Blast From The Past 2

by Faith Winslow

  “Let’s just put it this way,” I said, looking at Tommy intently. “I didn’t study my ass off in college and work my ass off in Cincinnati for six years just to come back to Pittsburgh, start a new job, and lose it a week later. Do you really think I’d try to kill an app like that? And, if I did, do you really think I’d be so blatant about it?

  “I was in no way involved with what happened at rEcore, but I’m going to find out who is. I have some other people who are helping me do that, but I’m not going to tell you who they are. I’ve already told you too much, and I’m not going to tell you any more.”

  “Wow,” Tommy said, crossing his arms in front of him. “No need to be so James Bond about it—what, is this table going to self-destruct at the end of this conversation?”

  “Listen, Tommy,” I said, leaning in for a view that could kill. “Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate your pop culture references, but, right now, I’m more interested in something else.”

  “Which is?” Tommy asked, arching his eyebrows.

  “Tell me what you know about Gretchen Gordon.”

  ~ Chapter 8 ~

  “Gretchen Gordon?” Tommy asked.

  “That’s what I said,” I answered.

  “What about her?” Tommy asked.

  “I thought I was the one supposed to be asking the questions here,” I fired back.

  “Who said that?” Tommy fired right back, not missing a beat.

  “I did,” I stated firmly, putting an end to our childish banter. “Gretchen Gordon was my supervisor at rEcore, and I know that you used to run a MUDD with her.”

  “That’s right,” Tommy admitted. “And?”

  “And,” I replied, “I was hoping you could tell me more about it.”

  “Okay,” Tommy said. “Well, let’s see, it was your standard RPG platform, with third person dynamics. It really wasn’t that different from a lot of the lambda projects that were out there, but—”

  “Tommy, please, stop,” I interrupted. “You know that’s not what I meant. I meant tell me about you and Gretchen.”

  “We ran the MUDD together,” Tommy said swiftly. “And you already know that.”

  “I don’t know why you’re giving me a hard time,” I said, trying to look Tommy in the eye. “All I want is the answers to a few basic questions.”

  “I don’t even see why any of this matters,” Tommy said, allowing his eyes to meet mine, finally. “You found out that Gretchen and I ran a MUDD together? So what? Is that all you’ve got? Why are you coming to me and asking me about that? You think that makes me involved with all this shit somehow? Think again. That’s just tangential information.”

  Not a second later, my phone started buzzing in my bag. I looked at it and saw a call coming in from an “Unknown” number. It was around 8 p.m., and I knew that J.R. would be contacting me, though I didn’t know when, and I figured it might be him. I quickly reached into my purse, grabbed the phone, and answered. “Just a second,” I said into the piece before pressing “mute” and announcing, “I’ll be right back. I have to take this.”

  I ran off toward the bathroom, pulling my phone to my ear as soon as I was out of Tommy’s earshot. Indeed, it was J.R. on the line.

  “Is this a bad time?” he asked.

  “Until we get this all figured out, every time is a bad time,” I answered with a slight burst of laughter, perhaps brought upon by the martinis. “But I only have a few minutes to talk right now… so, what’s up? Did you find anything out today?”

  “Just that six employees were let go over the past year,” J.R. said, “and that Gretchen was responsible for all of their dismissals.”

  “Six people?” I asked. “That’s a lot, isn’t it? There are only two dozen or so people on staff at any given time—six is a quarter of them.”

  “I know,” J.R. went on. “But, like I said, we never thought anything of it. It happened so quickly, and they were so quickly replaced—there was no disruption to the flow of business, and it really went unnoticed… I’m not surprised nobody said anything.”

  “Who would?” I quipped. “They were probably too afraid to… They knew that Gretchen would fire them.”

  “I’m still looking into it all though,” J.R. said. “And I’ll have to share it with you. I mean, everything is very thoroughly documented here—and, even though six is a lot of people to replace in that short a period of time, it seems to be documented that all six were replaced for good reason… What about you? Did you find anything today?”

  “I’m still working on it,” I said, not telling J.R. even half of the story. “I’ll let you know what I find out tomorrow.”

  “Okay then,” J.R. said, sounding a little reluctant to end the conversation. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow… Enjoy the rest of your night.”

  “You too,” I replied. I hung up the phone, looked in the mirror, and tossed my hair around a bit. Time to get back to Tommy, I told myself, and, for a split second, I didn’t know what I meant by my own comment.

  When I got back out to the table, Tommy was fussing with his cell phone too. He swiped his finger across it and pocketed it as soon as he saw me coming.

  “Who was that?” he asked. “One of those friends you’re working with?”

  “Maybe,” I replied. “Who was that?” I added, nodding my head toward the cell phone in his pocket. “What’d you do—sell me out to one of those people who’s offering a reward for info on me?”

  “No,” Tommy said, quite bluntly. “I didn’t sell you out—and I’m not gonna.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked Tommy. “You don’t want to get a big payout so you can retire young?”

  “I already have a lot of money,” Tommy said. “But what I don’t have is a lot of friends… or at least, not a lot of friends who really matter. I’m not going to sell you out because I don’t want to do that to you. Whatever you’re doing, do it. I won’t interfere—and, if you want my help, I’m here.

  “But as far as Gretchen Gordon is concerned, I can’t really tell you much else about her.”

  Tommy look at me, and, for a moment, beneath all the muscles, tattoos, and sexy grown-up features, I saw the young twerp who’d courted me for months and months, and I was moved by him.

  “Okay, Tommy,” I said, eying my old boyfriend. “But don’t think this means you’re gonna get in my pants.”

  “I know,” Tommy said, reaching out to take my hand in his. “It took me over a year to get that far before, and I’ll wait just as long this time if I have to. You’re worth the wait.”

  I couldn’t tell if Tommy was being serious, kidding, or both, but there was something about his statement that I liked, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

  ~ Chapter 9 ~

  “What time is it?” I asked, rolling over in what I thought was my bed. The sunlight coming in through the window was much brighter than it should be at any hour I was used to waking up at, and it made my skin feel uncomfortably warm against the blue flannel sheets.

  Wait a minute, I thought to myself, touching the fabric. I don’t own any blue flannel sheets.

  I shot straight up and sat at full attention, staring around the bright, modern bedroom of someone else’s apartment.

  “Where am I?” I shouted. “And what the hell happened?” I looked down and saw that I was wearing a pair of men’s boxer shorts and a Big Bang T-shirt.

  “Calm down,” a voice called out from the other rooms. It had been several years, or several hours, however you want to measure it—but, I recognized the voice as Tommy’s.

  “You’re in my apartment,” he went on. “You got so drunk last night, you couldn’t even remember your own address… So I brought you back here, and you spent the night.”

  I crossed my legs and covered myself up with the blanket. “Did anything—” I started to ask.

  “No, nothing happened,” Tommy said. “But that’s only ‘cause I’m such a gentleman. Towards the end of the night, you were hanging all over me, and a lesser
man would’ve ended up in that bed beside you… I slept on the couch, and let you take the bed—and, from the sounds of your snoring last night, I made the right decision.”

  My head was pounding with a hangover, and, slowly but surely, I started to remember things from the night before. Tommy and I had stayed on to drink at The Soapbox, and we’d each had more than our fair share.

  “Oh no,” I said, glancing down at the T-shirt I was wearing. “My dress?” I asked, faintly remembering what had happened.

  “Yeah, you hurled all over it,” Tommy said, “which was another thing that made it a little easier to resist your advances.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling incredibly embarrassed. More and more of the evening was returning to my memory now, and I had even more reason to feel embarrassed. I remembered flirting with Tommy, like he’d said—and I even remember trying to say something sexy to him with a pool of spittle on my chest. Not very appealing.

  I also recalled that we’d talked more about my situation and the state of things at rEcore. My lips had been loose, sure enough. I was trying to remember just how loose I’d let them get. I hoped that I hadn’t shared too much more with Tommy; I’d already shared more than was necessary.

  “Good thing it’s Saturday,” Tommy said, walking out of the room. “If it was a weekday, I would have had to wake you up at the crack of dawn and kick you out… But, since it’s the weekend, you’ve got a little bit of wiggle room here. Take your time; take a shower if you want. Mi casa es su casa. I ran your dress through the wash—according to the instructions on the label—and it’s in the drier now. It should be out in about twenty minutes… Just let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, Tommy,” I said letting go of the blankets I was clinging onto. My ex-boyfriend’s personality made me feel comfortable in my unfamiliar surroundings, and it actually made me start to wonder—If Tommy and I had ever had a “real relationship” beyond the naivetés of college, would this be what it was like? Me waking up in his bed, and him taking care of me?

  I crawled out of bed and found my way to the bathroom. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I wanted to cringe and laugh at the same time. I looked absolutely horrific, and I didn’t know how Tommy could have stood there talking to me with a straight face. My hair was matted to my head in a few different spots, and my eye make-up looked ridiculous. I had black raccoon lines all over my cheeks and eyelids, trailing off to places on my face where eyeliner had never gone before, and should never go.

  I yawned, and, just then, tasted my own breath, and was sickened. It was like death warmed over with a sidecar chaser. I peeled off the clothes that Tommy had loaned me and, without hesitation, jumped into his shower. I have to admit, it was a little awkward, and very brazen, for me to do that—I mean, showering in someone else’s apartment, especially when it’s a man, and it’s a man you don’t know that well anymore, though you used to date him, but that was a long time ago… The reasons for not taking a shower there were many, but the reasons for taking one were more powerful. I felt, looked, and smelled like hell, and only warm water and soap could do something about it.

  The warm water and suds felt great going over my body, and there are a lot of metaphors I could make about how it “reawakened” me or “washed away my problems,” but all that really mattered was that it washed away the dirt and drunkenness—well, maybe more so the former than the latter. I was still so hungover that, by some standards, I was still drunk.

  But, drunk, hungover, or sober as I was, I didn’t want to spend too long in Tommy’s shower. Once I made sure everything was clean—or at least everything I was willing to clean in Tommy’s apartment—I turned the water off, got out, and grabbed what I hoped was a clean towel from the shelf. There were a few laid out there, and the one I got hold of looked fluffy and smelled fresh, so I was optimistic about my selection.

  “Your dress still isn’t dry yet,” Tommy yelled out from just past the door. He must have heard the water start and then stop, and was coming to update me on my clothing. “I ran it on low heat so I wouldn’t shrink it… I know how those labels can be. I’d give it another fifteen or twenty minutes… But I laid out some fresh clothes for you to wear in the meantime.”

  “Thanks,” I shouted back, drying my hair. I wondered which TV show would be featured on this T-shirt.

  It turned out to be Beavis and Butthead, the one where Beavis has his shirt pulled over his head, as “the great Cornholio,” who, as you’ll recall, needed TP for his bunghole. We’d watched DVDs of that show together in college, and I couldn’t help but think that’s why Tommy laid this one out for me—surely he had at least a dozen other absurd ones to select from.

  “I guess it’s a good thing that the only stuff you have for me to wear is boxers and guys’ T-shirts,” I said, walking into the kitchen to join Tommy. “If you had girlier clothes, that’d mean that you got a lot of play—or that you had a deep-seated problem.”

  “I keep my panties and bras hidden,” Tommy said, taking a sip of coffee. “You don’t get to see those until the second date.”

  “How exciting,” I said, making my way to the coffee pot and helping myself, without invitation. “So, is that what you’re calling last night then—a date?”

  “Well, what would you call it?” Tommy asked, standing up and walking over to me. He opened the cupboard door to expose sugar, creamer, and artificial sweetener.

  “I don’t know,” I said, speaking in all honesty. I poured some creamer into my cup and tapped two blue packets against my fingers. “I don’t know what I’d call it… and, really, I don’t even know if I want to think about it.”

  “That’s fine,” Tommy said. “No pressure… Call it whatever you want… But, for now, I kinda think we should keep it a secret.”

  I looked at Tommy, waiting for more.

  “I mean, you’re not telling me who you’re working on things with to figure stuff out at rEcore,” he said, leaning back against the counter. “And it’s probably better that way… And it’s probably better that they don’t know about me, either. Don’t forget, I work for InLander—and we’re a major competitor. If it got out that you were making time with me, well, who knows what would happen? People might see that as motive or incentive, and then your whole case would be dead in the water.”

  Tommy had a point, and I saw it.

  “Right,” I said. “I get it… The whole ‘sleeping with the enemy’ thing.”

  “Oh,” Tommy said. A boyish smile crept across his face. “So you do plan on sleeping with me then?”

  Neither one of us needed me to answer.

  ~ Chapter 10 ~

  “Where the hell have you been?” Julie said, nearly screaming my ear off. I’d just left Tommy’s apartment and was still mighty hungover, so I wasn’t ready for her loudness. She’d called and texted a combined total of eleven times over the past few hours, and I wasn’t ready for her persistence either.

  “It’s no big deal,” I said. “I went out last night, had a few drinks, and got carried away… I’m on my way home how.”

  “Oh my God, you didn’t?” Julie said in that unmistakable tone. “You got laid last night, didn’t you?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” I said firmly, “but, no I didn’t. I just had a little too much to drink, and was fortunate to be around someone who took care of me.”

  I wanted so desperately to tell Julie about what had happened with Tommy. First of all, I wanted to update her and let her know I wasn’t slacking in our investigation, but, even more importantly, I needed my girl for girl talk. Things with Tommy had really thrown me for a loop, and I need someone to bounce my thoughts and feelings off of. I needed a friend to talk to.

  But I couldn’t talk to Julie. I couldn’t tell her about how sweetly Tommy had treated me, and about how I was starting to, possibly, develop feelings for him again. I also couldn’t tell her how I was super confused about those feelings, because, in the backdrop, I also had resi
dual feelings for J.R.

  Now wouldn’t that sound crazy? Could you imagine me telling Julie all of that? I met up with my ex, who was now sexy as sin, and I ended up passing out in his bed after vomiting all over myself. I didn’t know whether I wanted to start seeing him again, or if I was gonna hold out for the billionaire boss who’d just fired me and once upon a time tried to bang my supervisor, who could or could not be involved in my ultimate downfall. That was all just a little too messed up, don’t you think?

  “Whatever, I don’t care,” Julie said, drawing me back into the phone conversation. “While you were off picking up dudes at the bar, I was going my homework… I found something that might interest you.”

  I waited for Julie to tell me, then asked, “Yes?”

  “Apparently, that security guard, Stephanie, wasn’t the only member of her family to work for rEcore,” Julie said. I could see her assuming a film noir pose through the phone lines. “Her brother worked there, too—as a programmer—but then, something went wrong, and he was fired… I’ll give you two guesses who fired him.”

  “I only need one,” I said.

  “You shouldn’t even need that many,” Julie replied.

  “So?” I asked. “The plot thickens?”

  “It looks that way,” Julie answered. “Go home, wash the sex off of you, and I’ll be over in a couple hours.”

  “Julie, I didn’t—”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Julie interrupted. Her hum was friendly. “Just do whatever you have to do. I’ll be over soon.”

  “Okay,” I said, shaking my head as I ended the call. “See you soon.”

  The other phone calls on my missed calls list weren’t so easy to return. All five of them came from “Unknown” numbers—and I knew who that was, though I didn’t know how to get back to him. I’d have to wait for J.R. to call me back, and there was nothing I could do in the meantime.

  But, it turns out, that meantime didn’t last too long. I was back at my apartment and not even there for fifteen minutes when my phone started buzzing again. I looked down—the call was from an “Unknown” caller.