mouth with both hands. As soon as I figure out what just happened, I start to laugh like an idiot.
The song finishes too quickly, so I restart it again and scroll through the comments for clues.
There are thousands of comments already.
Nobody seems to know very much about the mysterious Dylan Wolf. One commenter swears she knows him from the time she spent working in Alaska. She says it was a few years ago, but she’d recognize his voice anywhere.
I click on her profile, feeling jealous. I wonder, how well did she know him? She’s not even sure it’s the same guy. She probably just wants attention, judging by the stupid-looking profile picture she’s using.
There are a bunch of girls who say they met him, and even more who talk about disgusting things they want to do with him. I can’t read any more of these, so I switch over to Google.
There’s not much on here about Dylan Wolf. It’s as if he never existed before a month ago.
Someone with a music blog has posted a map of local sightings. The map shows places Dylan likes to busk for money, as well as favorite days. It looks like he’s usually playing in my neighborhood on Sundays, so I might run into him again this weekend.
I look out my darkened bedroom window for a moment and rub the knot in the muscles of my shoulders. How long can I handle working in the archives, digitizing all the dusty files? Did I really leave Nan on her own for something so worthless?
When Nick and I were leaving today, he said working in the archives isn’t even a real job. It’s a punishment.
I’m not going to get any decent career experience spending all my days in the basement.
Maggie Clark wants me to get close to Dylan Wolf. Sounds tempting. Getting to know him would be fun.
I’ll hope to bump into him again. Maybe he wants to be friends.
But just friends.
I can’t let him touch me, or kiss me, because I’m afraid of what will happen next.
Chapter 9
It’s Tuesday morning.
My second day at my new job.
I wake up an hour before my alarm clock goes off. I’m wide awake. Now what am I supposed to do?
The sun is shining. It’s another beautiful day.
