“Forgetting about it and pretending it never happened is not an option,” J.R. went on, smiling a more restrained smile at me. “But we definitely have got to move past it. What happened, happened; it’s in the past. Right now, we have to think about the future—and both of our butts are on the line here. We’ve got to figure out what’s going on at rEcore, not revisit a mistake we made a long time ago.”
Of all the words I would have used to describe what happened with J.R. seven years ago, “mistake” would not have been one of them, and I was upset that he used it. I’d regretted what I’d done—because of the promiscuity aspect of it—but I’d never once called it a “mistake.” I guess I never thought it had been… but J.R. obviously had a different opinion.
“Okay,” I said, deciding to go with the flow rather than disrupt it. “I’m willing to move past it, if you are… Though, at some point, I have some questions I want answered.”
“Me too,” J.R. said. “But now is not the time… And, speaking of time, like Julie said—it’s getting pretty late. I really should be going home now… Some of us have work in the morning, you know.”
“I know,” I replied, not missing J.R.’s attempt at caustic humor. “If it wasn’t for you firing me, I’d still have a job to wake up to… but I guess I’ll sleep in instead. So, thanks for the added nap time.”
“No problem,” J.R. said with a fake grin.
“Keep up the good work,” he added when he got to the door. “I’ll be in contact tomorrow night to see what you’ve found. In the meantime, I’m gonna pull some personnel records at work to see who Gigi’s canned since that company party—maybe that’ll lead to something.”
I walked to the door to see J.R. out and felt a strange sensation wash over my body the moment he was gone. It was as if I’d been blasted by a spray of hot water. I was both invigorated and relaxed, both excited and a little shaky. J.R.’s involvement in this investigation was something I never saw coming, and, now that he was in on it, I had no idea where this would go.
I hoped, of course, that we’d get to the bottom of things at rEcore, and I was pretty sure that we would. But I wasn’t sure where this would go in terms of me and J.R.—was this my chance to finally face the demons of my past and get closure? Or, maybe was there something more there—was this my opportunity to pick up where I left off years ago, my second chance to purse something with my one-night lover?
Maybe it would be neither of those things—or maybe it’d be something else entirely—but the point was, I didn’t know… How could I?
~ Chapter 6 ~
Despite what I’d told J.R. about sleeping in, I still woke at 6 a.m. the next morning, like clockwork. My alarm hadn’t been set, and I arose simply out of habit. When you’re used to working every day, you’re used to working every day, and the fact that you know you no longer have a job doesn’t really alter your circadian rhythms. Your body still wants to get up when it knows it should get up, and one day off the clock doesn’t change that.
Still, it sucked to be up so early without anything regimented to do, and I wished I could roll back over and sleep for a few more hours. But once I heard the birds chirping outside and heard my neighbors’ cars purring, I decided that I was already too much a part of the waking world to ignore it.
I pulled myself up out of bed and elected to wear my sweats as my uniform. I’d changed into them before crawling into bed the night before and saw no reason to put on anything more formal.
I did, however, see reason to put on the coffee—and, as soon as it brewed, I made myself a huge mug and went to my new office… aka, my living room. I hunkered down on the couch and opened up my laptop. J.R. was going to look into recent rEcore fires, and I was going to look into my old flame. I was still very curious about this MUDD connection between him and Gigi, and I didn’t want to dismiss it without first looking into it further.
My first move, of course, was to do what anyone would do when they’re looking for info on someone… I hit the social media sites and looked up his profile. A few hits came up for “Tommy Ferguson,” and related names, but I was able to dismiss some of them immediately. E.g., I knew the Tommy Ferguson I was looking for wasn’t a 54-year-old man from California, and I knew he wasn’t a black man serving in the military.
That left only a couple options—and I had to recheck them both carefully. The one that best matched the Tommy Ferguson I knew was almost as mismatched as the 54-year-old man and the black soldier. All the biographical information seemed correct, but the photo staring back at me didn’t.
The Tommy Ferguson on the screen was this super sleek, super sexy bad boy hipster kinda guy. He had a thick, tight, muscular body and a slew of tattoos, and his head was shaved short atop his baby doll face. I’d seen some major transformations in my life, but this one truly amazed me… Could it really be Tommy?
Julie had gone from an all-American college gal to a voluptuous, pink-haired, old-Hollywood throwback… J.R. had gone from a sexy stranger in a shitty campus apartment to a billionaire industry leader… and I’d gone from Patty to Trish, which involved some new outfits and a haircut.
By far, the biggest transformation was this guy… He’d gone from geek to god, and, as I looked as his online photo albums, I couldn’t believe that this was the guy I’d dated throughout most of college. This was the guy I’d given my virginity to. This was the guy things just kind of fizzled out with.
But how could anything ever fizzle out with this guy?
I went on to read Tommy’s profile and check out his presence on a few other sites. Apparently, he was doing pretty well for himself. He was still in Pittsburgh, and worked at another local tech firm—InLander.
Like rEcore, InLander was at the top of the tech game, though its area of expertise was slightly different that rEcore’s—but, still, that doesn’t mean much. At the bottom line, they’re still competitors.
And, from what I could tell, Tommy had been working there for four years, and had risen pretty high in the ranks. I also saw that his profiles listed him as “single,” and each time I read that word it made my spine tingle a little.
I guess, at some point, my research turned into a bit of stalking, or ogling. Instead of trying to find out more about Tommy and his connection to Gigi, I found myself staring at his photos. There was one in particular that I really liked… He had his shirt off and was standing outside in the sun. The way the light shone on his blue eyes and light hair made him look so sweet, and the shadows on his muscles and against the contours of his body art made my mouth water.
Enough was enough, and I decided to take a break from my “research.” It was around 10 a.m., and I’d had my fill of Tommy for the time being. I wanted a snack now instead—so I headed off to the kitchen and made myself a cheese and tomato sandwich.
I thought about taking a nap—or maybe taking a shower. I wasn’t used to being home at this time, and, not having a ton of things laid out for me to do, I simply didn’t know what to do with myself.
Just as I decided that maybe I’d flick on the television and catch a soap opera or game show, I heard a noise coming from my computer. I set the remote down and went back to my laptop, where I found a notification that I’d been pinged on one of my social media websites.
I clicked on the bubble, and there it was… a message.
From Tommy Ferguson.
Howdy Stranger, it read. Long time no see. What’s up with “Trish”? And what’s up with you checking up on me online?
I felt my heart sink to my stomach. We’ve all gotten those goof emails and messages on social sites—those ones that tell you “click here to find out who’s been looking at your profile.” All those links and messages are scams from miners looking to collect your personal info.
But, believe it or not, the technology does exist to track who is looking at your profile—and I was a fool not to expect that someone like Tommy Ferguson would be using it. Even if I didn’t find out what he looked like now or what he was up
to, I still knew what a computer geek he was back in the day, and I still should’ve known that there’d be a high likelihood of him tracking any online movement around him. He was always more immersed in the web presence aspect of the tech world than I was, and so much of that comes with an added degree of watchfulness and/or paranoia.
Hi Tommy, I wrote back. Yeah, it’s Trish now. A lot has changed. For you too, I see. Just feeling nostalgic and looked you up.
I lied to Tommy, of course. There was no reason to tell him the truth—in fact, there was every reason to lie.
No shit, Tommy replied almost instantly. I’ve been thinking about you recently too. You back in Pittsburgh? Working at rEcore?
At first, I wondered how Tommy knew so much about me—but then I realized that I’d updated my profiles when I came back to Pittsburgh and started at rEcore, and I hadn’t updated them since I got fired.
Yeah, I’m back in the ‘burgh, I answered. You still around too, huh? I was trying to avoid Tommy’s second question by asking my own—but, alas, it set me up for another.
Yep, he replied. Still in Pittsburgh, working at InLand. Want to get together sometime and catch up?
I bit my lip and stared at the tiny thumbnail of Tommy looking back at me. Certain parts of me—I don’t have to say which ones—wanted nothing more than to get together and catch up with Tommy. But other, more rational, parts of me were telling me it wasn’t such a good idea… Though, for the sake of the investigation, it might not be a horrible idea. If I played my cards right, I could get information from Tommy about Gretchen that I might not be able to find out on my own, right?
Okay, I typed back. That sounds like a fun idea.
Really? Tommy replied immediately. I wasn’t expecting you to say “yes” so quickly. I thought I’d have to convince you.
Like I said, I answered, just as quickly, a lot has changed.
~ Chapter 7 ~
Tommy and I went on to make plans for later that same evening. We arranged to meet at a place on the East End of Pittsburgh, just past the area where we went to college. It seemed a fitting place to meet up, and it was a pretty happening area, so I was thoroughly looking forward to the evening.
But as soon as I got to the club we’d decided upon, I was a little overwhelmed by everything, including by surroundings. The Soapbox was a tall place, rather than a long one. It had three different floors to it, and I didn’t know on which Tommy would be waiting—if he was waiting at all. And, if he wasn’t waiting, I didn’t know which floor I should wait on.
I looked around the first floor and didn’t see anyone who looked like Tommy, neither how I remembered him nor how I saw him on the computer. I made my way to the second floor and, again, couldn’t find him.
Third time’s the charm, I thought, ascending the final flight… But, of course, Tommy wasn’t there either. I sat down and ordered a martini, which wasn’t my usual drink but seemed fitting, and I pulled out my phone to check the time and see if I had any messages. It was 6:10 p.m., ten minutes after I was supposed to meet Tommy, and my inboxes were empty.
I finished what was left of my drink, which only took a few minutes, and then I got up to leave, figuring I’d do a quick sweep of the other floors before calling it a night. Just as I was walking down the steps, a group of other patrons were walking up them—and, lo and behold, Tommy was among them.
He smiled at me from below, then nodded his head upwards. “Upstairs is better,” he said keeping up his pace and walking further up the steps towards me.
“Okay,” I said, turning and going back into the bar area from which I’d just exited.
“Sorry,” Tommy said, entering the room a moment later. He looked like the Tommy from my computer, not my memory. “There was some type of accident on one of the back roads near my office, and everything was tied up for a while, diverting traffic. I got here as fast as I could, and I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”
I looked at the clock on the wall, and it wasn’t even yet 6:30, so Tommy wasn’t too late, I figured, and he had a good excuse. We can’t control accidents and traffic, now can we?
“It’s okay,” I answered, still trying to convince myself that it was. “But you sure picked one hell of a place to meet… A bar with three floors—don’t you think that’s a little confusing?”
“Maybe it is,” he said. “But you still found me.”
“You have a point,” I said with a smile. “Now let’s have a drink.”
Tommy walked me over to a small, round table that sat high above the ground, and he pulled out my stool for me. “What do you want?” he asked. “Drinks are on me—for the inconvenience of making you come to this ‘confusing’ place.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “I’ll have a martini.”
“All right,” Tommy said as he turned to the bar. “I’ll be right back.”
I watched as Tommy went over and ordered our drinks from the bartender. There was something smooth and cool about him, and he seemed so unlike the Tommy I used to know. This was no geeky college kid. This was a man, and he had a real presence about him.
“Here you go,” Tommy said, placing my martini in front of me. He sat down on a stool beside me—not across from me, but beside me.
“Cheers,” I said, raising my glass. And, “Cheers,” Tommy replied, raising his. I took a sip of my drink, and it was much stronger than the first one I’d ordered. I guess it takes balls—actual balls—to get a decent cocktail in this place, I told myself as I swallowed the salty, sour liquid.
“So, like I said,” Tommy started, setting his drink down, “I’ve been thinking a lot about you recently… I don’t know why. I guess a guy never forgets his first love—or his first time… I still remember that night, you know. It was so special.”
I strained my brain to think of my first night with Tommy, and, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember it in any detail. I know a girl is supposed to remember her first time, too—perhaps even more so than a guy—but the whole thing had just been very… uneventful.
Not like I was gonna tell Tommy that! Instead, I looked back at him and smiled before taking another sip of my martini.
“You said a lot has changed,” Tommy said, leaning closer to me. “And it certainly has. Back then, I was probably horrible in bed—and, today, I’d like to think I’m much, much better… and, I’d be willing to prove it, if you’re interested.”
There was something undeniably sleazy about what Tommy had just said, but there was also something undeniably sexy about it. It had every nerve cell in my body standing on edge, and it made me think of what J.R. had said the night before, about living out a Penthouse fantasy letter. There was something so “erotic” about the idea of a former lover coming back all beefed up and ready to prove himself—it’s not just hot, but it also makes you feel important.
As much as I wanted to drop my panties and tell Tommy to show me what he had, I acted more within reason. I pulled back, shook my head, and told him, “Tommy, no, it’s not like that… I’m not trying to get back together or hook up or any—”
Thankfully, Tommy interrupted me before I could go on, though what he said wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear.
“Calm, down, Patty,” he said, pulling back as well. “I’m not stupid. I know why you were looking me up online, and I know why we’re here… I figured I’d just try to have a little fun with you before we got down to business.”
“First of all, Tommy,” I said, sitting more upright, “it’s Trish… And, second of all, what do you mean you know why we’re here? You’re the one who asked me here, not the other way around.”
“It was only a matter of time,” Tommy said, leaning even farther away from me and even closer to his drink. “The minute that shit went down at rEcore, there was chatter all over the net about it, and your name was going around like a pair of Molly Ringwald’s panties… That’s a Sixteen Candles reference, by the way.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it,” I said. “So, what, all the gee
ks think they know my story, and they’re on the lookout for me?”
“Exactly,” Tommy said, taking a chug from his mug, then wiping his lower lip. “There’s a lot that’s being said about you. I don’t know how much of it is true, but there’s a lot that’s being said… And there are a few people out there offering rewards for any information on you or this situation at rEcore.”
A few people? I thought to myself. I’d known J.R. put feelers out there—but who else could have… or would have?
“As soon as I heard your name—even though it was Trish, instead of Patty—I figured that, if you got in deep enough, you might reach out for a lifeline. And, I thought, maybe, just maybe, you’d come looking for me—whether it was to help you finish destroying rEcore or to help you save your name, I knew you had some kind of insatiable investment in this… And, like I said, it was only a matter of time. I knew you’d come looking for me—and, you did… I just decided to invite you out to have some fun and ease you along in the process.”
I looked at Tommy, a little flabbergasted. He seemed to have this all figured out, but he had it figured out all wrong.
“So which one is it, Patty?” he said before correcting himself. “I mean, Trish… Which one is it—are you here to ask me to help you destroy rEcore or save yourself? The suspense is killing me.”
“Actually, Tommy,” I said, “it’s neither. I don’t need your help—at least not as far as any tech stuff is concerned. I’ve already got that taken care of and am working with some friends on figuring this mess out… What I need from you is information.”
And just as I asked for information, I realized that I’d given a bit too much away.
“You’re working with friends on this?” Tommy asked. “Who? And what are you working on? If you want information from me, you’re gonna have to give me something in return, you know.”
I realized that Tommy had a point, and I’d already dragged him too far into things. At this point, it was better to give him some explanation than to give him nothing.
Blast From The Past 2 Page 3
