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Authors: J.J. Murray

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“I guess you could call it that.” He nods. “Yeah, I’m leading her on.”
An honest jerk? Hmm. Maybe he’s still just setting me up. I have to be careful.
“Yes, she invited me to Australia, and yes, I said I’d
try
to get out to see her after Detroit. But when this thing came up, I thought she was trying to scam me with this crazy trip idea of hers.”
I try to read his eyes. Hmm. They seem honest, but you never know.
He smiles. “Honestly, Shari, all of this just fell into my lap ... and your lap.” Then he drops his eyes to
stare
at my lap!
What do you say when a man stares at your lap no more than thirty minutes after meeting him for the first time? “Don’t ... don’t stare at my lap, Tom.”
“Um, you have ... peach cobbler, I think, there, um ...”
I look down. Yep. Cobbler crumbs. I whisk them away. I don’t know whether to be angry that he
only
saw the crumbs. I have a sexy lap. “The, um, the Petersons shouldn’t have had to pay for us, so ...” I take the two twenties. “I’ll return their money later. I’ll pay.”
He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a wallet. “We’ll go Dutch.”
“No,” I say. “This one’s on me. You only had a refreshing lemonade.” I jump up and go to the counter.
“You need a receipt, honey?” Mama Louise asks.
“Yes, please.”
She rings me up. “Twelve-fifty.”
She’s joking. “You sure?”
Mama Louise nods.
“For all that good food and the round of lemonade?” I ask.
“You could leave a nice tip.” She looks past me to Tom. “Oh, your man is leaving the tip.”
A twenty? “Um, he’s not my man.”
Mama Louise rolls her eyes. “Uh-huh.”
I hand her one of my own twenties. “Keep the change.”
“Y’all come back.
Soon
.”
I go back to the table, collect the orange vest, and walk toward the door. Tom rushes around me and holds the door.
“I’m not thanking you,” I say. “I can open my own door.”
“I can see that,” he says. “And I don’t ever expect you to thank me, Shari.”
We get into the Suburban, and I start it up, over-revving the engine before I pull away from the curb with a jerk.
“Shari,” Tom says, buckling up and holding on to the door handle. “I always thought that was a pretty name, by the way. And it matches its owner.”
Oh, tell me anything.
“Of all the people I’ve talked to in my life,” he says, “you have been by far the nicest, most caring, and best listener I’ve ever known.”
Nice, caring, good listener. Hmm. All the things Corrine isn’t. I sneak a look at him and continue driving. I have no idea where I’m going, so I turn right for no reason. Okay, I have a reason. If I turn right, I can look at right handsome Tom.
After a few more right turns, I say, “You’ve been pretty ... easy to talk to and nice, too, but now that you’re my enemy, this conversation is over.”
“You’re really stepping out on this one, aren’t you?” he asks.
On a wing and a selfish prayer.
“I’m glad you are, Shari,” he says. “I really am. I’ve known for years that you’re really the power behind the throne. Corrine is as creative as Congress. She’s as intuitive as mud. She’s as spontaneous as a blueprint.”
Correct on all counts.
“Well, she’s
your
boss,” he says. “You know how shallow and superficial she is. She has no depth. A Hollywood diva has more depth than she’ll ever have.”
Amen! Preach on!
“Sure, she’s brilliant and occasionally witty,” he continues, “but her grip on reality is the opposite of the grip you have on that steering wheel. Doesn’t that hurt your fingers?”
I look down at my knuckles frozen in the two and ten position. “And yet as psychotic as Corrine is, you’ve been sleeping with her for five years.”
He does not answer. I think I have silenced him. I turn on the radio and crank it up. Shoot, it’s a talk radio station. I click over to a country station. Oh well ...
“Slept!” he shouts. “Past tense! We haven’t been together in years!”
I turn off the radio. Hmm. Maybe I’ll hear him out.
“Thanks,” he says. “Shari, Corrine and I haven’t been together like that in almost two years now.”
I take a left. I’m sure I’m going in circles. “So you don’t like shallow and superficial as much anymore, huh? But you
did
, right? What does that say about you?” And we’ll let that hang in the air for a while, shall we?
“I, uh, I didn’t notice it so much in the beginning.”
Typical man. “Cuz you was gettin’ some, huh?”
Tom laughs. “True. You got me.”
More honesty from this jerk? This man is right refreshing, but he’s still a jerk.
He laughs some more. “Yeah, I was gettin’ some, and she was more than willin’, darlin’. Amazing stamina. Very long legs. Good kisser.”
I can’t believe.... Who does he ... I have never heard such ... Eww. And this is my boss he’s talking about.
“No more talk about Cringe, okay?” he says. “I’m having a good day. A very good day.”
Because he has all the power. “What did you call her?”
“Cringe. That’s one of my nicknames for her. She makes me cringe.”
And yet he still sees her. “So typical.”
“What is?”
I look at a stoplight. I know I’ve been here before. I turn left this time. “She’s nothing but a booty call to you.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“I knew it.”
He sighs. “She was, but only for the first three years.”
So what are they doing now? “And the last two?”
“I like how direct you are. I’ll try to be as direct. Corrine sometimes used to share some great information about her projects while she was gettin’ some.”
He used her! “And I’m sure you just drilled her till she spilled it, huh?” That didn’t come out right.
Tom can’t stop laughing.
“Okay, okay. It wasn’t that funny.” A four-way stop? I, pause, spell out
S-T-O-P
in my head, and drive straight ahead.
He’s still laughing.
“Which projects has she ... squealed on?” That didn’t come out right either.
“She’s not much of a squealer,” Tom says. “More of a panter and a scratcher.”
I give him a withering stare. “Which projects, Tom?”
“Let’s see, um, she told me all about your army spots, and that helped me with the air force spots. Ever notice how similar they are?”
As if the same ad agency did both of them. Geez. I’m up to four accounts that should be mine.
“A couple others. Nothing I ever used to any great extent, though. You, Shari dear, always gave me the best ideas over the phone.”
I am so lost. Where’s the sun? Directly over us. That’s no help. I know I have to go north. “So, Tom, where are you from? All the years we talked, I’ve never asked you.”
“Trying to change the subject?” he says.
Yes. “Just answer the question.”
He turns on the radio and scans until he finds “Be Ready,” a Jill Scott song. You’re telling me, Jill. I thought I was. Now I have to be ready for anything.
“I am from a little town in Oregon called Klamath Falls,” Tom says.
“Never heard of it.” And I’ve never been so lost! Wait. Oh, shoot! That’s H&H! I’ve made a complete circle.
“Klamath Falls is not far from northern California. I escaped from there to go to Berkeley, took a bus cross-country to New York, started a special junior account exec program Hairiest Son, Hershey Squirts, and Older... .”
I almost laugh. It was mildly amusing.
“I survived that ridiculous butt-kissing program, got a promotion eight years later from junior to senior account exec, and in about one hundred years when all the old farts die, I’ll make partner.”
I think I’ve finally met someone who hates his job almost as much as I hate mine. “So they treat you like crap?”
“Oh, no. At Hairy Ads, Hershey’s with Almonds, and Moldier, they treat me like wildebeest dung.”
I wish he’d quit doing that. I’m almost glad I’m lost. I took a right here last time. That gas station looks familiar. “Why do they treat you so badly? You’ve brought millions to them.”
“I’m from the worst coast, Shari. I’m the only worst coaster there. I’m the token. The rest are all poison Ivy League.” He sighs. “Well, that’s my story. What’s yours?”
No way. I’m not sharing any more information than I already have with this man. “I am so lost. I know I’m supposed to turn left somewhere. Do you know where we are?”
“Take the next right,” he says.
I turn right. “But isn’t this taking us south? We need to go north to get to the plant.”
“Another right,” he says.
I turn. “None of this looks familiar.” But that hotel does. The Hilton Garden Inn.
“Turn in here,” he says. “I need to change.”
That’s ... that’s
my
hotel.
Tom is staying at my hotel.
I turn in and park near the entrance.
“I need to look as rugged as you do so I can score more points with Mr. Peterson,” he says. “I’ll only take a few minutes. You won’t drive away on me, will you?”
I really want to. “No.” I turn off the Suburban. “And I don’t dress like this to score points. I normally dress like this.”
He opens his door. “And you’ve been an administrative assistant for how long?”
I get out and slam my door behind me. “Shut up.”
Tom strolls around the front of the Suburban. “Makes one think, doesn’t it?”
I sidestep him and go to the door. “The clothes don’t make the woman.”
He stares at me
that
way. You know what I’m talking about. He’s imagining me with fewer clothes.
“Your clothes
hide
the woman,” he says.
I don’t respond. At least he has an imagination. I continue to the door.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
I bust through the door, Tom trailing behind me, and go directly to the front desk, tapping my short nails on the counter.
“This isn’t your hotel, too?” he whispers. “No way. What are the chances?”
Yes. What are the chances, God? There must be fifty hotels or more around here, and I picked this one. Not only don’t I know what Tom is up to, but I’m beginning to suspect that God is up to something, too.
“They won’t let you check in until three,” Tom whispers. “It’s only a little after one.”
“Hush.”
“If you traveled more, you would know that,” he whispers.
“Hush!”
A tall stork of a man comes out of the office. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Corrine Ross. MultiCorp.” It’s rolling right off my tongue now.
“One moment,” Stork Man says, clicking a few keys on a keyboard.
Isn’t he supposed to be wearing a name tag? Where’s his name tag? How can you work at a Hilton without a name tag?
“Yes, we have your reservation, Miss Ross,” Stork Man says. “But your room isn’t ready yet. Check-in is at three.”
“Told you,” Tom whispers.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I have some more work to do at the Peterson plant.” I stare at Tom, and he gets the hint, heading to the elevator. “Could I get my key now?”
“Sure.”
Stork Man makes my card key with several swiping motions and hands it to me. “Room three fifteen.”
I take the key, turn, and see Tom step into the elevator, his shirt already unbuttoned, the T-shirt underneath showing off a perfect set of abs. He waves.
I do not.
The doors close.
I slump into a plush chair in the lobby and look out a window. Well, Shari. Well, well, well.
Isn’t this
another
how-do-you-do.
Chapter 13
 
T
ired of waiting on Tom and still beyond nervous, I wander out to the Suburban. The Petersons are sure some trusting people. Country people are like that. Mrs. Peterson just handed me the keys.
So I can “work it out” with Tom.
And what are we working out? I have no freaking idea! I am so helpless right now, but I can’t let Tom know that.
I’m sure he already knows how helpless I am. There’s just something about that grin of his.
Just when I’m about to leave his butt, Tom comes out dressed in well-worn jeans, scuffed-up Chippewa boots, and a long-sleeved Cal sweatshirt. If he weren’t my adversary to the death over this account and the man who could bust me out at any moment with the Petersons, I’d say he looked good. I love me a rugged man. But since he’s my adversary, I can’t say that.
Once we’re going in the right direction for a change, I pull into an empty church parking lot and turn off the Suburban. “Okay, let’s get to it. Are you going to bust me out for impersonating Corrine or not?”
“No.”
No hesitation. What is his game? “Do you mind if I ask why?”
“No,” he says with that grin of his.
“Okay,” I say, “why won’t you bust me out?”
He shifts in his seat to face me. “I have my reasons.”
“And they are?”
He smiles. “I’ll let you know.”
All this mystery. He’s just playing mind games. “Well, whatever your reasons are, I suppose I will owe you, right? What will I owe you for your silence? I know I have to ‘pay’ you somehow.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Shari,” he says softly. “Really. In fact, I’m glad I’m going up against you. This job has gotten just plain boring, grueling, and old for me. It’s become stale. This is fun. I know I’m in for the fight of my life.”
He’s just saying that.... “Oh, right. You have the best production team on earth, and I don’t have any access to our production team without Corrine there to get permission. I can only do this bare bones, totally old school, and completely on my own.”
“And I promise to do the same.”
Again, he answers so quickly, almost as if I’m walking into a trap. “Right.”
“I actually planned to do this old school,” he says. “Mr. Peterson is old school. This town is old school. The product is old school. It makes perfect sense. We think alike, Shari.”
It’s hard to argue with him there. “How old school are you talking?” He has to be holding something back.
“I will be a man with two cameras, one for stills, and one for video. That’s it.”
I still don’t trust him. “So it’s my cameras and ideas against yours.”
“Right.”
Something is still ... off. “What if it were you going up against Corrine?”
He props up those long legs on the dashboard. This Suburban is huge! “I hope you don’t think I’m patronizing you. I’m not. I’d probably still do the same thing. I think low-tech is the way to go with a low-tech product.”
“Old school all the way.”
He nods.
I reach out my hand. “Will you shake on it?”
“Gladly.”
He takes my hand, and my hand vanishes. Where did it go? I shake his hand once, he lets go, and my hand reappears. That was some magic trick.
“Um, I’m going to hold you to this promise, Tom.”
“And I’ll hold you to the promise, too,” he says, adding, “Shari.”
I like how he says my name. And now for a different subject. “Didn’t you
promise
to visit Corrine in Australia?”
He sighs and turns away. “That again. I told her I’d
try
. That’s not a promise. My exact words were, ‘I’ll try to get there, but I’m making no promises.’”
That makes sense. Corrine certainly has selective hearing. And now is the perfect time to check on Tom’s
friend.
“Why don’t you call her, see how she’s doing? I mean, after all, she is your
friend
.”
Tom smiles. “You caught that.”
“I’m a good listener.”
“So I’ll call her.”
This should be good, but only if that nurse does what I asked her to do.
I watch Tom go to his contacts list, scroll down, and hit the OK button. He doesn’t even have Corrine on one of his speed dials. Maybe he’s telling the truth about him and Corrine. I quickly banish the thought. Tom is in advertising. I can trust very little of what this man says to me.
“Hello, may I speak to Corrine Ross? This is Tom.” He listens a minute, his eyebrows rising. He turns to me. “She’s heavily sedated and can’t talk, but this nurse wants to talk to me for some reason. Excuse me?” He covers the phone, and it, too, disappears. “She just said, and I quote, ‘Talk dirty to me, you nasty man.’ What do I do?”
Yes! “Um, hmm.” I sigh. “I rigged it so anyone named Tom or Mr. Dunn couldn’t talk to her.”
He frowns. “You better explain.”
“Um, I told them that Corrine has an imaginary friend named Tom and an imaginary friend named Mr. Dunn.”
He smiles. “There’s a lot of truth in the first part.”
I was right! “I also told her that anyone who calls himself Tom or Mr. Dunn only calls to, um, have, um those
kinds
of conversations.”
“Oh.”
I look for the phone and only see his hand. “You don’t want to talk nasty to her, do you, Tom?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m only supposed to be checking up on my friend.” He opens his palm and puts the phone to his ear. “Look, I’m her brother, Thomas, not that imaginary friend she supposedly has.” He listens for a few moments and covers the phone again. “She won’t believe me. She’s actually asking me what I’m wearing.”
This is fun! “Well, tell her.”
He does the phone reappearance trick again. “I’m wearing boots, jeans, and a sweatshirt,” he says matter-of-factly. “Uh-huh. . . uh-huh.”
He hits a button on the phone, and I hear her panting. Over some boots, jeans, and a sweatshirt? Hmm. I kind of do that, too. I mean, not all the time. I mean, now I am. A little.
“Wait a minute,” the nurse says. We hear a door close. “I had to go to a closet. You want to know what I’m wearing?”
Tom shakes his head.
“Go on,” I mouth.
“Sure,” Tom says. “What are you wearing?”
“I’m wearing some yellow scrubs,” the nurse says, “with nothing on underneath.”
“Nothing?” Tom says.
“Nothing,” the nurse whispers.
Tom looks at me, and I only shake my head. I hope all nurses don’t do this.
“Um, don’t you, um, chafe down there?” Tom asks.
I choke off a giggle. What a question!
“No,” the nurse whispers, and then
she
giggles.
A question about chafing down there makes a woman giggle? Man, this woman is hard up.
“I mean, well, doesn’t your skin get raw?” Tom asks.
I bite my lower lip, anticipating another strange response from the nurse.
“Oh yes,” the nurse says. “Yes. It does. I have to massage it with lots of lotion. I’m covering my body with lotion right now.”
I reach up and press several buttons on the phone until the static disappears. “I didn’t think you would really do this, Tom.”
“Neither did I,” he says. “I seem to have a knack for it, don’t you think?”
“And you’re hardly even trying.”
He shrugs. “What can I say?”
“You think you can sell anything, don’t you?”
Tom nods. “I can. She’s really, um, into this, and I’m being so dull.”
Because she’s a bored nurse ... and you have a sexy voice whether you’re trying to be dull or not. “And you aren’t into this?”
“No, I’m not,” Tom says. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never even wanted to do anything like this.” He reaches for the phone. “I have to end this.”
I grab his wrist. “Hold on there.” Wow, he has a thick wrist. I let go. “I bet you dinner that you can’t make her, um, scream and shout.” I can’t believe I just said that. At least I didn’t say something else that rhymes with “spasm.”
Tom blinks. “You want me to talk a strange Australian woman into screaming and shouting.”
“Well, if you don’t want to prove how good a salesman you are, just hang up.”
He drums his thighs with a serious set of fists. “This is crazy.”
I roll my eyes. “I thought you could sell anything, Tom Terrific.”
He purses his ... soft lips. They didn’t look this soft in his picture. “You really want me to?”
I nod. “I want to hear you in action.”
He hits another button. “Sorry for the delay. I was unzipping my pants.”
The nurse immediately shouts, “Yes!”
Oh ... my ... goodness!
He mutes the phone. “Dinner.” He shakes his head. “I’ll end it now.”
“Double or nothing,” I say
way
too quickly.
He sighs. “Okay.” He hits the mute. “You still there?”
“Yes!” she shouts
again
.
He mutes the phone. “I guess that means ... breakfast.”
If I knew that this wench was the horniest woman in Tully, Australia, I never would have made the bet. “That was an unfair bet.”
He shrugs. “I just made a nurse in a closet twelve thousand miles away scream and shout without really trying. Want to bet lunch tomorrow?”
“Leave the poor girl alone.”
Tom shakes his head. “I like lunch.” He hits the mute button. “What’s your name?”
I hear heavy breathing before she says, “Angela.”
Tom rolls his eyes. “Oh, Angela.”
The freaking wench shouts
again!
Then the nurse actually howls. “Ooh. Someone’s coming. Gotta go.”
Click.
Tom snaps off his phone, reclines in his seat, and smiles.
No way that just happened. Is it getting a little steamy in here? I restart the Suburban and roll down the window. “Let’s get back to work.”
“That’s it?” Tom says. “I induce a perfect stranger in Australia to do some shouting, and you just say, ‘Let’s get back to work’?”
I don’t want to give him more credit than he’s due. He really didn’t say anything that erotic at all. “So she was hard up. Big deal.”
He only smiles.
“You really didn’t do anything amazing,” I say. “It wasn’t even that kinky. You didn’t even mention her happy space.”
Tom drums on the dash. “Corrine told you about that?”
I nod and start to laugh.
He laughs, too. “Yeah, Corrine and her ‘happy space.’” He puts on his seat belt. “By the way, I like omelets. Lots of ham, onions, and green peppers.”
Grr. “I’ll call room service for your dinner and for your breakfast, and I didn’t bet on your lunch.”
“Well, you have to join me for dinner at least.”
Which would be very nice, I’m sure.... “I bet you dinner and breakfast, and that’s all you’re going to get. I wasn’t part of the bet.”
Tom snaps up the phone.
“Who are you calling?” I ask.
“I’m going for four shouts so you’ll eat with me.”
And he’ll easily get it. “I’m not betting you.”
“I don’t expect you to. Hello? This is Tom.”
A male voice says, “Yeah?”
“Um, I’m trying to reach Corrine Ross. She’s a patient there.”
Click.
“I think,” I say, “your little bimbo left Corrine’s phone in the closet.”
Tom pockets his phone. “I wish he didn’t hang up. I was going to hand the phone to you.”
No, he wasn’t. “To do what?”
“So you could try to win back breakfast.”
“Uh-uh. I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”
Tom hums along with a radio jingle. “So you’re saying you wouldn’t have satisfied me.”
Hey now. Watch it, man. “You know what I mean. I don’t just ... get all freaky in the presence of someone I just met.”
“But, Shari, we’ve known each other for five years.”
Kind of true. “All of it on the phone.”
“Until now.”
And that’s where I have to draw the line.
Now
is a scary word sometimes. “Right or left?”

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