Shine Your Love on Me

by Jean C. Joachim

“Will he fire you if he finds out?”

  “I doubt it. Seems he’s a little hot headed. Think he’d never been turned down by a girl before.” Lloyd tapped a pencil on his desk.

  “Maybe he hasn’t.”

  “I’m glad you’re not going to sleep with him.”

  “I didn’t sleep with you to get ahead.”

  “I know,” he said, reaching across to squeeze her hand for a moment. “Wish we were still on.”

  “Best for me to make a clean break.”

  “Probably. But I’ll call you, anyway. In case you change your mind.”

  She smiled at him. “Never knew you had a sweet streak.”

  “You bring it out in me. I’m a real hardass, most of the time.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Lloyd presented her with the paperwork. She read it and signed.

  “Friday’s your last day. You’ll be paid a month’s severance plus vacation time. You don’t really have to come in, if you don’t want to.”

  “Okay. I’ll pack up today and pick my stuff up on Monday.”

  “If you get lonely over the weekend, call.”

  Brooke frowned. “Won’t you be spending it with Lady Gray?”

  “Not all of it. She’s actually not bad once you get to know her.”

  “In the biblical sense,” Brooke muttered.

  “I heard that. Look, I’m trying to help you. To be nice. Don’t be nasty in return.”

  “Nice? You’re firing me. Let’s understand who has the right to be upset here. I’m the one losing my job over nothing, not you. At least allow me to be pissed off. And you’ve been unfaithful, sleeping with Lady Gray whatever-her-name-is.”

  “We never said we were exclusive.”

  “I was and assumed you were, too. My mistake. As for who’s warming your bed now? It’s no longer my concern.”

  “Your decision.”

  “Right.” She stood up and shook his hand. He leaned over to kiss her, but she turned her head, so his lips only brushed her cheek.

  “I’m sorry things turned out this way. Walters is a rat bastard.”

  “At least I’ll never have to deal with him again.”

  They exchanged smiles, and she left.

  Back at her desk, depression, fear, and worry descended upon her. Tears threatened. Not gonna cry here. Not gonna give that creepy bastard the satisfaction. She snatched her jacket off the back of her chair and headed for home.

  Chapter Four

  After moping around her apartment all weekend, eating ice cream, watching romantic movies, and crying herself to sleep, on Sunday, Brooke mustered the strength to shower and put on a flower-print cotton dress in lilac and turquoise on a white background. The bright colors cheered her. She sensed her mother’s loving spirit nearby. Brooke stopped at Bob’s Bagels on Columbus and picked up an assortment plus smoked salmon and whitefish spread before heading over to Nan’s for brunch.

  Her heart was heavy as she rode up the elevator, dreading breaking the news to her grandmother. Am I a failure at twenty-eight? Dragging herself to the door, she heard the sound of laughter. Couldn’t be Nan’s? She rang the bell and was surprised when Pres opened the door. The barking pugs gave her a big greeting, jumping up and licking her face when she bent down.

  “Come on in. It’s a party.” Pres took her heavy bag and headed for the kitchen.

  “Brooke, darling, I’m so glad you’re here! We’re having a little birthday party for Mary. We’re not saying how old she is, but it’s a big one.”

  Brooke walked into the dining area and was greeted by four people. A tall, gorgeous cake frosted in white and sprinkled with coconut sat in the middle of the table. Nan took Brooke’s arm and folded it in with hers.

  “This is my beautiful granddaughter, the light of my life, Brooke Felson.” Each member of the group either raised a hand in greeting or called out to her. She tried to smile back as Nan rattled off each name. As soon as Nan let go, Brooke retreated to the kitchen, where Pres was unpacking the bag.

  “Are you going to put this out?”

  “I don’t have enough for seven people. I wasn’t expecting a party.”

  “Neither was Ruth. They just showed up.”

  “Just showed up? Some nerve,” Brooke said.

  “It’s nice. They know she’s got a big place, and she’s friendly. Ruth was happy to have them. Besides, look at that cake.” He licked his lips.

  Brooke put her hand over her eyes. “I’m not having the best day today.”

  “Get over yourself. Today isn’t about you, Brooke. It’s about Mary. Can’t you put aside petty crap for her sake?”

  Brooke looked up into his eyes. “I got fired on Friday.” Once said aloud, the reality of it hit her again. Tears threatened.

  “Holy shit. No.” Pres stopped.

  “I got propositioned by the president of the company. I turned him down, and he fired me.”

  “No way! Damn. I can’t believe that actually happens in real life.”

  “It does. It happened to me. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t tell them. You’ll bring them down.”

  She glanced into the dining room. Three women and two men sat at the table drinking coffee and tea and laughing. “You’re right.” She blinked rapidly as she laid out the food on a platter.

  Pres pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. As she wiped her eyes, emotion choked her. Covering her face, she cried. Pres pulled her to him and turned his back to the doorway, shielding her. He held her close, stroking her head.

  “You’re smart. You’ll find something else,” he whispered.

  Brooke leaned into him. The fragrance of his clean T-shirt mixed with his scent and a pine aftershave calmed her. She rested her palms flat against his chest, enjoying the hardness of his pecs. “You have friends. You’re strong. You’ll be fine.”

  He’s right. I’ll be okay. Somehow, I’ll get through this.

  “I’m here, any time you need me.” His words were like a balm to her raw spirit. He emanated a healing vibe, strong and warm. She snuggled into him. Pres didn’t move.

  “Hey, you two, get a room or get out here! We wanna cut the cake,” Harry called.

  Brooke stepped back and snapped to attention. Pres smiled down at her. “We’re giving that old man ideas.”

  “We’d better go. Thank you.” She grinned up at him, her eyes dry. “Am I all red and splotchy?”

  “You look beautiful. Tell Harry I gave you a sex flush.”

  Brooke laughed. Pres followed her back to the others, cradling the platter of smoked fish in his big hands.

  “Novie and whitefish!” Sam’s face lit up.

  “I’m sorry there isn’t more. I didn’t know you all were coming,” Brooke said.

  “There’s enough. At this age, all I need is a taste,” said Sylvia.

  “Oh my, Mary, did you bake this?” Brooke asked.

  “Damn right. A seven-layer white cake with coconut frosting. My favorite.”

  “Watcha waitin’ for? The next millennium? Cut the damn thing already. I’m not getting any younger,” Harry said.

  Mary shot him an evil look and picked up the knife. “Just for that, I’m serving you last.”

  “Come on, woman! Don’t you know a compliment when you see one?” Harry asked.

  “A compliment is about how nice you look.”

  “Okay. You look fantastic. Now gimme a piece of that cake. I’m dyin’ over here. I’ve been drooling over that thing for half an hour already!” He shoved a plate at her.

  “No. Sam gets the first piece, because he’s been waiting quietly.” Mary cut a large slice and handed it to Sam.

  “What do I have to do? Beg? Sing like Frank Sinatra or Barbra Streisand?” Harry thrust his plate toward Mary again.

  She took it this time. “Sure would be something if you could sing like Barbra, Harry.” She chuckled.

  The table got quiet for a moment as everyone tucked into t
heir food. The banter of Nan’s senior friends took Brooke away from her troubles and made her laugh. She soaked up their warmth and humor before splitting a second piece of cake with Pres.

  “So, when are you two getting married already?” Harry asked.

  “Harry!” Nan said. “They’re not even dating.”

  “They should be. They look good together. You heard it here first.” Harry sat back.

  “Quiet, old man. Can’t you see you’re embarrassing her?” Sylvia said.

  Harry folded both hands over his mouth and winked at Brooke. Pres’s face was red as a beet, and Brooke wondered if she looked the same.

  Then, thankfully, Harry and Sam started a discussion about politics.

  “This new mayor doesn’t know a thing,” Harry said.

  “I suppose you could do a better job?”

  “Just give me the chance. I couldn’t do worse.”

  The women laughed at him. “Harry’s always the butt of the joke,” Sylvia said, turning to Brooke.

  “Can I help it if I’m naturally funny?”

  The party was interrupted by two barks and a pug scratching at the door. Pres checked his watch. “Time to take the dogs out. I’m going to get Buddy.”

  “I’ll take Freddy and Ginger,” Brooke said, pushing to her feet. Harry wiggled his eyebrows at Brooke and smiled. He’s pretty charming, for an old guy.

  “So, Brooke, if you’re not marrying Pres, how ’bout marrying me?” That brought down the house.

  Pres fastened the dogs to their leashes and left with Brooke.

  “I’ll go with you to get Buddy,” she said, falling into step with him.

  “I only live a block away.”

  “Good. Harry is hysterical,” Brooke said, shaking her head.

  “Feeling better?” he asked when they reached his door.

  “Who could stay depressed around those guys?”

  “Not me. By the way, I wasn’t expecting female company,” Pres cautioned, fitting his key in the lock. “There might be some underwear, empty beer cans…”

  “Saying you’re a bit of a pig, Mr. Carpenter?”

  “Yeah,” Pres chuckled, pushing the door open. He went in first to switch on the light and grabbed boxers sitting on a chair and a few beer cans on the coffee table.

  “Basement apartment. Not bad,” Brooke said, as she strolled through the hallway before getting to the living room.

  “Yeah, I started out as the super. But when I sold my movie, I quit and kept the apartment.”

  “Nice.” A black leather sofa hugged one wall with a black lacquer coffee table. The walls were white with three original canvases painted in brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows. There was a back door that led to a garden. Brooke was drawn to the long bookcase covering most of one wall. “Shakespeare, Chaucer, The Romantic Poets…hmm. Interesting collection.”

  “Don’t forget the Norman Mailer, Hemingway, Steinbeck, and Fitzgerald,” he said, bending down to let Buddy lick his face.

  “Quite a reader.”

  “Every writer’s a reader. Besides, I was an English major in college.”

  “Really? You went to college?”

  He made a face. “Of course.”

  “One doesn’t think of a super needing a four year degree.”

  “It was temporary work. To get out of the house.”

  “Oh?”

  “My parents live on the East Side. I needed to be on my own.”

  “I get it.”

  He leashed Buddy. “Ready to go?”

  “I don’t get a tour?”

  “There’s not much to see. There’s the closet. Around that corner is the bathroom and the bedroom.” He raised his eyebrows. “You want to see my bedroom?”

  She sensed heat in her face. “I mean, one usually gets a tour…I didn’t mean…”

  “Oh, by all means. Allow me.” He presented his arm. “Let me escort you into my bedroom.”

  Brooke slapped him playfully on the shoulder and followed behind. The pugs had already checked out the bedroom and returned to the tiny kitchen, sniffing the floor for scraps of food.

  The bedroom was also white, but the queen-size bed dwarfed the small room. The color scheme was navy blue and red. Brooke leaped onto the bed, bouncing up, and landing with her head on his pillow.

  Pres climbed up after her. “Never been so easy to get a girl in my bed before.” He snickered.

  “Why you!” She feigned anger, her mouth open, her eyes wide, filled with laughter.

  He took a chance and scooted over her, trapping her legs between his, pinning her wrists to the bed with his hands. Being confined and helpless was new for Brooke. At first, she panicked then staring into his eyes, seeing his warm expression, she relaxed. His gaze lingered on her mouth.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, lowering his lips to hers. When he released her, she smoothed her hands over his shoulders. The kiss was brief, but sweet. His lips were soft and gentle. A slight rasp from the stubble on his chin excited her. “Come on,” he said, falling back away from her. “The dogs need to go out.”

  He rolled off the bed and offered his hand. The three were at the door, waiting patiently.

  As they headed for Central Park, the fresh, June air caressed their faces while the sun warmed their backs. They strolled along behind the pugs, who stopped to sniff and play.

  “I broke up with Lloyd.”

  Pres glanced at her. “Oh? How come?”

  “He’s sleeping with the client. I don’t respect that, and I don’t share, either. Besides, when I saw him cave to the president…well, I realized I didn’t love him. Probably don’t even like him much.”

  “Hmm. Does that mean a clear field for a new guy?”

  “You?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

  “No, John Alden. Of course, me.”

  “Maybe. I’ve got to focus on getting a job first.”

  “Can’t be job hunting on Saturday night.” He took her hand.

  She smiled up at him. “S’pose not.”

  “Let me take you out next Saturday.”

  She looked up through her thick, dark lashes at him and pursed her lips. He’s handsome and nice. And not in advertising. A trifecta? Why not? “Okay.”

  “Great!” He slung his arm around her waist and pulled her into a bear hug. Freddy and Ginger started barking. Pres stepped back. “Hey, I’m not hurting her, guys. Chill.” He crouched down to pet them.

  “Great little watchdogs.”

  “Too good. Wonder what would’ve happened if I’d kissed you?”

  “Attack!” She laughed.

  Pres took her hand again, and they did a loop around the Great Lawn. When they stopped in front of The Huntington, he lingered, making small talk. He cupped her cheek. “’Til Saturday,” he said.

  “Yep. Saturday.” He bent down and kissed her, then, with Buddy in tow, he headed uptown.

  A smile from Rocky kept Brooke’s spirits up. When she reached the apartment, Nan’s guests had cleared out. Nan was still cleaning up and putting away the dishes.

  “Let me help.” Brooke unleashed the dogs and joined her grandmother in the kitchen.

  “It was great you brought the food, darling. It was just enough. Thank you.”

  “These are your friends from the senior center?”

  Nan nodded.

  “They’re hilarious,” Brooke said, stacking up three plates and returning them to the cabinet.

  When she was finished, Nan took off her apron and hung it up. As she was passing through the archway to the living room, she stopped when Brooke spoke.

  “I have some bad news, Nana.”

  “Oh? You always call me that when there’s bad news.”

  “Sorry, yeah.”

  “What is it?” Ruth leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I got fired on Friday.”

  “What?” Ruth’s eyes widened. She took Brooke’s arm and led her into the living room. “Come, tell me the w
hole story.”

  * * * *

  On Monday morning, Brooke got up at the usual time. After some yogurt and coffee, she turned on her computer. “Time to job hunt,” she said aloud to herself. She spent the day searching online, writing query letters and submitting résumés. Her first stop was the friendly headhunter, Holly, who handles account supervisor jobs in the industry.

  After a brief conversation, Brooke sent in her information. She kept up the routine until Thursday, when a free concert in Central Park caught her eye. She rose early and worked all day at finding employment. By five o’clock, she was exhausted.

  She’d already missed one concert in the Park, so she grabbed a small afghan, made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and trekked to The Great Lawn. My reward for working hard at getting a job. The Great Lawn was mobbed with classical-music-loving New Yorkers, but she found a spot and spread her small blanket out. Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons,” a favorite of Brooke’s, was on the program for the evening. She watched other people as she ate.

  There were many parties, consisting of several couples or a bunch of single people. They had big blankets spread out and passed around large bowls of impressive seafood or chicken salads, Caesar salads, expensive bottles of wine, and tony desserts. A wave of emptiness washed through her. I guess this is what they mean when they talk of feeling lonely in a crowd.

  Brooke crossed her legs and leaned back on her wrists. She wore black workout pants and a bright pink tank top. Her gaze searched for attractive men. She spied several, but they were talking to pretty women. Everyone is paired off except me. She wondered if anyone from Gibbon and Walters was at the concert. All probably still working.

  She smiled to herself. A benefit of being unemployed. The crowd quieted down when the conductor took his place. The music mixed with the cooling night air to soothe her frazzled nerves. Enjoy this because soon you’ll be in a new job and working a million hours of unpaid overtime.

  Brooke lay down on the blanket. After intermission, she fell asleep. The sound of applause woke her. She rubbed her eyes, thankful for the darkness to cover her embarrassment. People packed up and the lawn was thick with folks leaving. Brooke finished the water she had brought. She sat and watched others milling about, talking, lugging leftovers in backpacks and picnic baskets.