by Gina Ardito
“And you show up to every social function without an escort,” Mom interjected. “Or worse, with Bertie.” She didn’t even try to hide the disgust from her expression, and Cam’s fury bubbled up inside her.
Cam picked up her knife and held it blade up, like a dagger she’d flash before slicing an enemy’s throat, and threatened through gritted teeth, “Don’t say one nasty thing about Bertie or so help me, I’ll—”
“Darling, please.” This time, Mr. Ellison cut into the danger zone. “Let’s not talk about this right now. Besides, I think Cameron’s independence is admirable and courageous. It may seem strange to you, but it’s a generational thing. Young men and women of today tend to find our social strictures archaic and... dare I say?” He shot an amused glance toward Cam. “...sexist.”
Loosening her grip on the knife handle, Cam nodded in approval. Maybe this latest heartthrob still had a working brain cell or two not rendered stupid by Mom’s stunning beauty and constant demands for inane fawning.
As if he knew her thoughts, he gave Cam a saucy wink. “Let your daughter be, darling. She seems to be doing fi—” He must have recalled her mother’s reaction to the first use of the word, fine, because he quickly changed to, “well on her own.”
Mom reached out a hand to clutch at Cam’s wrist. “I just want you to be happy, Cameron. Settled. With someone who’ll love you unconditionally.”
Cam’s taut nerves snapped. “Since when does settled mean loved unconditionally, Mom? You’ve been settled...what? Five times already? Were you always happy? Did you love Bertie unconditionally? Or Dad? Or Mr.Moffit? Will you love Mr. Ellison here unconditionally when he forgets to pick up his socks once too often or orders the wrong flowers on Valentine’s Day?”
Mom’s face colored the exact hue of her dress, and her lips clamped into a tight line, creasing lines in her forehead.
Crap. She’d gone too far. “I’m sorry,” she muttered and pushed away from the table. “I should go. I’m sorry.”
“No, Cam, stay,” Mr. Ellison said.
Her mother remained stiff and silent.
Cam shook her head. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome tonight.” She faced her mother. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
It wouldn’t matter if she hired a plane to skywrite the words. Mom would only forgive on her own terms, no matter what the offender’s relationship. Wasn’t that the point Cam had just driven home?
She stood, placing her napkin beside her barely-touched plate. “Thanks for dinner.”
And so went the crummy end to the crummiest week she’d endured in years.
BACK AT HER APARTMENT, her trusty bag of tortilla chips ignored on the sofa table, Cam paced figure eights in her floor and tried to come up with someone to talk to. Because despite what she’d boasted to her mother, Cam had very few friends to confide in.
Oh, she had lots of pals: guys she’d call to shoot a few games of pool down at Brady’s Place, former classmates she’d join for girls’ weekends or social brunches, and coworkers who were always up for a few drinks at happy hour. Funtime people.
But someone she could call on a Friday night to talk her off the ledge after a contentious get-together with her mother? That was usually Bertie’s job. And tonight, he wasn’t answering her texts.
Staring out the window at the traffic on the West Side Highway hundreds of feet below her, she scanned her mental contact list for someone, anyone, who’d be available, patient, empathetic, and judicious without being judgmental.
One name came to mind. She hated the idea she might be interrupting something important, or just intruding on what should have been a stress-free, peaceful evening. Besides, she’d never called before—not socially, anyway. That alone could make things awkward. Still...
Why not reach out and try? They were friends. Weren’t they? Only one way to find out. On a deep inhale for courage, she picked up her cell and hit the preset on her favorite contacts screen. Huh.
Funny.
Favorite.
I bet there are very few of my contacts that have me listed as a favorite.
No. Don’t go there. You’re feeling sorry enough for yourself without the mental self-flagellation.
Lucky for Cam, this particular favorite answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Val? Umm... hi. It’s Cam.”
“Cam. Hi.” Her reply was hesitant, which told Cam she was intruding. Crap. “Did... something happen... at the office?”
A guilty flush warmed her cheeks and tightened her throat. Pathetic that in all the years they’d known each other, Cam had never once called Val if the situation wasn’t work-related. Until tonight. Val would have every right to blow her off and tell her to kiss off. Cam swallowed hard and plowed ahead, expecting nothing, yet hoping for more kindness than she’d ever bestowed.
“No,” she said, her tone rough with dread. “I’m sorry to bother you. I was... umm... just wondering...” God, why was this so hard? Just spit it out, idiot! “Umm... how was your dinner?”
“Awful,” Val replied. “The company tells you these meals are foolproof, you know? Well, that may be, but they sure aren’t Val-proof. I put it in the oven and then I fell asleep on the couch. Next thing I know, the smoke alarm’s going off, and I’ve got a charcoal briquette for dinner. Did you ever burn fish? It took a whole can of air neutralizer and six window fans to get rid of the stink.”
Cam dug up a smile of camaraderie. Cooking was not something she’d ever mastered, either. “Well, I give you props for trying. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in splitting a pizza with me, would you? My treat.”
Did she imagine the slight hesitation on the other end? Maybe. Either way, she deserved it, she supposed.
“Only if you’re willing to come here. I’m already in my pajamas. I think our trip took more out of me than I realized.”
Yeah. She felt much the same way. “I can do that.”
“Can you come here in your jammies?” Val added. “‘Cuz, if you show up all glammed up in a pretty pink dress and heels, I’m taking the pizza and slamming the door on you.”
Actually, that sounded fun—a pajama party kinda thing. Stress-free, hair-down, and no boys allowed. “I can do that.”
“And no work talk! It’s Friday night, we’ve had a grueling week, and I want the next two and a half days for vegging out.”
“Not a problem.”
“You’ll have to come out by car. I’m in Nassau County. And you definitely don’t want to jump on a crowded train on a Friday night in the summer. Especially if you’re in some shortie pajamas.”
“True.” She’d have to call the service. See who was available tonight. But Val was right. She did not want to risk the pressing bodies on the Long Island Railroad trains. “Okay. Anything else?”
“Yeah. I like pineapple on my pizza. If that’s a deal-breaker, now’s the time to speak up.”
She stifled her distaste; she needed this tonight. If that meant pineapple, so be it. “No deal-breakers. I’ll be there in about an hour.”
“Grab yourself some wine for the ride. I’m gonna have a helluva head start on you by then.”
Cam grinned. “I’ll bring more.”
Sure enough, an hour later, she climbed up onto the wraparound porch of a blue, two-story colonial situated on a busy side street off the parkway, a bottle of wine (minus a glass or two) in one hand and a box containing a Hawaiian pizza in the other. She felt only slightly ridiculous wearing her neon yellow pajamas dotted with gray cats playing with pink balls of yarn and a pair of scuffed white Converse sneakers. Cam didn’t have a free hand, but the front door opened from the inside before she could juggle her burden.
Thank God, Val must have been keeping an eye out for her. “Hey,” she said as she slapped the latch to open the storm door. “Come on in.”
Her assistant wore a knee-length, faded blue nightshirt with the maroon Vanguard logo above the words, “2010 National Champions.”
Cam gave a curt no
d. “Cool shirt.”
“Thanks. Work perk.” She led the way past the cozy, traditional-style living room with a cream-colored stone fireplace and furniture full of soft, curved edges in muted textile patterns of beige and gold. Giving Cam a wink over her shoulder, she added, “I can get you one of these nightshirts, if you want. I’ve got a friend on the inside.”
“Yeah, totally not necessary. I have my own inside man with the team.” Cam glanced at the bookshelf near the wall separating the living room from a small formal dining room. She noted the assortment of paperbacks, mostly romance, but a few mystery and suspense titles mixed in, so totally Val. If they weren’t boss and assistant, she and Val could be close friends. They seemed to share a lot of the same interests.
Well, that was what she came here for, right? To disconnect from work and be with a friend?
Val stopped short at the doorway to the kitchen, and Cam, still focused on the bookshelf, walked pizza-box-first into Val’s chest. Both women gasped. The box collapsed like an accordion, and only Val’s quick reflexes caught it before the pizza fell out and landed on the carpet.
With the box cradled between them, Val looked up at Cam, brows knitted. “Crap. I’m sorry. I guess I’m not used to having ‘The Boss Lady’ in my house.”
Desperately trying to balance her hold on the box and the bottle of wine, Cam shot her gaze over Val’s shoulder toward the interior of the kitchen. “Can we put this stuff down and then talk?”
“Sure. I mean, I guess. I mean you’re the boss.”
The confused hesitation Val displayed almost had Cam second-guessing this decision. Almost. But she’d come to some tough conclusions in the last hour or two, and a moment’s nervousness on Val’s part wouldn’t shake her.
“Tonight, don’t think of me as the boss, okay? Please?” After placing the pizza on the set table in the middle of the eat-in kitchen, Cam held up the wine bottle. “Got a glass for this?”
“Yeah, sure.” Val sidestepped the table and stood on tiptoe to reach a cabinet above the built-in microwave.
Crap, the last thing Cam wanted right now was a fuss. She wanted tonight to be easygoing, lazy and just plain fun. “Oh, don’t go out of your way,” Cam insisted. “Please. Anything is fine.”
“No, don’t worry. I got it.” She retrieved a cut-glass water goblet from inside, then twisted to hold it out toward Cam. “This okay?”
Though she would’ve preferred something smaller and simpler, she sensed her new friend was trying to make a good impression. She wouldn’t make her even more anxious.
“It’s perfect. Thanks.” She took the glass, filled it about halfway then passed the bottle to Val, who waved her off.
“I’m good, thanks.”
They settled at the table, and Cam flipped the lid to the pizza box, surveying the damage with a critical eye. “Minor casualties. A few of the slices on one side are a little crushed. We’ll save those for after we’ve had more wine.”
“Umm... I can eat those. You don’t need to have a bad slice—”
“Val.” Cam’s patience frayed at the ends. “Stop. Relax. Have another glass of wine. You’re still going to have a job on Monday, no matter what happens tonight. I repeat. I’m not here as your boss. I’m here because...” She took a deep breath and sat at the table in the window nook. “Well, because I need a friend.”
Val’s eyes widened. “And you called me?”
Cam sipped her wine before answering. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re one of the most level-headed people I know. You’re honest, discreet, and trustworthy. I value your opinion—”
“You do?” Cam’s exasperation must have shown on her face because Val added, “I’m sorry. This is just... weird, you know? I mean, in all the years I’ve worked for you, you’ve never popped over for pizza and wine before. I don’t know how to handle this.”
Neither did she, to be honest. So, maybe that was the way to move forward: by being honest.
“Remember how you talked to me on the phone a little while ago? When you gave me your list of conditions if I planned to come over?”
Her cheeks flushed pink, and she shrugged. “Well, yeah, but that’s when I thought there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell you’d come here.”
Shoot. She hadn’t considered the possibility Val only said yes because she feared she might lose her job or be punished in some way for saying no.
Her tone roughened to an embarrassed whisper. “Did you not want me here tonight, Val? Be honest. I swear, this has nothing to do with your job. The thing is...” God, how could she explain where her head was at? She took a deep breath and plowed on. “The thing is, I just left my mother’s house and, as usual, it didn’t go well. I mean, you know how she gets me amped up. And I really needed someone to talk to.” Her throat tightened enough to limit her speech and, blinking back tears, she gulped some wine to loosen her tongue and drown her pride. “I realized I needed a friend, a confidante, and I don’t have too many of those. But of all the women I know, you’re the one I trust most. You’re the one I’d like to be my friend. But I should’ve realized you were just being polite. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
She got to her feet, and Val rushed closer, hands outstretched. “No, no. Don’t go. I get it. I do. I admit, you kinda had me wondering, but I understand now. When I’m down, I at least have my mom to talk to, and if my mom annoys me, I can talk to my sister. But when your mom is the problem, you don’t have a sister or anybody else to confide in.” As if realizing how pathetic that sounded, she winced. “I keep shoving my foot in my mouth when I should be eating pizza instead. You, too. Come on. Sit down. Let’s eat and talk and have some fun.” She reached into the box and pulled out a slice of pizza, then waved it under Cam’s nose. “Mmmm... doesn’t this smell good?”
“Yeah, it does.” Relaxed at last, Cam smiled and sat down again.
Chapter 9
Two hours later, Val was out cold on the couch and Cam was too wired to concentrate on the espionage thriller playing on the television in Val’s cozy living room. Despite Val’s protests to the contrary, it was clear to Cam she’d intruded on what would’ve been a quiet evening of relaxation and decompression. Not the best way to initiate a friendship.
Since she’d already worn out her welcome, she wouldn’t intrude on Val’s solitude any longer. She wandered into the kitchen, searching for something to use to leave a note. After digging through several cabinet drawers, she finally came across a blank note pad with the foundation’s logo across the top.
Cam smirked and glanced at the snoring Val. “Another work perk?”
Not that she minded. As long as Val didn’t graduate to taking home printers and computers, the occasional pilfered notepad wasn’t going to hurt anyone.
Another dive into the flotsam and jetsam of batteries, rubber bands, chip clips, and takeout packets in the kitchen drawer, and she found a pen. She wrote a brief note:
Val,
I’m so sorry to have hijacked your evening. Take Monday off and rejuvenate. When you wake up tomorrow, call Zehra at my spa for an appointment for you. I’m authorizing her to give you a full treatment. You’ve earned it! Then come back to work on Tuesday, refreshed and ready to work.
See you then.
Cam
She left the note tacked on the refrigerator using a magnet of a grumpy-faced Garfield holding a coffee cup with a curlicue of steam. Beneath the cartoon cat’s feet, a box stated “I don’t do mornings.”
Yeah, she imagined Val would have a doozy of a hangover tomorrow, regardless of what hour she finally opened her eyes.
Unfortunately, for her, the night still loomed, lonely and long. She checked her phone. Just past nine o’clock. Great. Nothing to look forward to but the recriminations inside her head when she went home. Outside, the summer air was thick with humidity and sparks of lightning illuminated the dark clouds one at a time. A storm approached. At the curb, the limousine waited, and she opened the door to climb into the back sea
t. A destination came to mind, lighting up the clouds of her brain.
“Everything okay, Ms. Delgado?” the driver asked, placing the book he’d been reading on the passenger seat. “I wasn’t expecting you to return so fast.”
“Yes, Danny, thanks. Val’s exhausted. But I’m not ready to go home just yet. Let’s stop over at Brady’s Place, okay?” She rolled her shoulders and stretched her legs out. “I could use a game or two.”
“Sure thing.”
As she settled against the black leather and tilted her head back, her driver pulled the car from the curb at Val’s home, aimed for a return to the city.
A short time later, she strode inside Brady’s Place, the official pub of the Vanguard teammates since 1967. The front room was empty, except for the heavy-set, curly-haired man who stood behind the bar, reading a magazine spread out across the polished top. Above him, a television aired a baseball game.
He glanced up at her entrance and straightened to full height. “Hey, Cam. How’ve you been?”
The sharp crack of a cue against a rack of balls, followed by an assortment of masculine laughter, told her there were at least a few patrons in the back. Good. She needed the distraction if she had any hope of sleeping tonight. Forcing a smile through her bouncing anxiety, she replied, “Good, Sal. You?”
“Can’t complain.” He pulled the bar towel off his shoulder and wiped his hands. “What can I get you?”
She slid into a booth near the rear of the room. “I need a vodka club with lime.”
“Uh-oh,” a too-familiar voice said from the doorway leading to the pool hall area, causing Cam to stiffen in her cushy seat. “Vodka lime can only mean another spat with Mom.”
Cam’s eyes shot open, and she veered in her seat to see the last man she’d expected to run into in this place. “Jordan. What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for a friend who’s delayed on the subway. Are those... ” His gaze raked her from throat to feet. “...pajamas?”
