Andi just wondered if she'd sounded like a thirty-something mother.
“Hey, Summer, have you asked Andi if she wants to go with us on our spring break trip?” queried one of the ditzy blondes. “We're going to have an awesome time. Actually, we're going to have a kick-ass awesome time.”
All the girls giggled enthusiastically, including Andi, who knew this was an opportunity she couldn't pass up.
“Yeah, Andi, I don't know what I've been thinking. We had another girl...well, she can't go, so there is one more ticket available. I think you'd have an awesome time,” said Summer, simultaneously giving a high five to one of her friends. “I know it's late notice though, so your parents may not be so keen on it. We leave this weekend. Freakin' awesome, I can't wait!”
“I'm almost certain they'll let me go. I'll talk to them and let you know,” said Andi confidently, thinking about how she was going to convince Michael and Brandon to let her travel out of town with a bunch of kids in search of a drug-ravaged killer. “By the way, where did you say we'd be going?”
“Oh, of course, it's Puerto Vallarta.” Summer joined with all three girls to say in unison, “What happens in Vallarta stays in Vallarta.” Once again, the girls giggled almost uncontrollably.
The giggling party was quickly broken up by another set of teens.
“Hey bitches, what you doing?” A thin boy with sweeping hair playfully shoved his friends.
Summer whispered that the group came from the private school. Andi's friends rolled their eyes, but still she and the others seemed to gravitate to his group, which consisted of a couple of girls and four boys, one of whom had his arm in a sling.
Ever the social facilitator, Summer introduced the group to Andi, who was a bit embarrassed by the attention. Observing the snobby crew, she scolded herself for overlooking the private school group when she'd convinced Michael and Brandon to go undercover at the public high school. Another set of kids brought more complexity, more to investigate. She found herself feeling impatient, given the increased size of the suspect pool.
“Hey guys, nice to meet everyone.” Andi waved to the whole crowd, acting a little shy.
As the group began to interact, Summer came over and whispered in Andi's ear.
“That was one of the guys I wanted you to meet.” She subtly pointed to the person wearing the sling on his arm. “His name is Zachary.”
Andi gave him the once-over, and noticed he wasn't half bad for a teenage boy, although the thought made her feel like she was robbing the cradle. She believed she'd been inconspicuous in her visual review, but when she looked up, he was staring her down. Their eyes met, then they both looked elsewhere, but not before she noticed his sparkling blue eyes. He could probably charm a bra off any girl he desires, she thought.
“So, who wants to grab a bite to eat?” yelled one of the loud-mouth teens. The pack of wolves meandered toward the food court.
For Andi, one of the negatives of this new assignment was having less control of her eating and workout regimen. Andi tried to follow the crowd but found herself scanning the menu boards for the healthiest of the lackluster options.
Unfortunately, she didn't see the couple in her direct path. She ran right into a man holding a tray full of food and drink. Shit went everywhere. Before words left her mouth, she was stunned to see who it was.
“Oh my God, I'm so sorry,” she said to the thirty-something man and his wife, who had now jumped back about four feet. The man and Andi traded awkward stares, trying to not act conspicuous.
“That's okay, that's okay, I can get a new drink,” the thirty-something man said. “At least I don't have another soaked shirt to clean.” He gave her a brief, private smile.
Andi quickly moved back to the pack of teenagers. Her boss must think she was the biggest klutz. She could always blame it on being in character, since she was hanging out with so many clueless kids.
Chapter Thirty-One
Marisa and I found a table at the far end of the food court, facing the skating rink. I'd gone back for another drink and a replacement for my wet burrito.
“Okay, Doyle. You have some 'splainin' to do,” said Marisa in her best interpretation of Ricky Ricardo.
Surprisingly, I could feel my face turn a slight shade of red.
“Why, Mr. Doyle, are you embarrassed by running into that pretty young girl?” she asked, half serious, half not.
“Didn't I tell you about our new intern?” I asked.
“I don't recall that, no. That attractive high school girl is an intern at your newspaper? She looks like she's more suitable to be an intern at the bubble-headed ice cream shop,” said Marisa, openly enjoying the anguish she was heaving on me.
I picked up one of her French fries and lightly tossed it at her face, which was my way of trying to throw up the white flag to hopefully end the teasing.
“Okay, let me start at the beginning. Then it will all make sense.”
“Isn't that what they all say?” Marisa said sarcastically. Then realizing it came out with more of a bite than she'd intended, she said, “Okay, I'm all ears. What's going on?”
I gave my better half the rundown on Andi and her undercover assignment.
“I'd say this kid's got a lot of chutzpah,” said Marisa, eating one of the fries.
“That's the thing, she really doesn't come across like she's a kid. Yes, she's twenty-one years old, but I think she has a real desire to make her own mark in the journalism world. Apparently, it's in her blood. Still, Brandon and I are a bit anxious about this setup, given what kind of situations she could find herself in.”
Marisa shrugged her shoulders and then tossed our food remnants in the trash. “Now we can get down to business.”
With her arm wrapped inside mine as we sauntered past a few stores, Marisa began the pursuit for new furniture. I was only mildly interested, instead convinced that we should be saving money to purchase our first home. But I'd learned there were times when women—at least my number one woman—needed to spread their wings and do a little window shopping, even if we never bought anything. Apparently, it was all about the hunt, and most importantly, my interest in it mattered. For tonight, I felt like I was doing my husbandly duty quite well, even considering my run-in with Andi, my second of the day.
We considered extending our so-called date night with a movie, since we weren't sure when we'd have another opportunity. The trip to Mexico to accompany Arthur was looming in the near future. That, by itself, was enough anxiety for any person or relationship. Seeing Andi undercover, while proud of her dedication, also gave me another dose of reality, knowing any of those kids could be the next victim, or the supplier to the next victim. Kids were so unpredictable and, at times, uncontrollable. I recalled my teenage years. I wasn't exactly Mr. Responsible.
Having felt Marisa's extra tight grip on my arm, I could sense a hint of vulnerability. Instead of debating it, we went straight home and I made the effort to relieve some of her anxiety, in at least a couple of different ways.
“Okay, you can come in now,” I said playfully. I'd asked her to sit in the living room, while I set the scene in our bedroom.
The door opened, and I touched the button on my phone, playing a romantic classic from Sinatra.
“Are you going old school on me, Michael?” Marisa's head slowly panned left and right. “Where'd you go?”
Small candles were placed in hidden coves around the bedroom and bathroom. Her eyes took in the scene as she walked to the edge of the bathroom doorway. She entered the bathroom slowly.
I stepped out from behind the door and kissed her neck gently, holding her from behind. Her shoulders trembled. Her eyes rolled, and her hand reached back and flowed through my hair, squeezing it as our tongues met briefly.
She noticed the bath water had been drawn.
“Oh baby, you're so sweet,” she said wanting to turn, but I kept her facing forward and pressed my body against her backside. I ran my finger down her shirt, stopping brief
ly to palm her breast, then I gently pinched her nipple. She let out a brief shrill as her nipples stiffened. So did I. “I want to bathe you and treat you like a queen.”
“Michael, I love you,” she said, extending her arm behind her, realizing I had no clothes on.
“I don't know about you, but I think we need to save the bath for later.” She turned to face me, staring deeply into my eyes. She exuded sensuality. I unbuttoned her shirt and unhooked her bra in a split second with my left hand—she let out a chortle, appreciating my seasoned skill.
She didn't let go of me, kissing me passionately at the same time. My hands gripped her head, as the mirrors showed the flickering candles bouncing shadows off her delicious backside.
“Are you sure you still want me like you used to?” she asked, showing me her vulnerability. “You can see I'm starting to get a few small wrinkles around my eyes; my skin isn't as tight. In fact, I think my ass is actually getting flabby.”
I laughed at her description.
“You know me, I notice everything about you, and it's all perfect. There's nothing about you I would change. I love all of you.” My heartfelt words drew another passionate kiss, this one a little more physical than the previous.
“You kiss me like that, you have me forever, no matter your age or what young girl crosses my path,” Marisa said with her eyes and mouth half open.
I scooped her up in my arms. She touched my face softly as I set her on the bed. I lay on top of her, caressing her cheek, running my fingernails across her chest, down to her belly. I followed with my lips, kissing and licking each spot. I moved lower.
“Oh, Michael. Oh my god!” She groaned, the whites of her eyes becoming more prominent. She smacked the headboard with both hands, and her tousled, golden-highlighted hair flew in every direction.
Marisa knew she was the center of my universe. Yet I felt just as much love and fulfillment as she did.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Andi flipped her locker shut and made her way to her last class of her third day as a re-instituted high school senior, although at that moment she felt more like a first-day kindergartener. Mr. Henderson, the school's venerated choir teacher, had warned Andi that today would be her day. She could feel moisture gather in the palms of her hands, while her stomach began to do flip flops.
She wasn't supposed to feel this way. This was a professional journalistic assignment, something she'd been dreaming about for years. It's all business, she kept telling herself. She'd been making headway in her undercover assignment, quickly gaining the trust of her new classmates and showing a willingness to meet and greet anyone who liked to have fun and party. Meanwhile, Mr. Henderson had imposed a deadline for Andi to perform a solo. He said it would allow him to adequately assess her talent, or lack thereof, as the case may be. At twenty-one years of age, she'd let go of any farfetched dream of becoming the next American Idol. In fact, her own high school friends had made fun of her inability to carry a tune.
Andi reluctantly took her place on the third row, sixth person in from the right, a couple of rows above Summer. She'd heard Summer sing alongside Adele in the car and was wowed by her voice, actually wondering if the sometimes ditzy blonde might have a future in the music business.
After a brief warm-up session with the class, Mr. Henderson moved behind the piano and adjusted the sheet music, then looked directly at Andi, whose face was now white as a ghost. She gulped and then prepared to belt out her first note. The piano started, and Mr. Henderson nodded to elicit her entry. Andi's voice was caught in her throat. Mr. Henderson started over and once again looked at her to begin at the correct moment. Andi's brain froze for a few seconds, the chord of piano keys being replaced by a high-pitched hum. Then, without notice, her body sprung to life in the worst kind of way. She leaped down from the risers and ran out of the choir room, holding her hand over her mouth, making a beeline for the restroom. She ran to the sink and splashed water on her face, hoping to hold back the surge of bile.
“Jesus, why do I have to get so anxious about this shit?” she yelled out loud but to no one.
“I guess it's because you're a perfectionist. Either that or you can't sing,” said Summer sarcastically, who'd entered the restroom without Andi noticing.
Andi turned her head, water dripping from her nose and chin.
“Wow, girlfriend. You look like you're hung over or something.” Summer then seemed to realize she'd just told another girl she wasn't attractive—a true sin amongst the female crowd. “Sorry about that.”
Summer offered a paper towel, and Andi wiped her face.
“It's the latter,” Andi said.
“Huh?”
“You said I was either taking this too seriously or I couldn't sing. Well, I can't sing.”
“That's okay, I don't like the way my nose looks,” said Summer, as both girls laughed at the absurd comparison. “Seriously, we all have something that makes us fearful or sad or something like that.”
Andi paused, somewhat stunned to hear Summer dig any further than the top layer of her makeup. Andi continued to open up, hoping the same would be returned.
“Yeah, it probably goes back to when I was a little kid, maybe five or six, and my mom used to make me dress up in ridiculous costumes and perform in these little girl beauty pageants. I felt like a showgirl, even though I didn't know what one was.”
Summer twirled her blond locks, pondering what, if anything, to say. How far down would she peer into her past? Andi wondered.
Andi raised up from the sink and with caring eyes calmly nodded her head, hoping it would enable Summer to share her thoughts—or possibly demons.
“When I was younger, my brother's friend moved in with us.” Summer looked into Andi's eyes, then turned away to continue her story. “He'd grown up in a number of foster homes and had some real bad experiences, so my brother convinced my parents to let him move in. They thought if they took care of him and pushed him the last two years to graduate high school, then everything would work out for him.”
A bubble of a tear formed in the corner of Summer's eye. Andi didn't want to act too motherly but moved a step closer and put her hand on the side of Summer's shoulder.
“Yeah, parents just don't seem to have a clue. My mom completely closed her eyes to the fact I couldn't sing. I just wasn't as talented as all the other girls,” Andi said.
“I actually had a crush on the guy, can you believe it?” Summer offered up.
Andi's comment had been ignored, but she turned her head and gave Summer an assuring nod. “That's natural, Summer. How old were you?”
“Eighth grade. At first, we were just playful, and I would tease him and he would tease me back. I didn't know what I was doing,” she said, as she began to think through the progression of events. “I guess I thought I was flirting with him. I didn't know what was supposed to happen or not. I liked him, I guess.”
Andi hesitated from chiming in, not wanting to interrupt the flow of memories.
“He gave me my first joint. We started smoking pot together, which just added to the fun we had together,” she said. ”I thought I was hot shit, smoking pot with an older boy, who I thought liked me.
“I started noticing his mood changing a bit here and there, and then I saw him secretly doing some coke. I knew it wasn't right, but I wanted his affection for some stupid reason. So I jumped in, and he gave me some coke.”
Andi's pulse rate quickened, but she couldn't show it. She rubbed the side of Summer's shoulder and looked at the floor.
“One night, he started to kiss me. We were both high on pot and coke. It was hard for me to focus. I was, of course, a virgin, but he didn't stop. I told him to stop. I never wanted to have sex. I was too young. He got rough with me, really rough.”
Andi handed a paper towel to Summer, whose tears now flowed down her dimpled cheeks.
“It's okay, Summer. I'm sure it was devastating for you.” She held the younger girl in her arms like a sister.
; “I tried telling my parents, but they didn't believe it. Can you believe it?” she said. “I wanted my life to end, honestly. I stayed away from him. Then, a few months later, my parents caught him stealing some money, and they kicked him out. But no one ever apologized to me.”
We all have our demons, Andi knew. Hearing Summer's story lent perspective to her own history, which was nowhere near as afflictive in reality. Pot, coke, and sexual assault at age thirteen. Summer's perky nature and nearly perfect looks were a façade. They only hid the tortured pain she and other drug users felt every day.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Today marked a new tradition: our inaugural monthly breakfast social. I'd come to realize that our reliance on technology to create efficiencies in our work environment had slowly eaten away at our relationships, our camaraderie, and our ability to listen, ask questions, and learn from one another.
Face-stretching yawns greeted me as I stood before our dreary-eyed crowd. As I'd predicted, the people before me weren't happy with the required early morning breakfast meeting. They'd get used to it.
“Rose Tipton, please step forward.”
The diminutive reporter popped out of the crowd and proudly marched up next to me, although her face showed trepidation. I flipped around a framed plaque that included a large graphic of a particular green spice.
“I'd like to recognize Rose for the outstanding stories she wrote to kick off our in-depth drug story coverage. She wasn't afraid to mix it up, dig deeper, and unearth some of the difficult, hot topics in our community,” I said.
The plaque read Jalapeno Award.
Everyone clapped, and I even heard a couple of whistles.
“Anything you'd like to say?”
“I'm not sure I'll have room to hang this in my cube,” she said while laughing at the same time. The top of the frame was even with her shoulders. “I guess I'd also like to say thank you to Hector, who also provided some incredible pictures, especially the photo page.”
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